By Michelle Keim


“I moved to Berlin several years ago, for love.

I explored the vast, cold, monumental city under the shield of a warm heart. But Berlin is a chimera—it seems one way but then turns out another. It gives, then takes away. It looks like something but then reveals a different side altogether.

Time passed and eventually the love had flown away. I had nothing more to protect me but my sadness.

I would casually take pictures when I would go out, wandering alone. In Berlin, you find what you need at night. It was in those moments that I really lived—with the flickering lights, strange encounters, and the many sounds of the city that never sleeps.

Over time, I started planning my photographs more carefully. I was curious what else I would find in this spectral hour. I would go out before dawn, taking multiple trips to a specific place, chasing the first light. Or I would stroll the empty streets aimlessly. The light that appeared on the edge between night and day was always a beautiful burst of colour, before everything would fade out and the normality of the day would remind me of my real self. In this light, I found everything I ever wanted: passion, love—peace.”

Gergana Petrova

“I work with the limits of photography, and play with its indicial character. Thus, this work presents images of an island that I have never visited and of which there are only a very few representations.

This body of images is built around my fantasies as a Westerner about the Japanese island of Oshima, home of the Gojira monster. In Japanese movies from the 1960s, this prehistoric lizard served both as a metaphor of the United States and an allegory of nuclear weapons in general. The frightening beast was the product of nuclear testing and embodied the fear of numerous Japanese people towards the bombings that occurred in 1945.

This series deals with my personal vision of the island through its myths, its history and its landscapes. By means of assembly, editing and collage, I am able to create the right image of a place I have never been to. In my work, I especially try to focus on questions of scale and proportion, which is a way of reminding us that the atomic bomb connects the very small to the very powerful.

Each picture offers no context at all: an air strike and simple darts, a sunset or bomb hitting the ground, tourists bathing in a corner of the sea, and victims of a shipwreck caused by the monster. This work uses a variety of styles and cultural references to sketch the outlines of the island of Oshima, home to the Gojira monster, and its history.”

Marie Quéau