Time Capsules ∞

Capsule of Time: A Note from the River

On June 14, 2018, at 11:40 AM, I was drifting along the River Elbe in Hamburg, my Camera Obscura Boat gently rocking with the current and waves. The Elbphilharmonie stood before me at Sandtorhafen, its glass structure catching the midday light, reflecting like a shimmering mirage against the water.

I’d been working on my Motiongraph series with my mobilized Camera Obscura vehicles since 2014, but that day felt different—there was a quiet energy in the air, a sense of possibility, a perfect symbiosis of man and machine.

I set up my Camera Obscura, using two sheets of chromogenic paper to capture the scene directly on color paper as negatives. The result was Motiongraph #140, a pair of unique works, each measuring 127 x 204 cm (50.5 x 80.31 inches). The blurred, sepia-toned images—split across two perspectives—seem to vibrate with motion, as if the Elbphilharmonie itself was swaying with the river.

I remember the distant hum of the city, the faint calls of seagulls overhead, and the way the light danced on the building’s angular lines. It was just me, the river, and my Camera Obscura Boat, lost in the act of creation.

Looking back, this piece feels like a timestamp of a moment when I was fully immersed in my craft. The Elbphilharmonie, with its bold architecture, became a symbol of innovation that day, mirroring the experimental spirit of my work.

Those two negatives hold more than an image—they hold the memory of an immersive morning on the Elbe, where I felt the world fade away, leaving only the rhythm of the river and the pulse of my heart.

Capsule of Time: Chasing Vincent’s Spirit

On July 14, 2023, at 9:59 AM, I found myself in Camargue, France—that magical place where land meets sea, where the light carries something ancient and alive. I had come searching for Van Gogh’s trees, carrying my 8x10 Walking Camera, a setup I shoot from the belly to reach places my larger mobilized Camera Obscuras can’t access.

The trees stood like ancient guardians along a quiet path, their branches weaving a tunnel of light and shadow. There was something about them—the way they bent, the way they reached toward the sky—that reminded me of Vincent’s swirling, passionate brushstrokes. I could almost feel his presence there, as if his spirit had settled into the landscape itself.

I positioned myself, lowering the camera to belly height, feeling the ground beneath my feet. With my signature 8-second exposure—always 8 seconds, my personal window to hold a moment—I captured the scene directly onto a unique chromogenic paper negative. When I work, I invert the colors in my head, imagining how the light will transform on the paper. It’s a kind of pre-visualization that requires me to see the world backwards, to trust the chemistry and the light.

The colors came alive in ways I hadn’t fully anticipated: reds bleeding into oranges, pinks melting into purples and dark browns, creating a dreamlike tapestry that felt both surreal and deeply familiar. It was as if Van Gogh’s spirit had whispered through the landscape, guiding the light, shaping the image. The atmosphere was misty, mysterious, alive with possibility.

This photograph became one of the first and most special pieces in my ongoing series “Looking for Van Gogh’s Trees,” which I started in 2023. Creating it felt like stepping into a timeless dance with light—a moment of pure joy that reminded me why I do what I do. It embodied everything I want to share with the world: the wonder of seeing through pure perception, unfiltered and full of curiosity, like a child’s gaze.

That day in Camargue was about balance—the balance between motion and stillness that lets me chase time while capturing its essence. Standing there with my Walking Camera, shooting from the belly while the world moved around me, I felt connected to something larger: to Vincent’s legacy, to the centuries of artists who’ve tried to capture light’s fleeting magic, to the eternal dance between presence and memory.

This piece later traveled to Arles for my exhibition “Le monde flottant” at Anne Clergue Galerie, returning to the very region that inspired Van Gogh himself. The journey felt complete—from that morning in Camargue, through the chemistry of the darkroom, onto gallery walls in the city where Vincent created some of his most passionate work.