Miron Zownir (born 1953 in Karlsruhe, Federal Republic of Germany) has been working as an author, filmmaker, and photographer since the eighties. His social documentary photographs of the underground scenes in Berlin and New York garnered much attention. Since the mid-nineties, he has been focused on hardships endured in the former real socialist countries in eastern Europe. Zownir has published numerous books of photographs and exhibited in, among others, Berlin, The Hague, and London. In 2008 his images were shown at Fotomuseum Winterthur in two noteworthy group exhibitions: “Darkside I” and “Darkside II”. As a Robert Bosch Foundation fellow he travelled around Ukraine from 2012 to 2014. With the photographs he made there, he took part in the 2015 Kyiv Biennial. In 2016 Deichtorhallen in Hamburg honoured him with a solo exhibition. He visited the refugee camp in Calais in 2015; his photographs changed, becoming more distant and more cautious. His most recent books of photographs are Ukrainian Night and Romanian Raw. Miron Zownir lives and works in Berlin.
Miron Zownir & Nico Anfuso
A Scandal for Man and Nature
Published in: Romania Raw, Pogo Books, Berlin 2020
You’ve carried out extended projects in Russia and Ukraine. Your most recent photographic research trip took you to Romania. What keeps fascinating you about Eastern Europe?
Eastern European literature, Kertész’s, Koudelka’s, Brassaï’s and Rodchenko’s photography, the movies of Eisenstein, Polanski, Wadja and Milos Forman, as well as the fact that my father was from Ukraine have all been contributing factors to my fascination with the East. Except for a short trip to Poland, I set out to a photographic research throughout Russia after a 15-year stay in America. At the time, everything was marked by the turning point and the inhumane chaos that took over the streets of Moscow and St. Petersburg in 1995. Since then, I have been to Ukraine, both before and after the Euromaidan Revolution, to Bulgaria, Poland, and I’ve recently spent a longer period of time in Romania.
You stayed in Cluj-Napoca, in Transylvania, where hundreds of Roma families who were evicted from the urban area in 2010 live around the city’s landfill site in Pata Rât, Europe’s largest garbage ghetto.
Garbage ghetto is a good description to what is going on in Pata Rât. Romania does not yet have a functioning waste management system, so all the garbage collected in Cluj-Napoca ends up in the same place where hundreds of Roma live. The children of Pata Rât play, eat, sleep and dream among trash, as if they have no rights to basic hygienic conditions and human rights are nonexistent for them. If they are lucky, they find work as day laborers at the waste deposit plant. As an alternative, they are left with drug consumption, criminal activity and prostitution.
I look at the children captured in your photograph entitled ‘Victorious’, kids who are unaware of how the Romanian system has failed them…
Unfortunately, the smoke in the background does not represent a new beginning, but a status-quo of daily intoxication, isolation and resignation. It is not only society’s duty, but also that of the parents to protect their children from harmful influences. There is a lack of awareness regarding the omnipresent poverty and misery. And you get the feeling that this indifference and surrender of the adults to the inhumane circumstances do not provide the children any sort of foundation to build on a better future for themselves. Regardless of the prejudice and exclusion that the Roma community is exposed to.
You have also witnessed exceptions, people who grew up in Pata Rât and still managed to find a way out of the ghetto…
Yes, there are exceptions, but I’ve only met one young man who has become Romania’s world vice-champion of kickboxing. He now lives with his family in Cluj-Napoca and keeps in touch with those in Pata Rât. He also offers free martial arts courses for young people.
The Roma deportation to Pata Rât has triggered several protests among citizens and pro Roma culture organizations. Unfortunately, without any positive outcome. In 2012 the local community in Cluj has initiated, using European financing, the extension of the waste deposit in Pata Rât. Obviously, without any regard towards people and the environment…
As I said, living conditions in Pata Rât are absolutely inhumane, and the Romanian government’s and municipality’s position is really harmful for the environment. Romania is Europe’s warning signal regarding recycling. The city of Cluj-Napoca has its garbage sorted by Roma people. But under what circumstances? City Hall hires up to one hundred Roma day laborers every day to sort trash. The government acts as an employer but without taking any social responsibility.
According to a study of the European Roma Rights Centre (ERRC) the level of pollutants in the air and soil in Pata Rât make the place ‘unfavorable for living’. A large part of the waste, including chemical waste and paint, is burnt or rots on the ground surface. Even so, over 1,500 Roma live around the landfill…
If not even these studies are enough to change the situation there, then what is?
