Every photo tells a story – what happened before for this scene to be here now – that’s what I lie about  photos, not the stories they tell on the moment, but what has happened.


What’s left behind


The last belongings of refugees forced to flee? The last remounts of their lives, grabbed in blind panic in the middle of the night and now abandoned by the wayside, too heavy to carry?  What do you save when you have to save yourself?  Or  just someone who couldn’t be bothered to take his trash to the dumpster and so dumped it on the sidewalk?




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