Images

As a child, every year there were some rainy afternoons that we inevitably had to spend inside. We always ended up in my grandmother's 'good' room because it was the largest, and either played cards when there was more than a couple of us or we coloured some book or other, or, mostly when it was just me, I'd get into my grandmother's postcard and photo collections. 

 Florence          Padua

I guess that's were my love of any type of images stems from. I'd never get tired, year after year, of opening that heavy drawer, carefully taking out bundles of postcards, thumbing through them, delighting when stumbling over some of my favourites, rushing through Easter or Christmas cards or those showing me nothing but a flower or two, which I never really considered real postcards, simply because they never transported me somewhere else, in someone else's country or city or town or life, because they never really incited my imagination or gave life to questions in me. 

 

Budapest 1963

Edersee - Germany 1964

Even today I still keep those non-postcards separate from the real ones, and when I find one that stole its way into a stack of real ones it is swiftly removed and relegated to its place within the stack of so-called postcards.

Nazareth 1964

Venice