barfuß.
An adjective that describes my childhood in a small village in southern Germany with no more than 65 people. A village on a dead end road at the edge of a forest. What a place to grow up in.
For me, being home means to me being barefoot. To know every square meter of our property by the bare feeling of my feet on the ground. A feeling I will never have again except at home.
This series is an attempt to make my memories come alive in my pictures. Watching my father cleaning the stable of our horses. Singing out loud in fear as I walked to my uncle's farm with our milk can in hand, darkness surrounding me. There was only one streetlight in those days. Helping my mother clean the bathroom. Picking coloured grape leaves with my sister in October for our mother's birthday decoration. Ice-skating on the tiny frozen lake in the middle of the forest.
I'm not just trying to capture my subjective memories. I'm also following my nieces and nephews around this place I call home. And now it is their home. A new generation. New eyes and ears. A new perspective for me to see home not just as I saw it. But how they see it now.