Fluid Rocks
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I am a slow thinker. And I don't like crowds. May be that is what attracts me to rocks. They are there. They do not change. They don't give me any bullshit. But they talk to me. In silence.
My childhood trauma was that my parents lived in the North German plain. No rocks there. Cows and green pastures as far as the eye can see. What saved my rock love were the vacations we spent at my grandmother's home in the mountains.
I fell in love with one mountain close to her village. The path to the top lead through a forest with boulders the size of family homes. I always wondered who might have carried those rocks to the top of that mountain.
When I started travelling on my own, I fell in love with the outer Hebrides of Scotland. Rocks, wind, waves, the colours of rocks and lichens, the changing light.
I have come back many times since. Many rocks have become my friends. They are there. I visit them. They seem to be immutable. But of course, that is a very anthropocentric way of thinking about them.
They just live in a different world where the time ticks with a different rhythm. When you sit at the Hebridean shore, and the wind drives waves, clouds and light to the coast, you can feel the rhythm of time.
The series "fluid rocks" tries to capture this fluidity of time, light, colours and rocks.