As I recently indicated, discussions about German photography are usually very narrowly focused on a single aesthetic (“deadpan”) and on a small group of photographers. In order to change this a little bit, I decided to approach German photographers to talk to them about photography. Kai-Olaf Hesse emailed me after I ranted about the somewhat bewildering lack of German participation in the photography blog scene, and I asked him whether he’d be up for a conversation about German photography (held in English btw) or, as we will see, “German photography”. I’m very happy he agreed to it, and I am very grateful for all the work he put into it. It’s a long read, but a real treat.

A brief editorial note: I decided to keep some of the German terms in the piece, providing English translations in parentheses. Also, for everything that might be less or not familiar for non-German readers there are brief explanations, again in parentheses.

Jörg Colberg: If you were to believe what is being reported a lot, German photography can be equated with the “deadpan” style. In an article about a show in Boston, the Boston Globe writes “Deadpan photography often feels as if it’s presenting evidence or specimens, rigorously and dispassionately recorded, to study types, structures, forms. The inspiration for this can be seen in ‘Contemporary Outlook: German Photography’”. Is that really it? Is German photography Sander plus the Bechers and their students? And if not, how is it possible that such an idea has become so prevalent?

Kai-Olaf Hesse: Well, what really is German Photography? First, I would ask back: is there such a thing? If we’re talking about this precise point in photographic history and time, I would say there simply is no such thing as “German Photography”. There are far too many photographers, too many “styles”, “movements”, “fashions”, individual positions, and “schools” in Germany to talk of a German Photography. So, we end up having to talk about photography made by Germans maybe, or made by people being raised, educated and/or living in Germany.

And if one looks at those many different styles, movements, fashions and schools one has to say that “Sander plus the Bechers plus students” is indeed at least one of those styles, which is certainly very well received, represented and promoted in the art world, and which can be seen in almost any group show on contemporary photography worldwide (and that can be a little boring). But that focus means just as much as if equating in the last century “American Photography” with, for example, “Evans plus Frank plus Adams”, something it in reality never was. Even back then, when there were only few “art” photographers out there, there was a much wider range of “styles”.

As for the feel of the Düsseldorf school photography I think that for me personally it is not so much about the presentation of evidence, and much of it has moved very far away from the idea of typologies. To me, it seems to create “representations”, something entirely different from photojournalism á la Henri Cartier-Bresson. Instead of delivering an image as an opinion it forces the viewer to incorporate his/her own ideas, understanding and knowledge into the reading of the photograph. Compare this with what photography did until the 70s, when it usually “showed the world” (large parts of which many of us had not seen before in real life). Today, as everybody appears to have “been there, seen that”, photography often demands more interpretation, questioning and doubting from the viewer.

Take an example: everyone would probably agree that Elliott Erwitt’s photograph of his wife, newborn daughter and cat is an “emotional” photograph. It brings emotion to the viewer, and it evokes warm feelings in us. Erwitt’s image - don’t get me wrong here, I like Erwitt a lot! - is just there - wrapped in a perfect aesthetic- and formal arrangement -, stating: “this is what is”. In contrast, a supposedly “deadpan” image, by, say, Rineke Dijkstra (who is actually not German) or by Andreas Mader, which I believe is the exact opposite of ausdruckslos [devoid of expression], merely gives the viewer a handful of symbols, metaphors, or representations of the world to look at and to think about. It demands that we bring our own thoughts, feelings, and knowledge into the process of “looking at the photograph”. To borrow Mark Curran’s words: “I can’t tell you the truth - only what I know.” Somehow, strangely, we still imply subconsciously - willingly or not - that photographs tell us just that: a truth, or even worse: the truth.

So while up until the 70s we only had to look at photographs (and the world, as to explore and appropriate it), we now really have to try hard to interpret, understand and question photographs. Of course, that is a more unstable ground, but it has nothing to do with being cool or rigid or typifying (to understand typifying look at Karl Blossfeld’s images of plants, or August Sander’s photographs of people - but then again: “it’s the context, stupid!”, which transfers mere photographs into being a tool of characterizing or typifying) or necessarily documentary for that matter, even if it looks like it. It is simply more demanding, and therefore the viewer maybe feels a little bit insecure and dumps that feeling back onto the photographs - which often are no lullabies anymore. Well, the world in most cases is neither, is it?

