Naturally, the E75 project does have a couple of conceptual cornerstones. They’re as simple as can be. To put them in a nutshell: I want to know more about the Europastrasse as such, so I’ll follow one of these roads from beginning to end, averaging a bit less than 100 km a day. That’s it.

In motion on the Europastrasse

Such a simple approach gives rise to complex interconnections. Being constantly in motion has a certain effect on me. You see something. And while you’re reflecting on it, you’re already somewhere else. Obvious example: when I eat olives here in Hungary that I bought in Greece, with dinars in my wallet instead of forint while I’m already trying to remember whether or not Slovakia uses the Euro, I notice that I’m relentlessly in motion.

How often I’d like to switch into tourist-mode, stay a bit longer somewhere, be tickled by a muse (the Muses, after all, are at home in Greece)—but I Continue reading →

I get out of the car at a Hungarian highway rest stop. Before having completely taken my first step, I count 11 security cameras. What’s more, several cameras monitor each and every onramp here. And then there are those at the toll booths. You simply indicate your license plate at the border, and as you drive, a pattern recognition algorithm compares it constantly with a central database to see which drivers have paid and which haven’t.

So in this country, they’ve taken more pictures of me than I have of them! I find that pretty impressive.

Paprika sprinkled onto my breakfast egg. The Europastrasse’s straight as an arrow. Everything’s very neat. Except for my shirt: it’s spattered with goulash. I’ve arrived in Hungary.

Motels. The epitome of modernity. Everything revolves around cars. You’re in the present, thoroughly contemporary. You come in from the day’s travels, shaking or showering the exhaustion off of your body in your rented room. Your one-night center of the universe—after which you’re somewhere else again.

Motels are multifunctional things. They’re made to revolve around the car. The word motel itself is a portmanteau of “motor” and “hotel.” The motor comes first. The hotel only second. There’s also the restaurant—with its constant view of the parking lot, looking out towards

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My point in taking this trip up the E75, as in my work in general, is to reflect upon us as a society. After all, a picture says more than 1,000 words—which is what moved me to become a photographer in the first place. But what does one actually intend to do with his or her photography as such? Every one of us who presses the shutter release faces this question the moment we present a picture in public for the first time. And the camera function on a mobile phone asks us the same thing—after all, Facebook is public. As is the bulletin board in the kitchen or at the office.

You don’t need to provide an explicit answer to the question of “What do I intend with my photography as such?” But you do answer it implicitly with your first post on the Internet, on your bulletin board, or with your first exhibition. So do I want to show that I’ve mastered my camera, that I’m a great photographer? Do I want to show all the things I’m constantly experiencing? Or do I want to show…?

The list of possible approaches goes on forever, and one’s personal answer will include the overlapping of several such possibilities. I, too, answered the question implicitly with my first publications, and I only gradually began to consciously realize just what my approach is. It eventually became clear to me that I have a very good talent for observation. And I’d like to use it to look at us as a society and share my observations with you.

From the Series WE – dramaturgy of social life

What are the people doing here, on this picture of the pier?
This scene isn’t staged. Strange it may seem, Continue reading →

Hotel Hamburg, the first time that I’ve slept in a room since Greece. Lovely. But at Hotel Hamburg, they don’t speak German. I myself speak about eight words of Serbian, and the waiter’s knowledge of English is roughly equivalent. Communication as a challenge, a creative act. But we manage. And when, after several failed attempts, I order “hot bread”, I finally get my toast.

One more thing on Greece: the picture from the post “Sustenance along the E75” below naturally represents a complete contrast to my mental image of Greek living. But of course, it is an aspect of reality. So I also got to know a Greece that’s completely different.

In the restaurants, they bask in the pure joy of serving guests something good. It’s not just about business, there; it’s also about … joy. Yesterday, for example, the waiter brought me a menu but ended up not even placing it on my table. “It’s customary here that…” is how he started. And when I left the place later on, I was commensurately happy.

And then there was that supermarket. Sitia, the end of the world in my flat-Earth model, where I took the nourishment picture: the pistachios, a quintessentially Greek product, are from California, and the walnuts are from Germany. I didn’t dare take a look to see where the olives came from. Slowly but surely, the necessity of the Europastrasse becomes clear after having passed through Sitia.

Initial statement at the Macedonian border

So now I’ve arrived in the next country through which the E75 passes. And once again, it’s history-steeped ground I’m crossing. I think the different translations on this sign are interesting.

Did Alexander the Great actually use the E75? In his context, at any rate, “Macedonia” means the historical region. Alongside present-day Macedonia, this also included northern Greece and parts of Bulgaria, as well as a very small part of Albania. It’s gradually becoming clear to me just why the “Macedonia” trademark is so valuable. Historical Macedonia is the place from which the spread of Hellenic culture got underway. Alexander the Great had good roads available to him.

Yesterday, by the way, I also took another leap through time when I arrived in the Central European Time Zone, leaving the Eastern European one behind. So viewed this way, we’re in Central Europe. Further temporal leaps lie up ahead!

The end of the world, somewhere along the Europastrasse. It would seem that the E75 has a great number of ends! Viewed in terms of geometry, that’s no small feat for a line—which is, after all, what every road amounts to. But here I’m talking about the end of the world: “Catena Mundi.” At least, that’s what the Romans Continue reading →