berlin
collections of a city
01 | summer diaries
02 | films
03 | Maps
04 | writing
05 | journal
films
maps
writings
berlin, past present future
march 10 2020
I recognized my Berlin life before I even began to live it — this feeling of a lived-in solitude, darkness without gloom: rainy weekends with Rilke and Chopin, eating large slices of black forest cake, tending to an indoor garden of thorny plants, seeing no one, and feeling very good about it.
journal
i took a train from berlin to warsaw this past weekend — and sat twelve hours on the train, looking outside the window, where there were fields strewn with bright orange wildflowers (poppies?) and strips of purple. the trees were a foggy dark green. i sat in a compartment with four other people — all of us masked — and felt so hot and sweaty i could barely stand the feeling of my own hair. germans are not a fan of AC. okay, well, fine, then.
here is a flyer i saw on the street sometime last winter — on one of my daily zombie walks during that berlin winter which never seemed to end. here's the translation of this ad:
"We are looking for a home!
We — two educators - are looking for a quiet and bright 2-3 room apartment, preferably with a balcony. Vozagweise in Neukölln, Xberg, Schöneberg or Tempelhof up to a maximum of 1000 euros" —
email address: feelingofcominghome@gmail.com
spring weather in berlin, for me, is far more unbearable than winter. in winter you know it’s dark. but early spring in berlin consists of a tortured moodiness and inconsistent sun that will drive one crazy. that is to say, spring in berlin is a wise teacher for all the important lessons you need to learn in life: on endurance, patience, and grace in the face of sudden, drastic change. on living totally in the moment of the weather.
I’m playing an experiment for the next month or two — where I’ll do the opposite of a weather forecast.
3.11.21 — my life is just four parks & one cemetary
it’s time to start my ongoing map of berlin. I’ve been making illustrated maps of the cities I’ve loved since I was in college, when I started a project, wandermaps, to capture the world through my eyes.
now I feel like my entire website / webhouse / digital existence is an expanded version of the world through my eyes. this is what it means to be an artist, no?
3.11.2021 — the beginning of a map
since moving not-moving to berlin, I’ve been walking, nearly everyday, to this airfield park. it is the most expansive place I’ve been to in a big city, where the horizon stretches out in all directions, and you feel like you could be somewhere else, anywhere else. this is the magic of an airport — it is an in between space.