How was it possible that Sander plus the Bechers plus students became so prevalent? A simple, educated guess would be that this dominance follows from the way the art market works, and that’s probably partly true. Let’s look at how it began. In 1975, when “New Topographics: Photographs of a Man-Altered Landscape”, curated by William Jenkins, was shown at the International Museum of Photography in Rochester, Bernd and Hilla Becher were part of it. They were the only Germans in the show, maybe due to good relations between the US-American and West German art worlds. If you looked at the German scene at that time, photography had almost no role in the art world. There were very few galleries and even less museums that would show photography, except for what was known from the 19th century as Art Photography; and there were only very few collectors and curators maybe in Munich, Cologne, Hamburg, and Hannover. But all of a sudden you had photography entering the public stage! On top of that Bernd Becher was teaching at an Art Academy. At the time he probably was the only photographer at a German academy. In effect, taking these two facts together amounted to a Ritterschlag [knighting]. Even back in 1989, when I started studying photography at Essen’s former Folkwang school, most schools were only teaching communications design, visual communication, or at best photo journalism. Only Jürgen Klauke had a chair for Künstlerische Fotografie [art photography] in Essen. Most of the rest of photography education in Germany at that time was clearly aimed at the realms of editorial, corporate, and other forms of applied photography.

By the late 80s and beginning 90s students (and some of their professors, for example Angela Neuke) realised that magazine opportunities were eroding, and that photojournalism was in decline in Germany. On top of that, many photographers didn’t want to become corporate photographers, simply because working for corporations wasn’t PC, chic or desirable - despite it often being the only way to get decent pay. So there were new chances: the “Arts”, as being done by the “neighbours” in Düsseldorf [the towns of Essen and Düsseldorf are not very far from each other]. Even in my class there were some students who were waiting to be accepted into the Düsseldorf programme and eventually were. At that time, I should add, what was produced in Düsseldorf looked really interesting, fresh and new; and I am not saying here that people were just doing it because it seemed promising. Many just liked it and wanted to do it, too! And then there was the hope of getting one’s work to an audience via exhibitions or books. However, even though by that time there were more galleries than, say, ten years before, it was still a far cry from what we see today. A lot of young photographers at the time were very idealistic and true to their art, and they also found really new visual languages and styles, but they were not very realistic about their chances in an emerging market. Their professors mostly weren’t connected in the art scene either, and the term “networking”, today commonly known, didn’t even exist, not to speak of the internet…

The other major development in German photography in the 80s and 90s happened in the weekly supplements of three major newspapers: Zeit Magazin [Die Zeit is a German weekly, whose format is that of a newspaper, but which contains in-depth articles in the style of, say, the New York Review of Books], Süddeutsche Zeitung Magazin [Süddeutsche Zeitung is the main slightly left of center newspaper in Germany] and Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung Magazin [Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung - usually just called FAZ - is the main business, conservative newspaper in Germany]. Those magazines gradually began to sometimes use photography that was different from that of the well-trodden paths. The photography in FAZ Magazin was a bit like US-style corporate/editorial photography (New York Times Magazine etc.), produced mostly by big names, but also by up-and-coming people. Zeit Magazin usually went along the lines of educated photojournalism, looking for a new visual language. Süddeutsche Zeitung Magazin, under art director Markus Rasp, was the one to finally blur the line between art photography and photojournalism. This is not to say that it was the art directors who created new styles in photography, but it was them who very carefully began to gradually accept and publish photography that was coming from and being developed by students and young photographers, therefore perpetuating it. (See also: Contemporary German Photography, Taschen, 1996. In 2000, this project was re-curated and started to travel the world as Die Welt als Ganzes)

JC: I find talking about the role of the viewer in contemporary photography very interesting, in particular since especially in the US photographic orthodoxy is still very dominant. According to that school, you have to look for “truth” or “the facts”, and image manipulation is often treated like it’s the absolute worst thing you could ever do. I have the feeling that as far as approaching contemporary photography is concerned Germans are actually one step ahead of people on the other side of the Atlantic - which, I think, might eventually be the more important contribution of German photography to the international scene. I’m wondering what your impression is?

