STILL HERE
Just before the world shut down in 2020, my own world quietly collapsed. I fell ill, and never truly recovered. While the city outside shifted into lockdown, I was already living in isolation — not for weeks or months, but for years.
From my window, the Berlin TV Tower stood tall. Not just a monument of steel and history, but a constant companion. I began to photograph it — not out of obsession, but out of need. In the silence of illness and the slowness of days, it became my way of saying: I exist.
There were month I couldn’t lift my camera, weeks I couldn’t leave my home. The world kept moving — sirens echoing through Kreuzberg, planes returning to the sky, double rainbows shared on screens. I could see it all, just not touch it. And yet, each photograph I managed to take was a thread — a fragile link between myself and a city I still loved.
This is not a project about the TV Tower. It’s about vanishing — and resisting that disappearance. About the aching grief of lost health, lost roles, lost relationships. It’s about the quiet strength it takes to keep watching the sky, to keep creating, even when no one is looking.
These images are my footprints in a time when I could barely move. A love letter to Berlin, to stillness, to the slow and tender act of survival. A record of presence, in a life lived mostly unseen. A gentle reminder: I’m still here
