photographs from my new series: Washed Ashore (org.: Angeschwemmt), taken yesterday with Canon 500D, not edited, no filter. Dealing with the paradox of being both cast adrift and gently received by means of epistemology. // Washed Ashore Whirled upon the waves and washed to waiting shores, I slept in cradles woven out of white sea-foam. Mother, Father, without a compass you entrusted me to earth; and ever since I've sought the little lamp whose quiet flame could teach the night my name. Without its grace, the soul folds into itself like a flower at dusk, mistaking its own shadow for its home. [text and photograph by Elvin Karda]