Looking at your photos, we can spot among the trash the improvised Roma huts, made of wood, cardboard and plastic sheets, but it is hard to imagine that they represent the life of people living in one of the member states of the European Union…
This is pure exclusion and discrimination. Despite the stoic and disinterested attitude of the Roma people towards the mountains of trash in their immediate vicinity, their conscious distancing and implementation of their particular morals, habits, interests and laws, it is hard to believe that anyone should voluntarily desire to live in those circumstances. The fact that the authorities do not approach these outcasts, that they lack funds to offer better living conditions and prospects, as well as the lack of any visible help offered, represents a scandal for both man and nature, one that goes beyond everything that is associated with Europe, but unfortunately should be associated to it.
Populists throughout Europe promise radically simplified and inhumane solutions for complex issues. Former Romanian Foreign Minister Adrian Cioroianu proposed, in the year of Romania's accession to the European Union, to purchase part of the Egyptian desert in order to deport all Roma criminals there. Why does a considerable part of the population welcome such inhumane proposals?
Unfortunately, I cannot assess that. But such proposals are reminiscent of the Nazis' plans to deport the Jews to Madagascar. The fact that such ideas are once again openly discussed in public are proof of the cynical and corrupt world that we live in.
During your photo research through Eastern Europe, you visited Roma neighborhoods, or so-called ghettos. In Romania, too, the economic and social situation of the Roma deteriorated drastically after 1989. Through your photographs, do you intend to draw attention to this fact?
I draw attention to what I find in a certain place. I don’t have a predefined intention in mind, and I don’t try to adorn or trivialize. My photo research represents a subjective inventory of my perception on reality. I cannot conclude whether the situation of the Roma has deteriorated since the collapse of the communist regime; what kind of a witness to poverty would represent that in a democracy. The EU in particular, as the embodiment of ultimate moral high ground and continuously advocated integrity, should fight these negative tendencies by all means possible. If we think of the inflationary manner in which billions of Euros have been subsidized so far, it’s impossible to not think of a more active support of the Roma community. Stigmas like ‘criminal’, ‘dirty’ and ‘lazy’ leave the Roma little chance to prove themselves in Romanian society, or to establish themselves in any position of equal status. Child mortality is disproportionately high and statistics are imprecise due to the high number of unreported cases and various conflicts of interest. The fact that many children do not have equal chances to benefit from the educational system represents a barrier in the path of any kind of social convergence. The environmental scandals of Pata Rât and Craica, the Roma ghetto in Baia Mare, represent a form of concealed humiliation that, in my opinion, no EU politician has yet addressed.
Romanian sociologist Nicolae Gheorghe, himself a Roma, criticizes the strict rules of coexistence within families, forcing daughters to marry at the age of 13-14 and leaving women with no right to question the power of men. The social hierarchy of the Roma seems to follow even in the 21st century the path of traditional and outdated patriarchy...
Criticism is justified, but one cannot intervene from the outside, social change must come from within. If the Roma want to remain a parallel society, they cannot be stopped from doing so. Forced integration has never worked so far, and usually leads to hatred, oppression, revolt and war. Mutual hygienic, healthy, education-oriented and environmentally friendly standards, as well as social tolerance and convergence should, despite all ethnic differences, still be possible and be able to offer better long-term prospects for the future. Unfortunately, we are still far from equal living, let alone coexistence.
Miron Zownir & Nico Anfuso
Down & Out
Published in: Down and Out in Moscow, Pogo Books, Berlin 2014
Back in 1995, you went to Moscow for three months for Hamburg’s Erotic Art Museum to document the nightlife of the rich and the beautiful. You changed your mission objective at the last minute. Why was it more important to you to show life on the street?
Well, because what was going on in the streets was pure insanity. As soon as I stepped off the train, drunken, crazy or totally desperate people started staggering into me. Some of them were having complete breakdowns in the middle of the crowd and others still were hiding, half-obscured, shivering and paranoid in the train station’s forlorn corners. That was my very first impression, which only deepened in time and left me no other choice but to document these horrors. It was so obvious and public, yet most passers-by, uniformed authorities, the press and the new Kremlin powers simply ignored the issue. At that point, Moscow’s nightlife seemed so banal and commonplace that I spontaneously and independently decided to change my mission.