KOH: What kind of image manipulation are we talking about here? It should be common knowledge that the manipulation starts with the framing and photographing of the image itself. Every single step done in the darkroom is manipulating the image (and therefore the truth), and the choice of the form of presentation and of how to display, the context is manipulative, too. The whole realm of staged (to whatever extent), yet true photography, which commonly is perceived as “pictures from the real”, is manipulated to some extent even without the extensive use of Photoshop: think of Justine Kurland, Taryn Simon, Jeff Wall, Gregory Crewdson, most of all view camera portraiture and so on. Even composing an image from various photographs taken in different locations is not really new - although it has become easier with digital tools. Coming back to US orthodoxy, maybe, for example, Robert Frank and Garry Winogrand were perceived as being not so manipulative. But how does that orthodoxy work with, say, Richard Avedon, or Duane Michals?

Having said this, I think this is a hollow debate. Whereas I myself prefer to work in the realm of “straight” photography - meaning not to photograph or manipulate digitally - I think it doesn’t really matter if you do it or not. As long as the final image is good and not self-indulging the technical process (“how the hell is it done?”), I think the new tools just add to the possibilities of photography as a medium.

I can’t really tell weather US or German photographers make more use of image manipulation or not, and I don’t think it is really important. But I do see, as one possible reason for the debate you are suggesting, a similar pattern in the increasing uneasiness with images in general these days, as I have mentioned before. Knowing of the possibilities of digital manipulation, people now are really forced to think about what they see in a photograph - and what to make of it. Whereas until recently the viewer easily got away with not really questioning what he or she saw in the image, or what the intention of a photographer might have been, now one is forced to scrutinize every image on a much deeper level. The consciousness of the relation of reality and representation is becoming much more aparent.

JC: Let’s talk about “deadpan” a little bit - supposedly the defining criterion of German photography, but as we have discussed earlier such a definition severely limits our understanding of photography in Germany. What are we to make of “deadpan” being so prevalent right now? What is it in “deadpan” photography that appeals to people so much?

KOH: You kow, that’s is a hard question. I mean, I am not a gallerist who sells this kind of imagery and I am much less someone who buys it. I would not describe the bulk of my own work as “deadpan”, which means ausdruckslos [without expression]. So, I don’t really know what to say here. As far as non-portraiture is concerned, I remember a comment by one of my former students, who used to say “Wow, when you see this you wonder who on earth decided that it (the world) looks that way; why does it look like this?” That is certainly something that a somewhat straightforward, documentary-ish photography can imply. You can start thinking about the reasons for why things are the way they are, which in effect brings you back to people again - because it’s people who produce these things and leave these imprints on the face of the earth. And since we’re talking about this, one might add that photographs can be great, interesting, intriguing and beautiful for the same reason that Duchamp’s pissoir worked in the museum. Taking things (or images) out for their ordinary context can make them interesting to look at and to think about them or about whatever they represent or stand for. That is one of the achievements of photography (or galleries, or museums, or books, or all together). When Ed Ruscha took his camera to get the “readymades” in front of him onto a piece of film and eventually into his artist’s books, I think that that was a very similar process. Only that it looked different from what we see today. There was no demand, and no space, and no Diasec to create Tafelbilder [panel images] for museums. On top of that I believe that merely “recording” things in the real world does not mean that the person behind the recorder or the resulting images has to be disimpassioned. I think the opposite is (or at least can be) true: to look at things so closely means to have passion for it in the first place. To go through the pains of photographing, working in labs, dealing with the art market, or publishing really is a proof of passion. Well, but then that is my personal take on it.

For example, take Joel Sternfeld’s burning pumpkin stand (on the cover of American Prospects, photographs which I really love!), take the irony of the situation away, and you have a “deadpan” photograph in terms of the internal organization of the image. On the other hand, if you happened to come across the scene in real life, you wouldn’t need a photograph to “get” it. Compare this with, say, Lewis Baltz’ “New Industrial Parks Near Irvine, California”. If you don’t take such a photo, no one would look at, much less think of what happens there… know what I mean?

Coming back to the Boston Globe article and the generous use of the term “deadpan”, it seems to me that it also might be a language problem. What exactly does “deadpan” mean? How on earth can those images be described to “provide […] a refuge from emotion in a time of worry”??? One has to be really cool or stupid to not get worried when looking at those photographs. But then again, to a fairly large extent in the past photography was mostly consumed like newspapers, National Geographic, Jerry Cotton, or Hollywood. Today, some of that is considered literature. Over here in Germany we have an ongoing discourse (Wirklich Wahr!) about the term “documentary”. Since it is used inflationary - almost for all contemporary photography that is not blurry (but then we also consider the blurry video imagery of surveillance cameras as “real” and “true”!) - we constantly slide into arguments, which are besides the point, because our language is not precise enough to talk (or write) about photography. Speaking of Thomas Ruff (who did a series of photos using surveillance cameras): I just had a look at his class’ website. Have a look at the student’s pieces and you realize a) how very diverse “German” photography can be (even in the small setting of only one class!) and b) how non-deadpan even the grandchildren of the Bechers can be.

