Rebekka Deubner – tempête après tempête

And storms after storms
Uniting continents to the sea
Tying with secret chaines,
effects, causes of the universe.
Blinding lightnings gild
These scenes of destruction.
(Archangel Michel in ‘Faust’ by Goethe)

I’ve been meeting you through a strip of land, called Fukushima-ken – 福島県 – emerging of the Pacific ocean. The scenery I am wandering around is made of water and cells – randomly forming pink-whitish seaweed, shiny epidermis, teeming caves, narrow pupils, raven hair. Shamelessly I’m strolling around the offered pieces of the landscape’s body. Hidden behind my telephoto lens, I am gazeating every detail of it, responding to an urge to feel and seize all the shapes emerging from the still fertile breach of a disaster and its offspring.

Keiko, Natsumi, Hayato, Hitoshi, Junka, Hisashi and AsamiIf I am lucky, your defense caves in and I’ll get close, collecting scattered pieces of you and soft gestures – a face revolving – a folding hand – lips opening – a winking eyelid – my pictures become the films stills of a slow sequence shot which wasn’t filmed. Suggesting the missing images from the in-between, calling out to us to fill the gaps while the nocturnal fauna of the sea is swarming through the seaweed, feeding itself on the leftovers of the wave(s).

104 pages, 23 × 32 cm, softcover, Art Paper Editions (Ghent).