Post-Soviet Russia was in the middle of a transformational crisis at the time. Everywhere you looked you found the ill, desperate and homeless, even dying and dead. Were you shocked by the dramatic negative social consequences of making that switch from a planned to a market economy?
Sure, I was shocked by the idea that people would simply be kicked out into the wilds of capitalism without any warning or support. Communism never appealed to me either, but the transition was so cynical and merciless that the question just has to be asked: Why did the West, after quite loudly criticizing the Soviets for 45 years, keep so quiet and subdued during the transition phase, completely and pathetically failing once again. The Western governments were obviously more concerned with signing lucrative contracts with the new strong capitalistic Russia than to denounce the insufferable deficits and down-right crimes against humanity. One or two years later, around 96/97, the Russian authorities began to rounding up the homeless. Like dogcatchers they loaded the down-and-out into buses and vans and dropped them back out in the Russian backwaters. Their heads were shaved, they were deloused for the deportation and then left to themselves. The result, naturally, being good for the statistics, because the number of homeless in Moscow suddenly dropped so remarkably that it was hardly worse off than any western capital. Perhaps there were also other measures taken, but to experience how these ailing and dying people were ignored in their supreme suffering was something that struck to the very core of my existence, which is probably also the reason that I still photograph homeless people whenever I’m confronted with them.
After the USSR fell apart, poverty rose in the nineties to above 40 percent of the population. Mortality rates also went up dramatically. Is there anything that is less dignifying than dying in public?
To be murdered in one’s own bed or being tortured to death in prison is probably not any more dignified. But that’s the level that we are talking about here: a crime against the most ignorant and weakest in society. They were left to freeze or starve or die of thirst on the street and simply ignored or harassed when they tried to make themselves noticed. Apparently no one came up with the idea to send a mobile soup kitchen around to the hot spots, especially the train stations. For years, there must not have been enough homeless shelters nor voluntary doctors to take care of people in need. If there were such initiatives then they had been done privately, and I’ve never heard of anything like that happening. The whole logistical and humanitarian deficits are still a complete riddle to me.
You did portraits of some people whom you later found dead. How did that feel?
Helpless and angry, right away. It generated a general tension and strange feeling of fearful anticipation, when I realized that these people are dying. Questions came up, like: what will happen when I come back to see this person again? Sometimes I had a naive hope that I could bring them somewhere save. Then of course, there’s that sick kick you get out of shooting an unusual photo or series, that you are an eyewitness to such a horrible experience. Altogether it’s a pretty fucked up feeling to draw something from a situation which you can’t change but which nevertheless gets under your skin. Clearly the thing to do would have been to put all my energy into somehow helping these people, but at the same time that would have been the most hopeless course of action. So, I concentrated solely on the mission I chose, pretty much like all the rest who knew about it but did nothing.
So, were you fully aware of the moral dilemma you were walking into?
Of cause but I’m not one to moralize. I cursed the situation and then photographed it. Had nightmares, but I had those before. Only, they got more concrete and didn’t stop when I woke up. The whole Moscow trip was wrapped up in some sort of anxiety, as if someone had buckled me up in a straightjacket. In situations like that you can’t moralize, you just feel very uncomfortable. And when I—on very rare occasions—was in a good mood, I didn’t suffer from a guilty conscience. I just had a couple of glasses of vodka too many, like the rest.
While photographing, you were often confronted with armed militants and the police. What reasons did you have to keep on, inspite of the fear that you would be arrested?
With my shaved head, western clothing and camera, I was pretty conspicuous. And since I often showed up at the same places, even to the drunkest of custodians of order who always showed their presence at the train stations but actually just stood around and shooed away the homeless—it was somehow clear to them that they’d better keep an eye on me. I was obviously not pointing the camera at the officially sanctioned, presentable image of Moscow. And well, since I didn’t really want to deal with tanked AK47-toting militiamen, I made sure to shoot discretely and move about in a way that didn’t draw attention to myself. Those four or five times when I had to explain myself in English, which no one understood anyway, were situations where I was a hair’s breadth from landing in jail or getting beaten up. It was a pretty grotesque game of cat and mouse sometimes. I had to conceal what I was doing, because I was documenting an embarrassing reality. There was hardly a trace of anything like democracy, but we know how it feels here in the West, too, like when policemen beating up photographers making photos of demonstrations. I’ve been arrested in Germany for that. But giving up never occurred to me. I mean, well, I wasn’t in Chechnya, bullets weren’t buzzing by my head. It was a situation I could cope with.
