Rebekka Deubner
[Gent]: Art Paper Editions, 2021.

“I’ve been meeting you through a strip of land, called Fukushima-ken emerging of the Pacific ocean. The scenery I am wandering around is made of water and cells — randomly forming pink-whitish seaweed, shiny epidermis, teeming caves, narrow pupils, raven hair. Shamelessly I’m strolling around the offered pieces of the landscape’s body. Hidden behind my telephoto lens, I am gazeating every detail of it, responding to an urge to feel and seize all the shapes emerging from the still fertile breach of a disaster and its offspring. Keiko, Natsumi, Hayato, Hitoshi, Junka, Hisashi and AsamiIf I am lucky, your defense caves in and I’ll get close, collecting scattered pieces of you and soft gestures — a face revolving — a folding hand — lips opening — a winking eyelid — my pictures become the films stills of a slow sequence shot which wasn’t filmed. Suggesting the missing images from the in-between, calling out to us to fill the gaps while the nocturnal fauna of the sea is swarming through the seaweed, feeding itself on the leftovers of the wave(s).” (publisher’s blurb)