A blanket over Berlin

Julia Baier with the Leica M10 Monochrom

Everything is slowed down, frozen, unsettled.

Only the light, which is as clear and angular as ever at this time of year. Tender spring fever collides with the standstill of things. It's hard for me to pause. I am still allowed to take a walk, so I set out and look at my city. I recognize many things, but some things are strangely different. On the radio I hear the term "interspace competence", which is what we need now.

Dealing with the in-between. Resilience, that could be the word of the year. We are in a state of suspense, and the longer I roam through this reduced city, the more I enjoy the silence, the friendly nodding neighbours* at the windows, the loud chirping of the birds, the space on the sidewalks, the people with time. But they are also there: the musings, the feeling of being cut off from the rest of the world, the daily updated numbers. My father belongs to the risk group, I'm worried. When can I visit my parents again? What do you think distance and mistrust will do to us? Where are we steering?

There is a blanked of clouds over Berlin and maybe over the world, but fortunately they haven't fallen on my head yet. I try to keep it upright and let go, into this unusual floating state.