behind the fields and the forest, in the middle of the bogland, over the half-broken planks bridge stands the old forgotten mill east of Markt Schwaben.
museums are closed. museums are still there for the people. city is people. city is light at night. city is stone reshaped. under a soft mantle of snow. and a myriad footsteps tell stories. stories of people in the city.
this lens is a qualitative leap from the XF18mmF2 but at the cost of weight and size. The lens is specially sharper in the edges and the shorter 2mm focal distance opens up new compositional possibilities. I like to take it in photographic sorties inspired after something that I visualised before. I mount the lens and come back to the spot for experimenting: Like at the Maximiliansforum or at the banks of the Isar
Not being so large or heavy that impedes casual use, I would still prefer the smaller and lighter pancake XF18mmF2 for a hike or a ride. This lens is indeed a joy on a purposeful walk in the city or in the mountains like at Oberammergau, yet nothing stops me from taking it for a demanding winter hike at the Bayrischer Wald
in a warm summer afternoon the sky darkens suddenly and a storm rolls very fast over the 1972 Munich Olympic Games Regatta course taking some casual rowers by surprise. The course lays some 15Km north of Munich and it is declared a historical site.
The watching towers stand empty on the sides of the course. People jog or cycle around on rounds of some 4Km. A group of four young men does not take too much notice of the storm and keep jogging under the rain. Others take cover under the overhangs by the stores on the north side.
Two hours later the sun shows up to say good night lighting the poplars alley on the way back to the city.
gray low clouds lay heavily over the Graswangtal turning it into a more somber version of itself. The red tint of the iron rich river Ammer becomes omnius. The frozen marshes instill a disturbing quietness in the landscape. The tributary waters of the Ammer cross the snowed plains noiseless along the sinuous black river beds like signatures in a parchment.
if the weather plays nicely, the winter dry air and the low sun beams cast a dramatic view of the Alps seen from the Dreisessel in the Bayericher Wald. Almost at every second step one feels compelled to awe at the view. Having a camera on hands leads to a struggle to strip down and select what photographs best convei this feeling.
Since the majority of native townspeople–being of German origin– had to leave the city of Cesky Krumlov in the middle of the 20th Century and the soviet years ignored it with contempt, this jewel of European Renaissance, turned asian tourism Mecca, struggles to redefine its “raison d’être”.
As the sun sets in the evening the unlit windows of the old town in the foreground tell me a sad story of forfeited past. A city who lost its townspeople, and became an empty shell preserved with UNESCO funds to one day hopefully rekindle life.
Above a four lines street junction at the old city ring of Munich. Below the Maximiliansforum, an eerie space, with escalators that are not escalators, an under-passage that it is not quite one, an art exposition hidden behind graffiti smeared displays, a wet-floor sign over a very dry floor.
Argentorato stands on his basement atop an allegorical fountain of flowing rock among slabs of water and looks now south towards the sources of the Isar. Where were you looking towards before you came here?