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 you any bullshit. But they talk to me. In silence.
My problem as a kid was that my parents lived in the North German plain. No rocks there. Cows and green pastures as far as the eye could see.
What saved my rock love were the vacations we spent with my grandmother. She lived in the Harz mountains. I fell in love with one mountain. The path to the top lead you through a forest with boulders the size of a family house. I always wondered who might have carried these rocks to the top of this mountain.
When I started travelling on my own I discovered Scotland for me. It had not only rocks but they were even on the shore of the Atlantic. The Scottish west coast, the outer Hebrides brought it all together. Rocks, wind, waves, the colours of rocks and lichens, the changing light.
I have come back many times since the late 1970s. Many rocks have become my friends. They are there. I visit them. They seem to be immutable. But that is a very anthropocentric way of looking at them. They just live in a different world where the time ticks with a different rhythm. When you sit on the coast of the Island of Harris and the wind drives waves, light, clouds and colours to the coast, you can feel the rhythm of time.
The series "fluid rocks" tries to capture the fluidity of time, light, colours and rocks. The photos were taken at the end of the day, when the fading light allowed for long handheld exposures. The long exposure times were paired with an underexposed flash and camera movements to bring the rocks alive.