JC: Part of the reason why large parts of the art world have quite a limited idea of what German photography is might be a result of German photography being so clearly underrepresented online. While many young photographers have some web pages, more established artists are often either not to be found, or you have the option of piecing together information from various pages, most of which are written in German only. Given that there is so much international interest in German photography, this is a curious situation. How is this possible? And how can this be changed?

KOH: Part of the answer might be that the internet as a cultural tool is relatively new in Germany (compared with the US). As with so many other trends, fashions and developments (TV, chewing gum, SUVs etc.), the internet was widely used much earlier in the US than in Germany. When I lived in the US (between 1995 and 1998) a lot of people already used email, while there were only very, very few people over in Germany who could be reached by email. The same is true for private websites. In my experience in Germany the internet began to take root for photographers in the late 90s and around 2000 when the internet hype and bubble appeared and burst. And it is only in the past, say, five years that people have easy and widespread access to broadband internet.

So if you look at who has websites, in the photography scene it’s mostly galleries, museums, and younger photographers, for whom it already is a common tool. Whereas many photographers my age and older are still entirely or partly rooted in the analogue age. That seems to result in us simply being a little bit slower to adopt this new tool. I mean, for us, a photograph (and the experience that comes along with it) is linked to film, wet baths, darkrooms, walls, frames, books, and real people - and not so much with telephones, displays, hard drives and a frame designed by Bill Gates. Give it a little time and we’ll catch up… (I suppose).

As to why some of the more established artists often don’t have personal websites… well, you’d have to ask them. I can only guess here. Maybe it has to do with the attraction of elusiveness, which traditionally is linked to art being rare. Maybe it has to do with the fact that every art form has its form and places, and, honestly, for me the web browser is a pretty bad environment for a photograph. It reduces it to a mere image, picture, pix… I don’t know, but I don’t think the reason is intellectual. I could rather imagine that “they” simply don’t need it because they sell well enough even without running a website…? Think about this: do star tenors have websites?

JC: That’s not quite the same, though, isn’t it? After all, photography communicates visually - something the internet is ideal for. In any case, I often hear from non-English speaking people that the use of English is another barrier - but then in reality most Germans speak English at least fairly well, if not really well. Are Germans hiding between a language barrier that doesn’t really exist?

KOH: Again, it might be true that more established photographers here don’t use personal websites as an advertising or networking tool that much (maybe they already sell enough?), but it is also true that a lot of the younger and up-and-coming photographers do have websites. As for language barriers I would say there are none. If you talk about photography, which is an almost international language in itself, there is almost no such barrier. At least not on the level of looking at it - understanding what you see might be a different issue altogether. Another reason might be that most photographers I know do not tend to write about their own work - at least not more than is necessary to get grants. Otherwise, they might have become writers: their language is photography. However, one might add, that many young photographers do have a lack of ability to articulate what they are really after. This is surely something where schools come into the picture, since they have to do the training. But the inability of self-articulation (in words) of visual artists also seems to have its own tradition: wasn’t it the autonomous piece of Art itself, hanging on the wall, that had to communicate to (!) the art lover?

Speaking for myself I could add that many projects, which are originally conceived as books, do not really work on the web, at least not beyond the level of putting a teaser out there. Think of a book like Allan Sekula’s “Fish Story” for example. If you really read and look through the book, there is no way of getting this in an adequate form on the web. Even the full exhibition (as seen at the Documenta X) wasn’t quite as well represented, enjoyable, readable and holistic as the book is.

JC: In an interview for this blog, Robert Lyons said Germans approached photography differently than, say, Americans. What is your take on this?