Russia was in the middle of the First Chechen War at the time. Following the summer 1995 hostage-taking by Chechen separatists at Budjonnowsk hospital in which 150 people were killed, the fear of further guerilla actions and terrorist attacks was tangible in Moscow...
Yes, but it didn’t really affect me, since, for example, mostly dark-skinned people were being searched at subway exits. I hardly red any newspapers or watched any Russian television. There were a surprising number of wounded veterans around, but they were mostly Afghanistan veterans. Every once in a while, young rooky soldiers, shaved with scalps gleaming, would goose step by but didn’t really give you the feeling that they were too hot on playing war.
You’ve described Moscow as the most aggressive, most dangerous city you’ve ever been to. What was it that made you feel this way?
Everything was annoying, from shopping to riding the subway, from asking for information to all my experiences while taking photos. It was all stressful. People were arguing at every street corner. Whole hordes of frustrated people would pounce on the defenseless. Everywhere you saw bitter, aggressive people hurrying to get somewhere and nowhere. Once, I was waiting for the subway with four young Rastafarians, when all of the sudden three Russian Nazis came out of nowhere and for no reason started beating up on the Rastas in a blind rage. The subway train arrived and saved the Rastas from anything worse than a beating. Hardly a day went by without violence, and more than once I had to defend myself against crazy drunks, pimps or whatever other pissed-off nutcases. And I never did anything to provoke anyone, as far as I know. And of course, there were all these armed, uniformed idiots wandering around, and Mafiosi in big fat American cars, who could bribe their way out of any crime, desperate fools who had nothing to lose, angry veterans, potential killers on every street corner. This may all sound a bit over the top, but look at my photos: they’re not playing it up, and most of them you can’t stand to look at.
Did you experience any corruption or abuse of power yourself?
I can’t really remember. Well no, actually one time I was racing around Moscow early in the morning with two drunken Russians in a Cadillac. The driver got a bit excited and tossed a bottle of vodka out the window. Out of nowhere, a police car pulled up. The whole incident was smoothed over with a hundred dollar bill. Another time, this has nothing to do with corruption or abuse of power, but says something about the general situation: A guy standing at a newsstand said to me, “One dollar.” “One dollar for what?” “One dollar for bag.” He points to a dirty plastic bag and I think OK, let’s have a look at what I could buy for a dollar. And in the bag, there were, no joke, four skulls.
Scary and surreal, but also rather symbolic of your stay...
You could say so. I think he bought a can of beer with that dollar.
Your photos show a great deal of empathy for these stranded people, too. You’ve dealt with poverty and its fatal consequences again and again. Why is documenting this subject so important to you?
Of course, it’s not the only subject I deal with, you only have to take a look at my other photography books “Radical Eye” and “Valley of the Shadow”, or read my novels. But abysmal feelings, like desperation, desire, hate, fear and powerlessness, are subjects that do occupy me time and again, and since I first started doing photography, film and literature. It’s part of every societal crisis, but as you have already pointed out, poverty is an especially fatal factor. And basically, it is completely unnecessary. When you compare, for instance, how many billionaires there are who live in superabundance, how the power structures are set up and how many people live in completely inadequate, existentially threatening social conditions who have to fight for survival day to day or who don’t even have the chance to fight for their daily bread or work for their keep, you can’t just stand aside. I can’t ignore it. I just can’t walk down the street and get off on the meaningless little superficial concerns of our society. So if a viewer senses the empathy I have for the stranded people in my photos, they’re absolutely right. Even though I don’t do anything other than mercilessly document what is there, Mostly situations lots of people don’t even notice because they are too busy with themselves.
Is that what you are trying to do with your artistic work, fight against ignorance?
That’s the necessary consequence of my work. Not exactly comparable to an armed resistance, for that I have no alternative concept and belief in collective decision-making, goals or a perfect system. For me it’s always about individual fate. You can’t always blame society or act as if you’re in the right. The fact that I’m better off than these broken-down turned-out people and the fact that I could walk away from it at any time is something that leaves you with a dialectical aftertaste, even with so much sympathy and engagement. The only way to escape from this contradiction is to make yourself a crusader for the disenfranchised, the oppressed and the lepers. But my engagement maybe doesn’t go quite far enough for that.
