Laut am Himmel
2007

Video

One day, my art teacher walked into the room and announced: Today we’re doing roses. But... we’re not going to draw or paint the rose itself—only its scent, its presence.

In 2005, I drove to Rheinsberg in northern Germany to experience and document a concert at the Rococo Schloss Rheinsberg, a dreamlike palace nestled within an equally dreamlike park. As the concert hour approached, so did a torrential downpour.

What followed was a strange procession of people, solemnly crisscrossing the drenched gardens, appearing and disappearing in the shifting light as though part of an ancient ritual. Even as the distant sounds of violins began to spill through the open doors, the enigmatic movements continued. It was in that moment that light, sound, and the fluid motion of bodies seemed to converge into something otherworldly—a ritualistic dance to an ephemeral echo from another realm.

The concert itself had no clear beginning or end; musical phrases seemed to float through the air, blending seamlessly with the play of light, as if it were a score from another world. Then, suddenly, the park erupted in a resounding son et lumière—fireworks bursting overhead in a dramatic crescendo, bringing everything firmly back to the ground.

Perhaps my teacher would have preferred the echo over the concert itself.