What color is longing?
The longing for the distance or even for a place that is very far away and yet very close – right in the heart.
A city full of life, can you feel its very own pulse at every corner, what color, what mood does it carry? Can you smell, feel this mood when looking at the photos? Do the photos reflect all that?
The morbid charm of West Hollywood, the stores with hippie clothes, the Hollywood Sign above the city in the sunset: for me orange, gold, ocher.
The light green palm leaves in front of Art Deco facades, broken asphalt of the streets in Miami – green, yellow, light blue.
Always some streets away from the spotlights and from the mainstream. Mentally too. There, where you can feel the everyday life of a city. Details. Capture that one moment that will never come back.
Stylistic devices are deliberately shots of the iPhone ready at any time. I don’t move through my world like a photographer, or like a tourist. I am invisible and document – sometimes at passing by, sometimes at waiting ten minutes until people disappear from the picture. Each picture tells a story in itself.
But who wants, can also hear one from me about each picture. What was before the photo, what was after? Because pictures bundle in themselves the whole moment, which goes far beyond the pictured subject, the whole city, the whole day, my mood.
Even before I begin my journey, I decide what filter will it have. And this filter is definitely co-determining how I experience the trip.
I have to build a relationship with that place. Through my past, through people. And it is this relationship what the viewer feels.
I am never concerned with technique in my photographs. Complicated technology would destroy the spontaneity of the moment. Because the “moment”- in the truest sense of the word – is important: seeing a subject, recognizing it and then framing the picture. At that moment it can’t be any technique or any kind of professionalism between the subject of the picture and myself.
Even if it is only a little star made of glitter that a clown has just lost on the sidewalk: a perfect technique would arouse the suspicion that the scene has been constructed. And that’s exactly what my photos are not, but an excerpt from life.
Do I imagine these places in a certain way and photograph only what fits into this idea, expectation? Do I only want to have my longing confirmed? I don’t even know. And if I do. They are my photos, my travels, my experiences. But anyone who wants to dive into them is welcome.
To see the world through my eyes. And maybe even through my heart.
– Ralph Hasenohr
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