#winterjourney

Early morning 🩵✨️❄️

It's the time of the year where I want - I need - to draw a winter theme illustration ✨️😭

A deer with a child walking in the snow, breathing the pur air of the morning. Maybe there is some gifts in this mysterious bag? 🫎

4th August 2021 — Cyanotypes ala Talbot/Atkins

"A final test of the the paper negative process invented by Fox Talbot, used by me to produce cyanotypes - the photographic process famously mastered by Anna Atkins. My big breakthrough technique: developing my prints in a bath of water and vinegar. Mid-tones come out, dark areas are "sehr" Prussian blue, and the exposure time has been cut in half.

A Winter Journey

Winter Journey through Baden-Württemberg

Two weeks led my journey through Baden-Württemberg and its surrounding regions.

It is December, a time of retreat, muted colours, and slow steps. I spent a good week walking — through gentle hills, quiet vineyards, forests at rest, through places that breathe rather than speak.

I stayed in small private guesthouses, far from through traffic and busyness. In the evenings, I returned to homely hearths, to rooms with low ceilings, wood, warmth, and simple meals. In the wine-growing regions, winter had already stripped the vines bare; they stood like fine line drawings in the mist, restrained and concentrated. Everything was reduced to what is essential.

The highlight of this journey was Heidelberg — the city on the Neckar. It welcomed me with a quiet, winter-bright light. The river lay calmly in the valley, carrying the grey of the sky and reflecting a city that holds its history within itself.

A particular path led me upward: the Philosopher’s Way. A path that is more than a route. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Friedrich Hölderlin, Joseph von Eichendorff, Clemens Brentano, and Friedrich Scheffel once walked here — poets and thinkers who understood walking as a form of thinking.

It is said they saw the light differently up here. More permeable. Wider. As if the view into the valley opened the mind.

From the Philosopher’s Way also arose the image that preserves this moment: the view of Heidelberg Castle, lifting itself from the hillside, wrapped in mist, watchful and at the same time withdrawn. Beneath it, the rooftops of the city lie still, as if resting within the same breath.

The path itself was quiet. Damp leaves beneath my steps, bare branches, a gentle wind. Each step seemed a silent assent — to the landscape, to history, to one’s own present moment.

This journey was a walking inward. A lingering in winter, in transition, in simple being.

What remains is the feeling that places can speak when they are walked slowly enough, and that some paths do not lead to a destination, but to a way of being.

Travel notes, 5–14 December 2025

A fierce winter storm raged through the mountains, howling winds whipping snowflakes into the air. A lone traveler trudged through the blizzard, his steps slow and heavy, each one a battle against the freezing cold. His cloak was soaked, his boots nearly buried in the ever-deepening snow. The path had disappeared hours ago, swallowed by the relentless storm.

His body ached with exhaustion, and just as he thought he could go no further, a faint light caught his eye. Through the snow, barely visible, flickered the warm glow of a candle. Intrigued, he stumbled toward it, his heart quickening with hope.

The candle stood alone on a small stone pedestal, a soft flame dancing despite the howling wind. Its light, pure and steady, seemed to cut through the storm, guiding the way forward. He reached out, instinctively sheltering it from the wind as he approached. There was no one in sight, only the vast, snow-covered wilderness surrounding him.

Curious, the traveler stepped closer, and as he did, the snow seemed to soften beneath his feet. The cold that had clung to his bones began to melt away, replaced by an inexplicable warmth. The ground, once icy and harsh, had turned smooth and inviting, leading him toward a grove of ancient trees. Their trunks were covered in shimmering frost, but they stood tall and unbowed, as if protecting something sacred.

He followed the light of the candle until, at last, the storm seemed to vanish altogether. The wind quieted, the snow ceased to fall, and before him appeared a hidden sanctuary. It was a glade unlike any he had ever seen—glowing with an ethereal light that seemed to come from the earth itself. A crystal-clear pond reflected the stars above, and delicate flowers bloomed in the most unlikely of places, their petals shimmering in the candlelight.

At the center of the glade stood a small, humble cottage, its windows aglow with warmth and life. The door opened, and an old woman stepped out, her face soft with a knowing smile.

“You have followed the light,” she said gently, her voice like the rustling of leaves. “Welcome to the sanctuary. Here, weary travelers find rest, and those lost in the storm find their way.”

The traveler, overwhelmed with awe, looked back toward the storm. But it was gone. The world was still and quiet, wrapped in a peaceful calm. He had wandered far from the familiar, yet in this magical place, he felt at home.

The woman gestured for him to enter, and as he stepped inside the cottage, the warmth of the fire embraced him, the smell of herbs and wildflowers filling the air. The candle, still burning brightly, had led him here, to a place where time seemed to slow, and the chaos of the world outside could not touch him.

And so, the traveler found sanctuary, not just from the storm, but from the burdens he had carried for so long. He sat by the fire, the flickering candle casting gentle shadows on the walls, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to rest.