I have found these pictures in Budapest in the garbage. More than by the photographs I was moved by their story. A man and a woman emigrate, as my parents did. Photographs and probably letters are sent back to their country of origin. Pictures from America. Pictures from America in Hungary. Somebody dies. Memories become worthless, become a nuisance and are thrown away.
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Fiona Tan/ displaced
„I gather together impressions and snapshots like an amateur biologist in the nineteenth century would collect butterflies. Type, archetype, stereotype. An irrational desire for order,; or at least fort he illusion thereof. However I am constantly reminded that all my attempts at systematical order must be arbitrary, idiosyncratic and- quiet simply- doomed to fail.“
Hans-Peter Feldmann/ All the clothes of a woman
Looking at his photographs, I almost come to believe his words, that he is looking for the average, thus sorting out the better images, (something I never would do).