Halb. Abgeteilt. Getrennt.
Wo eine Hälfte ist, muss ein eine zweite geben. Bei diesem Projekt war mir Lastivka behilflich.
The Mirror Learns to Speak
A fragment from a series in progress—
an exploration of narcissism not as vanity,
but as a fracture in perception.
Where the body seeks confirmation,
the reflection answers with invention.
Where the gaze looks for certainty,
the mirror returns a question.
This work is not about admiration—
it is about dependence,
about the quiet negotiations
between longing and illusion.
A study of how we watch ourselves—
and how, eventually,
the watching begins to watch back.
Teilnehmer: Model Emerika
Memories fade but the scars still linger
During the last solstice when the days where long, I spent time in the Finnish archipelago, a place of solitude and freedom. During these days a reconnected with some songs of my childhood, and escaped modern life.
Memories fade by Tears for Fears, Album The Hurting 1983:
There's only need
I love your need
So much I'm losing me
I cannot see the reason for the Pain
With hungry joy
I'll be your toy
Just hoping you will play
Without hope my body starts to fail
Memories fade but the scars still linger
Goodbye my friend
Will I ever love again
Memories fade but the scars still linger
I cannot grow
I cannot move
I cannot fell my age
The vice like grip of tension holds me fast
Engulfed by you
What can I do
When History's my cage
Look foward to a future in the past
The more I talk
The more I say
The less you seem to hear
I'm speechless in a most peculiar way
Your mind is weak
Your need is great
And nothing is too dear
For you to use to take the Pain away
Memories Fade
No don't pretend you can justify the end
Memories fade but the scars still linger
The bird remembers the sky
She never asked for wings—
only for a place to hold her breath
until the light returned.
Feathers against skin,
shadow against bone,
a pause between falling
and flight.
Some bodies crouch
before they rise.
Some silences
are rehearsals for the wind.
Censorship
This collection depicts censorship
whether censorship in traditional or modern societies
whether complete or partial deletion
Where the Light Touches First
Sometimes closeness doesn’t begin in the hands,
but in the hesitation before them.
A body holding itself
not to hide—
but to speak without speaking.
Here, skin becomes a threshold,
light becomes invitation,
and a sideways glance becomes a question
that needs no answer.
Somewhere between retreat and opening
lives a single breath of courage.
And maybe that is already enough.
Im Boho-Set
Im Atelierhaus Scheffelstraße, Wuppertal gibt es immer wieder Tage der Offenen Tür mit Ausstellungen und Aktionen. Dazu zählen auch Schaushootings in speziell gestalteten Sets. Auch bei den Events, wie beim Wuppshoot-Event gibt es solche Aktionen.
Hoier zeigt sich Ariel im Set eines Events mit dem Outfit von Lemas Creations
Instinct, Folded Inward
She stands where shadow tightens its grip,
arms crossed not to hide, but to listen.
The body remembers what language forgets:
the quiet weight of instinct,
the tenderness of restraint,
the animal patience of becoming.
Antlers curve like thoughts that never fully leave the mind —
present, hovering, protective.
Not a pose, but a pause.
Not surrender, but concentration.
A moment where strength turns inward
and waits.
Between Presence and Absence
A body before it remembers itself. A pause where intention forgets to hold on. Not the pose, not the gesture — but the breath that slips between what was meant and what dissolves.
The face opens like a question it doesn't ask. The gaze arrives after the fact, or leaves before the moment closes. Skin becomes threshold, glass becomes doubt, light becomes the thing that grazes without claiming.
There is restraint here, but it isn't refusal. Vulnerability drifts at the edge of sight — it lives in stillness, in the narrow distance between too close and already gone, in the frictions of proximity that never quite resolve.
Nothing arrives at certainty. No gesture completes its arc. Only the body, briefly unmoored, moving through shadow the way a thought moves through silence — restless, elusive, refusing to land.
This is not about knowing who someone is. It is about the instant identity loosens its architecture — when presence thins to membrane, when the act of looking becomes a shared suspension, uncertain and quietly breathing.
Moments
A face opening like a quiet dawn,
feathers gathering where words would be.
A softness that almost speaks,
a trembling held perfectly still.
And then —
only the body,
unwritten and unguarded,
moving through shadow like a thought
that refuses to disappear.
Two moments,
woven from breath and dusk,
tender, untamed,
and alive with the echo
of something yet unnamed.