In the Black Forest of Germany, the horizon stretches endlessly into clouds. Yet, what appears is not a clear record of that landscape, but an image shaped as much by time and travel as by place. The film lay forgotten at the bottom of my luggage repeatedly exposed to X-ray scanners over many years.
The distortions that emerge — bleeding colors, ghostly gradients, ruptured shapes — are scars of prolonged passage. What could have been a capture of mountains and sky becomes layered with chance interventions and technological interference. It is a landscape imprinted not only by the Black Forest but by hidden infrastructures of mobility and security: a delicate convergence of natural horizon and material decay.