MENTAL BERLIN
INTRO
Documented cartography of my errances.
WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?
My collection of construction site photos grew while I was delivering organic baskets by electric cargo-bike in Berlin. Although I often fancied the materials and the various arrangements of colors, the rubble and barriers quickly started to annoy me -how many roads were blocked, how many jackhammers drilled into my ears? Especially the wide-eyed workers smoking their cigarettes, checking me out from head to toe, gave me the strange feeling of invading the privacy of a semi-public space, a place in progress, where only they knew the terrain and spoke the language. “What are you looking at?” they seemed to ask. Instead, I got salacious smiles or disapproving looks. In both delivery work and construction sites, a woman is either a target of mockery or an object of desire. Taking photos despite this is a way of reclaiming my body and asserting my right to the space I move in. Guys, what are you looking at?
What are you carrying around ?
Her emotional baggage.
It looks heavy. Who’s carrying yours ?
BERLIN DIGGING
ITS OWN GRAVE
Au bout du rouleau.
Funny enough, I took these pictures a couple of years before I was actually hired by the company settling later in those buildings. Hired, then fired – jackpot!
Indeed, after three months of struggling to get to work on time due to insomnia, nightmares and sicknesses, they decided I wasn’t reliable enough for the team. I tried hard. It wasn’t my dream job and I didn’t really belong there, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. By the end of my probation, I was doing much better than at the beginning, but it still wasn’t enough for them, which I understand.
Nevertheless, that job and the steps I took meant a lot to me – having an interview in the first place, being hired after months of unemployment, being part of a team, establishing a routine, having a decent salary, networking in my field, attending meetings, dressing up in the morning, overcoming social anxiety and talking to people, having colleagues to gossip about with friends.
When I got fired, it felt like my efforts hadn’t been appreciated or valued. I was thrust back into the cycle of job applications, receiving no responses from employers, having no salary and struggling with depression, feeling like the world was moving on while I was back at square one.
I wasn’t back at square one though. During an art event at this work place, I had the opportunity to exhibit my construction site photos. The feedback was enthusiastic, and two people even bought pictures. Knowing that others found them aesthetic and interesting made me consider sharing my work with a wider audience.
The time had come to bring this collection of photos together, along with my texts, thoughts and stories.
Unfinished Duet
At first there were too many branches
so he cut them and then it was winter.
He meaning you. Yes. He would look out
the window and stare at the trees that once
had too many branches and now seemed
to have too few. Is that all? No, there were
other attempts, breakfasts: plates served,
plates carried away. He doesn’t know
what to do with his hands. He likes the feel
of the coffeepot. More than the hacksaw?
Yes, and he likes flipping the chairs,
watching them fill with people. He likes
the orange juice and toast of it, and waxed
floors in any light. He wants to be tender
and merciful. That sounds overly valorous.
Sounds like penance. And his hands?
His hands keep turning into birds and
flying away from him. Him being you.
Yes. Do you love yourself? I don’t have to
answer that. It should matter. He has a
body but it doesn’t matter, clean sheets
on the bed but it doesn’t matter. This is
where he trots out his sadness. Little black
cloud, little black umbrella. You miss
the point: the face in the mirror is a little
traitor, the face in the mirror is a pale
and naked hostage and no one can tell
which room he’s being held in. He wants
in, he wants out, he wants the antidote.
He stands in front of the mirror with a net,
hoping to catch something. he wants to
move forward into the afternoon because
there is no other choice. Everyone in this
room got here somehow and everyone in
this room will have to leave. So what’s left?
Sing a song about the room we’re in?
Hammer in the pegs that fix the meaning
to the landscape? The voice wants to be
a hand and the hand wants to do something
useful. What did you really want? Someone
to pass this with me. You wanted more.
I want what everyone wants. He raises
the moon on a crane for effect, cue the violins. That’s what the violins are for. And yes,
he raises the moon on a crane and scrubs it
until it shines. So what does it shine on?
Nothing. Was there no one else? Left-handed
truth, right-handed truth, there’s no pure
way to say it. The wind blows and it makes
a noise. Pain makes a noise. We bang on
the pipes and it makes a noise. Was there
no one else? His hands keep turning into
birds, and his hands keep flying away
from him. Eventually the birds must land.
—Richard Siken, Crush
À QUOI SERVENT CES
GRANDS ÉDIFICES ?
IL FAUT ÊTRE STUPIDE
POUR VOULOIR
ÉGALER LE CIEL
–Clara Dupond-Monod, “La passion selon Juette” (2007)
CONVERGENCE DES LUTTES
Context: it has been 10 years that I am in contact with a photographer and we regularly exchange news via What’s App. He asked once how is my Berlin life going and I sent him this picture as an answer.
Lately, I am reflecting a lot on our relationship. As I grow, I get to see the problematic aspects of it.