KOH: Yes, I think you could say so, and I would go along with Robert when he states that “German photography is different from what one finds in the USA, at least in the method of schooling and consequently the work itself. There is a long tradition of both ‘documentary style’ and also conceptual thinking. I find often that the imagery is driven from the intellect and less from one’s emotional center. In the USA it is a bit different. I guess often I find the German work we are exposed to calculated and cool, though after a lot of looking at German work I realize that other strands exist…”. But first I would again state that there is no such thing as “German Photography” as such. I know a lot of photographers who work entirely on an emotional level, or by exploring the emotional, social, and personal realm. On the other hand, until fairly recently I found German (non-Düsseldorf school) photography in many cases a little more detached from market driven aspects, simply because there was no market here (compared with the US). This, I think, resulted in a much wider range of visual languages and in more “off” topics being explored with photography. When I lived in the US in the late 90s, I was quite surprised to see how little thematic variation of “styles” and subjects I saw at schools at a time when my peers in Essen, Bielefeld, Dortmund etc. could not possibly be described with a handful of categorized styles. At that time in the US these were “The Body as a Landscape”, copies of Ansel Adams, Robert Frank, or Nan Goldin. On the other hand, US photography students appeared to be a bit streamlined for a blossoming gallery marketplace. That, taken together with interesting photography teachers, I did not quite understand. Seeing emerging photography from the US today (in books and on websites mostly) I have to say that this was either a wrong impression, or things simply have changed a lot since then.

One major difference between US and German approaches towards image making might be found in the fact that the visual worlds differ so much. The US topography and built environment is often constituted by grandeur, beauty, vastness, openness, landscape, and sheer size. In contrast, in Germany you are almost forced to look at smallness, processes, changes, more complicated and historically grown (built) environments, all that happening in a rather small area (if you prefer to take your photographs here). This may result in different projects and visual languages. One simply cannot become a Richard Misrach in Germany, because there aren’t these fantastic landscapes; and one cannot find a Stephen Shore, because of the light which is entirely different in Germany. It is no coincidence that Michael Schmidt’s photographs are predominated by gray colors (and I am not talking about the black and white technique he uses), not only because Berlin, Duisburg, or Braunschweig often appear to be situated in gray light and concrete, but also because the contents one is working on in Germany often defies the use of blue sky and engulfing colors.

In addition, although I am no art historian but just a photographer working from empiricism, I think one could say that the traditions of depicting melancholy are very different: just compare Edward Hopper with Caspar David Friedrich and look at their photographic heirs. Another (rather European) reason for a sometimes more intellectual or conceptual approach might be that projects done by German photographers often have their starting point not so much in the visual, but in underlying aspects or histories of places, people, or subjects. I would imagine that the rather short US history (compared with Europe’s) might just not be so dominant, or it might simply be non-existent or invisible for many US topics - which, again, would lead towards different visual languages and projects altogether.

JC: Coming to your own photography, I’d be curious to learn a little bit about how you position yourself - who are the photographers that have influenced you the most?

KOH: After having finished an apprenticeship in an advertising photo studio in Hamburg, and after having worked as a photojournalist and as an assistant for large productions for a while, I found myself - with my heroes (then) being Magnum, Robert Frank, Garry Winogrand, Danny Lyons, Joel Meyerowitz, and some more along those lines - beginning my studies in Essen in 1989. Here I saw a lot of (American) color work, for example Joel Sternfeld, Stephen Shore, and a lot of medium format work from older students, which I gradually started to gain interest in. When the Wall fell in Berlin in November 1989, I did my last relevant piece with a Leica and Tri-X. Most of my peers did work on completely independent, non commissioned projects, and some were working for those three magazines mentioned above, and I was tempted to do so, too. But I felt that the b&w reportage, Magnum style, was repeating itself. Also, it was almost impossible to photograph people with a 35mm lens anymore. People had become careful with photographers, or maybe I was just not made for it. I tried this and that. But then I also saw my peers doing all these nice and sometimes interesting five to ten image pieces for magazines, which it was printed and published (and paid for!), but thrown away after the weekend, which didn’t really appeal to me. I was a little stuck.

