The Couples of Berlin

I spend the weekend in Berlin. It was wonderful - the weather was fantastic (perhaps does not fit the classical definition of August summer since it was only in the low 20-s), people were out in the streets, clouds were trickling from one side of the horizon to the other (casting the dramatic shadow and the occasional contrast-lowering). I did sleep in on Saturday and I missed the golden light but in some areas of Berlin, the light gets reflected from all possible corders creating a caleidoscope of light, refracted in every window and every alley. It wasn't until late in the evening when I reviewed my pictures that I found out a pattern (pictures not fitting the pattern will also trickle in the blog this week).

What I hadn't realized is that I've been taking pictures of couples everywhere. And it wasn't until I send a few select pictures to a special someone that I realized the emerging pattern. Was this pattern guided by an inner desire to be sharing the exact moments those couples were going through with the special someone I shared the pictures with? Do the objects of our photographic views emerge only because we are actively looking for them? I thought to myself what happened to documentation of the unseen, unobtrusive, uninterfered. Where did objectivity in photography go? 

Berlin is a romantic location. The cafes that welcome couples. The street musicians who, as if hired by a film producers, fill the air with an operetic mood. The colours which, as if sucked up from the view, are soaked up in the viewed as if she's a painter.

The couples are oblivious to the street photographer who, like a voyaeur, scoops every bit of privacy into his pixels.

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