~English below~
Est-ce que c’est normal de se demander si tu bandes pendant que tu me prends en photo ? J’ai demandé à ma sœur : elle y pensait, elle aussi ? « Non, en revanche je me suis déjà dit qu’il se masturbait peut-être en faisant le tri plus tard, devant son ordinateur. » Je m’en suis voulu à l’époque, je mettais ça sur le compte de « pensées intrusives ». Je me trouvais parano, obsédée. Je comprends aujourd’hui ce n’était pas de ma faute, mais de la tienne.
—ENGLISH
Is it normal to wonder if you’re getting a hard-on while you’re taking my picture? I asked my sister: was she thinking about it too? “No, but on the other hand, I’ve already thought that he might be masturbating while sorting things out later, in front of his computer.” I blamed myself at that time, putting it down to “intrusive thoughts”. I thought I was paranoid, obsessed. I understand now that it wasn’t my fault, but yours.
She said yes for everything !
Back to square one.
I hate Alexanderplatz but at least the cranes are sexy.
PROUD BERLIN
She said
I must kill my darlings.
40 CBM (cubic meters) of earth from the Iberian peninsula
From Santiago Sierra, Hamburger Bahnhof, 2022
Santiago Sierra had 40 cubic meters of soil excavated from construction sites in Bilbao shipped to Berlin in plastic bags, known as “big bags”.
The provenance of the material from the Spanish real-estate industry points to a shift of power in Europe’s economic structure.
Some regions, such as the Iberian peninsula, find themselves devaluated to the advantage of other regions or countries, especially Germany.
New migration movements are set in motion, a phenomenon that the soil’s journey retraces.
The distressed countries of Southern Europe now prepare their assets for shipping. They put their human capital and public property on the market at a discount and hand over control of systematically relevant infrastructures to investors.
These bigs bags represent the sell-out of someone’s living environment and self-determination. And indeed, of national sovereignty.
Source: https://kow-berlin.com/exhibitions/40-m3-of-earth-from-the-iberian-peninsula
IN BETWEEN
PLACES
The well of loneliness.
One of the first things I told you is how your face reminded me the way I pictured the main character of “The well of loneliness”, by Radclyffe Hall.
We just started dating ❤
kein Бок
It’s interesting to notice that the more I’m healing, the less I remember where I took pictures of construction sites.
I’ve had memory lapses since I was diagnosed with depression about three years ago. People often remind me of moments, stories, or places, and for a couple of minutes, I have no idea what they’re talking about. Time feels blurry, with periods merging or disappearing entirely. Yet, during that same time, I could recall every construction site photo I took: how I felt, who I was with, and what the rest of my day was like. There wasn’t any clear purpose behind it – it wasn’t even a real project.
Looking back, those pipes, bricks, and metal wires provided a sense of structure when my life felt unsteady. They were something to hold onto, something tangible, when my emotions were too confusing to handle. Passing by the same areas, I could see buildings grow and take form, while my very own development had no rhythm or reason. As those buildings rose higher, I couldn’t even figure out which land I belonged to or the ground I could safely stand my feet on.
Nowadays, I continue taking photos but I sometimes forget the exact moments and places behind them. It’s unsettling, even scary: those pictures were my companions, and forgetting them feels like betraying them, abandoning them. I guess I’m doing better, therefore I’ve slowly found new things to hold onto and build my life around.
Maybe this isn’t the end of that little project, but its beginning: after years, I finally give it a shape and I can see what it meant to me. In the end, even in chaos, there’s a guiding thread.
Wie viel Uhr ist es ?
– Die Dreigroschenoper, Brecht
Trying hard to stay optimistic
in this dark world.
I got an email from my dad – the first in a long time. By coincidence, I happened to take this picture that same day. Despite what the message said, seing his name in my inbox didn’t make me shake and cry the way it would have a year or two ago. On the following days, I did not break down or feel like I could not get out of bed, heavy like a stone, forgetting to eat. I didn’t have insomnia or bad dreams either. To my surprise, I felt mostly fine -just a little frustrated because what he wrote seemed completely off-point, given everything that’s happened. But, in the end, I was okay.
Step by step, I’m finding my way out.
Step by step, I’m healing.
SCHÜTZEN
It was on her birthday.
SHALLOW BUT YELLOW
Still Wedding,
but different.
HAPPY NEW YEAR 2025 !
Au moins il a choisi.
Heureusement qu’il fait beau.
— There is a comfort in knowing that after dawn comes the morning, that after each Winter comes Spring, after the rain comes the sun. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of Nature. An insurance that after the darkness there will always be light. —
I told her that he left two letters for me.
Marzahn mon amour
HAPPY PRIDE MONTH !
Last time my brother visited me was 4 years ago. I am so proud of the person he is and he becomes.
Schritt für Schitt
mental metal 