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You’ve just stepped out of the world of everyday noise and into a place of peace and quiet.

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Is it one of the bird photos that caught your eye? Is it its stillness, its movement, something in its gaze?

 

And now that you’ve scanned the code, curious to know more. Welcome!

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These photos weren’t taken in a rush. They’re the result of long, quiet hours in forests, wetlands, and hidden places, where I was watching, waiting, and slowly tuning in to the deep rhythm of nature. Not just to photograph, but to become one with the world, to enter that rare, still space where everything slows down and sharpens at once. Where presence replaces thought.

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I call that space the Zero Point. It’s a state of mind that I believe we all need more of, especially in a world that constantly pulls us in a hundred directions. Photography became my way there. I hope that these images will help you get there, too.

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This exhibition is about attention, connection, and the healing quiet that nature offers us, when we let it.

Scroll down to explore the stories behind the images. Each one has its own little universe.

 

I’m glad you’re here.

Eastern Yellow Robin

1 YELLOW ROBIN

Golden autumn isn’t native in Australia. Someone had to plant it.

Autumn in Australia doesn't turn gold … unless European trees were brought in. I had my eye on a certain park where they’d been planted long ago. When the leaves finally flared, I went looking for a Yellow Robin. One that would match the gold of the trees.

And there he was. Curious, playful, hopping from a branch to branch, watching me watching him. Always posing. I led him to the tree I’d chosen. There he rewarded me with the perfect shot, framed by gold.  

2 BEE APPROACHING FLOWER

​When I was a kid, bees were everywhere. Now I have to hunt for them.

Spring used to hum with bees in every blossom, buzzing like background music. Back then I barely noticed. These days, the silence stings. 

That silence led me to something I wasn’t sure I could do: capture bees in flight. It’s harder than you think – erratic movement, no straight line, never still. I practiced for years.

And then it happened. One perfect moment: mid-air, sharp focus, framed just right. A bee, suspended in time, in a frame, and in my memory.

Biene nähert sich einer Löwenzahnblüte
Komadori (Rotkehlnachtigall) Hokkaido Japan

3 KOMADORI

I heard him before I saw him, his song slicing through the morning cold.

In the stillness of Hokkaido’s dawn, the Komadori sang like a flute from high in the trees. I stood frozen, scanning branches, chasing a sound far too loud for such a small bird. Just after sunrise, he gave me this photo. But it’s the sound that stayed with me.

4 SAKURA BRANCH

This blossom bloomed in Australia – even if everything about it feels like Japan.

Each spring, these Cherry trees – Sakura – flower near my Australian home. And each spring, my mind drifts back to Japan: to its seasons, its silence, its old ways. I once lived there, studied there, absorbed its rhythm, culture, and arts.

This branch, framed against a white sky, became a quiet homage. A still moment held between two worlds. Australia blooming, Japan fading into autumn.

Sakura Branch
Urban Geometry with bike Brixen

5 URBAN GEOMETRY BRIXEN

I was waiting for a bus. The city gave me a floating bicycle.

Bolzano, in the Dolomites. Waiting for a bus, the city handed me a floating bicycle, framed by a Mondrian-like wall. No tricks. No Photoshop. Just a lucky angle, some quirky geometry, and a city that briefly forgot how realism works.

This photo is part of my Urban Geometry series – a collection of moments when cities turn playful, almost staged. 

It still makes me smile every time I see it. Maybe it’ll do the same for you.

6 AUGSBURG UNTER DEM BOGEN

I had the frame. I needed the right people to walk into it.

In Augsburg, Unter dem Bogen, I stood waiting. I had the frame in mind and needed the passerby. Light, lines, symmetry were all there. But the human balance had to be right. Too many, and it would collapse into clutter. Too few, and it would feel empty.

Then they come, perfectly placed, unknowingly part of something more than just a stroll along the street. I clicked.

Later, the photo whispered it wasn’t finished. So I painted it, guiding it gently into a dream. Part photograph, part memory, part painting.

Fotogemälde Augsburg Unter dem Bogen
Bootshaus aus Holz am Starnberger See

7 BOATHOUSE STARNBERG

Most photos come from faraway. This one came from just down the road.
I took this photo for my Starnberg exhibition. The other images were from distance places; I needed something familiar – something the locals could connect with.

Before dawn, I stood at the lake’s edge. The air was still. Then light began to spill, first across the sky, then over the water, finally brushing the old boathouse. Cormorants passed overhead. A blackbird started singing. Morning had broken.

8 AUSTRALIAN SPRING

Every spring, they come to the cherry blossom. I still don’t know why.

In a garden near my home in Australia, Sakura bloom just as Japan slips into autumn. The blossom lasts only days, but during that brief window, Wattlebirds arrive. Native Australians, drawn to these Japanese trees as if they’d always belonged. 

As the cherry flowers produce no nectar, I don’t know why they come.

Maybe, like us, they just want to take part in the Hanami.

Wattlebird in Sakura Tree
Eine Kirschblüte - Sakura

9 SAKURA FLOWER

In a city bursting with blossom, one flower waited alone.
During the Hanami festival in Japan, I wandered away from the crowded celebrations and the noise. Down a quiet path, I found a single flower on an otherwise bare branch.

In a world full of flowers, this one brought to life Williams Blake’s immortal lines: 

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower …

This photo is that moment. Small, quiet, infinite.

10 CRUISING SPEED

Two days on the river. One frame that made it all worth it.

After a birdwatchers’ cruise on the Hawkesbury River in Australia, I knew I had to return. Alone. I rented a dinghy, found a promising spot below the cliffs, and waited. 

Sea eagles came and went. But something was always wrong. Wrong angle. Wrong light. Wrong timing.

Then, at last: a juvenile sea eagle, the colour of the rocks, glided past a sandstone wall. Wings fully outstretched, light just right, background clean.

One click. Two days for one perfect second.  

Sea Eagle crusing along the Rocks at the Hawkesbury River Australia

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