I’ve been looking around the house and checking out what angle I could shoot for the “Home” theme. But it just wouldn’t be right, because this house is not my home. Not yet, anyway. I don’t feel at home in it, although it’s getting better, and I’m getting used to it.
So the only photo I can publish for the home subject is one from my photo archives, taken in my previous apartment, where I still feel my home is.
In the end she could only remember two tunes, and she would play them several times a day, because she’d forget that she’d played them already.
The tiled ceramic stove had not been working for decades, only used for keeping useful stuff at hand. Old and worn items mixed with new modern ones. The kitsch of the floral folk ornaments and the simplicity of square tiles. Everything exactly as she had left it, as it had always been, as long as I can remember.
When sometimes I wake up too suddenly to know where I am, my first thought is that I’m there. Crocheted lamp covers, huge window letting in a lot of light, brown and green, warm and sleepy. My grandma’s bedroom.
Cropping Reality 