When you came back to the West after three months in Russia, how did you feel?
Right off, I was pretty exhausted and just couldn’t bear all that suffering anymore. I took the bus from St. Petersburg to Helsinki and from there to Danzig via ship, and finally took the train to Berlin. So I had plenty of time to get acclimatized. But somehow, I never really got used to the European West ever again. These little, everyday, smug, self-righteous bourgeois problems and obsessions, which are hyped up by the media, seemed to me, and still do, more or less dishonest, convenient and superficial. By that I mean the Zeitgeist, the way things are. In the East everything was determined by the daily horrors and general fear of total collapse, whereas in Germany everyone got off on this “revolution” that was staged by fat-cat politicians and which was never more dangerous than shadowboxing. There was zero risk, yet they were treated like heros: Kohl, Springer, Reagan, Yelzin, Bush - but after the Wall came down, not a single cuckold cock-a-doodle-dooed for human rights in the East. They only patted each other on the back with their fat hands and started weaving the network of global interests, on which we are all slowly choking now.
You are back in the East these days, and now you are aiming your eye at the Ukraine. What is your focus of interest going to be there?
Thanks to a grant from the Robert Bosch Foundation, I have the opportunity to do a volume on the Ukraine. I’m spending much of my time in the streets, but I was also in a TBC clinic, an orphanage for kids with HIV, in a morgue, several gypsy camps, etc. Of course, you can only get a narrow perspective, based on that which you experience and encounter during that short time. You just can’t live up to the monumental task of doing an objective body of work on an entire country. That’s totally impossible. You can only get across feelings, moods, nuances and impressions. Even a million subjective photos will never amount to an objective body of work. Nevertheless I am striving to go beyond my normal subjects and maybe show happier, impartial, unspectacular sides. Let’s see…
Miron Zownir’s London is strange and dark, but it isn’t cruel. In 1978 and 1980 his subjects still appear to have time and room to roam beyond the primacy of wage labour. The city is populated with laid-back old people, Berbers, various immigrant groups, and punks. It can still accommodate them all. The space that Zownir captured in his images is plentiful and vast. On their cemetery benches and in their grassy parks, their courtyards and cafés, the people who happen to cross the young photographer’s path seem at home. The darkness creeping into these open spaces seems to indicate that we are on the threshold to Thatcher’s neoliberal Great Britain.
These fifty-one photographs belong to the earliest works by this photographer, who in subsequent decades would become famous for his distinctively sensitive treatment of people who live on the edges of society in Berlin, New York, Moscow, Kyiv, and Bucharest. History is always written by the victors and it is their portraits that they carry with them out into the world to promote their views. Zownir and his camera merely happen to encounter the figures he captures, but he is also the one to salvage their image.
Ukrainian Night, Weserburg - Museum für moderne Kunst, Bremen
Ukrainian Night, Kunstmuseum Gelsenkirchen
Berlin/New York, Turm zur Katz, Konstanz
london seven eight, Galerie K', Bremen
Zeitwirdknapp. Retrospektive 1977–2019, Centro Internazionale di Fotografia, Palermo, Italy
Romania Raw, Goethe-Institut Bukarest, Romania
Romania Raw, Galerie Boderline Art Space, Romania
Romania Raw, Muzeul de Arta Cluj-Napoca, Romania
