Taking a mob, drawing lines of wetness across the expanse of the room.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Sometimes, the tragic moment of modern life reveals itself, oh so clearly.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Dreaming of being dreamt.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Karl Heinrich Marx (* 5. May 1818 in Trier; † 14. March 1883 in London)
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Stayed in all day, with this glow being the only highlight not coming from my textmarker.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Solves all your problems.- Oddly enough, it does seem to work for me.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
The power of the ritual lies in producing a sense of familiarity even in the most confusing of times.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Picturing a scene from a movie that deals with the making of a photograph and questioning the sense of reality surrounding picturemaking in general.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
The fruits she bought are starting to mould.
Monday, November 21, 2005
I walk on the street and think to myself: Shall I walk faster and catch up or slow down and watch? Walk or Watch? So much of the everyday just slips away like that.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
A day by the sea.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
It isn't Pop Art, it's my new bedstand.
Friday, November 18, 2005
As long as I have a shadow, I should have dreams and memories.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
If you are looking for truth, should you look out of the window, or maybe into them?
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Art attracts us only by what it reveals of our most secret self. - Godard
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
250,000 coloured rubberballs jumping down a street.
I simply love it when advertising reactivates dreams from my childhood and transforms them into a part of capitalistic reality.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Starting to get really used to having flowers at home - Watching them bloom, watching them wither.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Chronological movement is grasped and analysed in a spatial image - Benjamin
Saturday, November 12, 2005
London, it still is - I was just making sure.
Friday, November 11, 2005
There is nothing more beautiful, soothing than white bedsheets on a sunny morning. Only pictures of Robert Ryman aspire towards a similiar tranquillity. Der Tag gehört mir.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Taking a note in terms of space: London, it is.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Human imperfection and fragility can be a source of strength. Being lost can be a way of finding yourself.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
I never had a diary. I never write down what I think. Maybe taking pictures can be a way of constructing memory. What do you think?