The dead are among us. Always, all the time.
I trace the lives and deaths of my ancestors. I map their names, positions and characteristics. Over several centuries, since the beginning of history with the capital G.
My German Arboretum is my family tree.
Inheritances become visible in the family tree: professions, habits, talents, illnesses.
'Short' stories take place in its branches; stories of violence, seduction, disappointment and secrets.
Secrets that are passed on cannot be real secrets at all and act like a slow poison for those who follow.
Do I have to follow my ancestors?
Must I unconsciously or consciously repeat their decisions and pass them on in a perhaps fatal way?
A festering paradox: the knowledge of the past is both my wound and my protection.
The dead are among us. Always.