Artist Blog

Every week an artist whose single image was published by Der Greif is given a platform in which to blog about contemporary photography.

I always looked for places to hide and hole up. I imagined a world, in which only myself existed. Or one in which nobody would find me. I always have been rather small and pretty well knew how to use it to my benefit. I tried to fit into the most unbelievable places. Places nobody would suspect me to be. I fit in suitcases or bags, imagined I would travel within them with a stranger. To places I have not been. I imagined that the stranger never realized I was with him. I liked him. Once in a while he would wonder about the weight of his stuff. I would be hidden so well among his belongings that he would never see me. And if he would find me, he would like me, too, at first sight, his small travel companion, maybe he would even fall in love with me. I generally tried to fit into or through anything. I had developed a system, which worked quite well. If the head could pass an opening the rest would also. I slid into cellars, squeezed through grates, and stuffed my small body onto the highest shelves. I slid through rings which actually where dedicated for a different purpose. At times I lay so flat under my blanket, that I disappeared. When somebody approached me, I breathed so low that no vibration could reveal my hideout. My heart jumped in joy when I heard the rest of the family running through the apartment searching me. Ideally I would have the chance to leave the bed to hide anew in a place they had just been searching in. When they came to me afterwards, and asked surprisedly where I had been, I acted astonished. I told them I had been sitting here all along and had been reflecting, pointing out that I could disappear being in thoughts, just dematerialize, but remaining in the room simultaneously. I was here and there and everywhere at the same time. When I was in a bad temper I rolled myself up in the living room carpet, forming a big long roll. Everybody knew that I was inside and I approved of that. The carpet was like a warning. My Mom always said that the carpet was vibrating with anger being inside. I only reappeared when I was better again. The darkness and the mouldy smell surrounding me reminded me of my grandpa. It gave me security, my fears were evaporated by the nothingness enveloping me. Once, as I was hiding in a large chest, in which all our toys were located I nearly suffocated. I had climbed into it and had arranged well with the toys. There I lay surrounded by stuff, my legs deranged to fit. Others would have thought, ‘Oh my, how can anybody take up such a position, that must hurt’, but for me it didn’t. I was trained in the art of being a contortionist. The only problem was, that, as I wanted to get out of the chest, the lid wouldn’t open. I don’t know whether the lock had closed in the closing process or whether it just was too heavy for me. I started to hit the walls and called for my brothers and sisters, somebody had to be close by. After a while I calmed down as my breathing became more difficult by the rage and yelling. I lay completely motionless and pondered about two alternatives. Either somebody would come before I suffocated looking for something or somebody would come afterwards. In the second case I would be dead. Was this to be looked upon as extremely terrible or just as something that could happen once in a while? I decided that I was indifferent about it. Of course it would be sad for the life I had before me, but there was nothing to do about it. In this manner I lay there thinking about my own death. It was quite surprising how one keeps calm in a moment like that. I did not feel sorry for myself but just waited in the believe that what would happen was the right thing. I couldn’t influence my fate any longer anyhow. I just wondered what it would be like if I were dead. Would it be just like now, within the dark box in which nothing of the outer world would be sustainable? Here the own body dissolved and just floated as a soft feeling of remembrance. Any action was impossible, but that what remained of myself could think and follow any thought. Or maybe there would only be darkness, nothingness. Can nothing be black, as black itself is something. Imagining nothing made my head ache. I tried to grab it, but there was nothing to grab. In the nothingness of the box my tummy slowly began to understand what it was. It embraced oneself and was like suction at the same time, maybe like complete isolation. The box I was in suddenly was completely unrelated to the outside world. It was possible that the lid suddenly opened and I would step out at a different location, into a totally different world, the kid’s room would be gone… I suddenly heard footsteps approaching. They came closer only to stop right in front of my box. A grip, the sound of the lid opening, then a painfully blinding light hit my eyes. I blinked a few times. I was back. All that remained was this specific taste on my tongue.