The sand on the beaches here is white and glitters, the remnants of sea shells ground to dust. Cliffs are layer on layer of coloured sand stacked up and compressed to rock. Standing on the cliff, I can still recognise the pattern that the last tide left in the sand below.
I had been planning to write a blogpost about the time that Rico and I travelled to Orkney in 2016 and posting it now seems right. The memories that the photographs hold should not change because things are over. That is something I feel very strongly about, even though exactly that – treasuring these memories anyway – can often be difficult, especially during the time soon after the break-up when everything is still so raw and painful.
Dusk. Black wires stretched over our heads and we looked up trying to follow the paths to their origins. On the sides of the open area on the roof of the “Münster Theater” we found buttons on the ends of dangling wires. Pressing one of them meant setting off church bells others triggered other sounds. Sometimes it was difficult to differentiate between the sounds of the outside world or the noise created by the installation we were standing in.