It took me about two years to find solid ground again. In the meantime, by visiting artists I was exposed to positions like Martin Parr’s or Paul Graham’s (Troubled Land, New Europe), and to exhibitions like “Reste des Authentischen”, “Edward Hopper und die Fotografie”, books like Siemens Foto Projekt, Steel Works by Julian Germain, and the works of Joachim Brohm, Michael Schmidt, Paul Seawright, Wout Berger, Lewis Baltz, the very early(!) Andreas Gursky, Jeff Wall, Richard Misrach, and others. In addition, probably my biggest photographic influences are a few peer students who are a little bit older than me: Andreas Mader, Jitka Hanzlova (while working on “Rokytnik”), Andreas Weinand (while working on “Sich Selbst Finden”), Norbert Enker (while working on “Albania”), Wolfgang Bellwinkel (while working on his book “Bosnia”), Eva Bertram, and Karin Apollonia Müller (while working on “Deutsche Landschaft”). It was not just their projects, but even more so their Haltung [attitude] towards their focus of interest or subject matter, the reasons why they photographed what they photographed - a certain relevance, which seemed to be what I was longing for. Although we all were at the same school and, more importantly, shared the same color lab, some of the teachers, and color film in our (mostly 6x7) medium format cameras, if you look at our images, projects, and the visual languages we developed over time, it would be impossible to call us “a school”, style, category - or “German” photography. The way I like to look at it, we just learned a lot from each other. Or at least I did learn a lot from them. And I cherish a deep friendship with many of them still today. Another big influence was my linguistics professor and the fact that - studying communication design - we had to take a second design course. This being typography/editorial design in my case, opened the door for books. Books and thinking in terms and conditions of books being a platform to show photographs, so that a photographic project from the start would be conceived as a book project. The idea of photographs as cantos in a book became a driving force behind my work - something that is entirely different from producing photographs predominantly for walls, magazines, or other places.

Rather by coincidence I eventually found (or it found me) my first big project “Industrial Garden Realm”, for which I moved to Dessau to work at the Bauhaus from 1992 to 1995. Together with my colleague Axel Boesten we created a photographic series that became the core of the book with the same title in 1996. We were also part of the interdisciplinary editing group and came up with the design concept; presenting the idea of the project as a whole, and adding photography as one language amongst others (texts, historical photographs, documents, and essays). From there on I was on track to where you find me today. The single most influencing works for me since my days in the US are probably Allan Sekula’s “Fish Story”, Camilo José Vergara’s “New American Ghetto”, as well as photographers Peter Goin, John Gossage, Jean-Marc Bustamante, and Thierry Girard, as well as the painter Gerhard Richter.

Land-/Cityscape- and (sometimes) history or politics related pieces that question the built environment at an imaginary or real intersecting point of “then” and “now” are what constitutes most of my work.

JC: Speaking of books, a while ago Alec Soth suggested dividing photography into the one done for walls and the one for books. It sounds like you mostly think in the context of books. Does this make showing your work in a gallery harder?

KOH: That really depends on the project. For most of my pieces, I have to reduce the number of images shown in a gallery. And more often I have to leave content, like text, behind, because people don’t like to read much in a gallery. So if you think of the project in a holistic way, I would say, yes, it makes it harder. On the other hand, and I quite like that, one has the chance of re-arranging the piece. There are projects that can go very well as a, say, small twelve image gallery exhibition (leaving the other forty or so images to the book), and there are others that demand the full scale, like Topography of the Titanic, or 67/89. The really big problem with thinking and working in terms of books is that you need to come up with twice as much money and you have to do twice as much fund raising. Not only do you have to research and shoot that thing and then find money to print and mount and frame it, but you also have to find sponsors for the book. For most of the photography books done here you have to bring the production money along when looking for a publisher (unless you have a big name).

And another editorial note: The selection of the images was done by me. Needless to say, representing a photographer by showing six images can only be done very crudely, and there were lots of other images to choose from. I decided to select a set of images that would span different works, but that would work together harmonically. Of course, this comes at the expense of excluding b/w, say, or images whose aesthetic is quite different. Kai-Olaf asked me to provide the titles, they are (from top to bottom): 1 from LandingZones ­Social Landscapes of D-Day; Remains of Port Winston, Arromances (1994), 2 from 65/66; View # 2 from Vistor’s Center, Mount Rushmore (1995­/1998/2000), 3 from Images in Berlin; Marx-Engels-Forum (1998/2005), 4 from: 67/89; #1 Benno Ohnesorg, Berlin, Krumme Strasse, June 2, 1967 (17 Sites of Unrest in the former FRG, 2001), 5 from Topography of the Titanic; Lord Pierrie’s Bust, H&W Offices; Queen’s Island, Belfast (2003), 6 from: Last Battlegrounds; Model of the Tunnel System; Dora-Mittelbau, Nordhausen (2005).