Weird angles bend and deform the perspective here. I feel as if this is another world and in a way – it is. Remnants of a world of which I was never a part of.
On the beach, constantly washed by the Baltic sea and scoured by a harsh wind stand remnants of a series of coastal batteries now ripped wide open by retreating armies.
In the forest there are towers.
What kind of bird makes a nest like that?..
Range finding.
Caching the last warm rays of the sun near the canopy.
Hacking gravity.
bureau of secret tourism 