Winter War, 2011.
64 x 80 cm,
C-print on aluminium.
Ed. 5 + 2 a.p.
My grandfather had a photo album with small black-and-white pictures of war. Many of them featured landscapes, some had people in them. Young men, smiling, sitting in a cabin wearing uniforms or lounging by the river. When I was a child I was enchanted by my grandparents’ way of marking the passed ones into the pictures by drawing a small cross over them. Death seemed to linger like a dark omen, looming over the persons still smiling in the photographs.
In one photograph it was winter. My grandfather stared at the camera and stood frozen, leaning away from something that I could not fathom out. There was some kind of lump and barbed wire. A body was hanging from the wire, covered with snow. Who had taken this picture, where and why? Why was my grandfather looking so horrified? He must have seen much more corpses in war. No matter how long or how close I stared at the photo I could not make out what it was. Neither did I dare to ask. My grandfather never spoke about war.
Later I browsed through the same album, left to my mother after grandfather had died. The photo was gone.