Wolfgang Schulz und die Fotoszene um 1980, Museum für Fotografie, Berlin
Berlin, 1945–2000: A Photographic Subject, Reinbeckhallen, Berlin
Urban Landscapes, Galerie Bene Taschen, Cologne
Romania Raw, Galerie pavlov’s dog, Berlin
Wolfgang Schulz und die Fotoszene um 1980, Museum für Kunst und Gewerbe, Hamburg
EUROPEN MONTH OF PHOTOGRAPHY, Brotfabrik Galerie, Berlin
ART PHOTO BUDAPEST, Galerie Koppelmann, Budapest, Hungary
Tales From The Other Side, Interzone Galleria, Rom, Italy
ART BERLIN, Galerie Bene Taschen, Berlin
Galerie Bene Taschen, Cologne
Hof 5, Zurich, Switzerland
Ken Schles, Jefrey Silverthorne, Miron Zownir, Deichtorhallen, Hamburg
Hardhitta Gallery, Cologne
Ukranian Night, Kunstwerk Nippes, Cologne
International Elias Canetti Society, Ruse, Bulgaria
Ukranian Night, Galerie K', Bremen
Ukranian Night, Visual Culture Research Center, Kiev, Ukraine
Urban Maze, Georgian National Museum of Fine Arts, Tiflis, Georgia
Photography from 1978 - 2013, Hardhitta Gallery, Cologne
Your Daily Darkness, Neurotitan, Berlin
Miron Zownir Fotografie 1978 - 2011, Reception, Frankfurt am Main
Offene Wunden - Bilder aus dem freien Osteuropa, Galerie K', Bremen
barefaced, Kunstwerk Nippes, Cologne
Okraina, Visual Culture Research Center, Kiev, Ukraine
Twilight Zone, Galerie Emmanuel Post, Berlin
Visual Culture Research Center, Kiev, Ukraine
Radical Eye, Fotogalleriet [format], Malmö, Sweden
The Valley Of The Shadow, MOPIA, Zürich, Switzerland
The Valley Of The Shadow, Galerie Emmanuel Post, Leipzig
Slick Art Fair , Jas Gallery, Paris, France
Goethe Institut /Red House, Sofia, Bulgaria
Are You Coming Too?, Knoth & Krüger, Berlin
Darkside II – Fotografic power and violance, disease and death photographed, Fotomuseum Winterthur, Switzerland
Bongout Gallery, Berlin
Darkside I – Fotografic desire and sexuality photographed, Fotomuseum Winterthur, Switzerland
Miron Zownir, MOPIA, Zürich, Switzerland
Fotografie mit Tiefenwirkung, Mousonturm, Frankfurt am Main
Radical Eye, Galerie Emmanuel Post, Leipzig
Stark - Berlin Fashion Week, Umspannwerk Humboldt, Berlin
Radical Eye, The Horse Hospital, London, England
Galerie Knoth & Krüger, Berlin
Galerie Reimann Le Bègue, Düsseldorf
Galerie Loyal, Kassel
Kulturverein Kinski, Berlin
Büro für Fotos, Cologne
Juliettes Literatursalon, Berlin
TV- Gallery, Moskau, Russia
Kunstamt Mitte, Berlin
Studio Bildende Kunst, Berlin
Erotik Art Museum, Hamburg
Endart Galerie, Berlin
Studio Bildende Kunst, Berlin
Gotham Fine Arts, New York, USA
März- Ausstellungen, Cologne
Grauwert Galerie, Hamburg
Galerie Apex, Göttingen
CNA Gallery, San Francisco, USA
Ambush Gallery, San Francisco, USA
Neikrug Gallery, New York, USA
Danceteria, New York, USA
Galerie Nagel, West Berlin
Apotheosis and Derision | 2021 | Pogo Books, Berlin
Romania Raw | 2020 | Pogo Books, Berlin
Berlin Noir | 2016 | Pogo Books, Berlin
Ukrainian Night | 2015 | Spector Books, Leipzig
NYC RIP | 2015 | Pogo Books, Berlin
Down and out in Moscow | 2014 | Pogo Books, Berlin
Offene Wunden - Bilder aus dem freien Osteuropa | 2013 | mox & maritz, Bremen
The Valley of the Shadow | 2010 | Die Gestalten Verlag, Berlin
radical eye | 1997 | Die Gestalten Verlag, Berlin
Miron Zownir Fotografien | 1991 | Erotic Art Museum Hamburg
Poet der radikalen Fotografie | 1988 | Apex-Verlag, Köln
Viele Grüße aus New York | 1983 | Fotografie, Göttingen
Sorry, Lana | 2022 | Golden Press, Bremen
Pommerenke (mit Nico Anfuso) | 2017 | Cultur Books, Berlin & Hamburg
Umnachtung | 2014 | mox & maritz Verlag, Bremen
Parasiten der Ohnmacht (read by Birol Ünel) | 2011 | Deutsche Grammophon
Parasiten der Ohnmacht | 2009 | mox & maritz Verlag, Berlin
Kein schlichter Abgang | 2003 | MirandA Verlag, Bremen
Back to nothing | 2015 | BRD | HD | 98 min
Absturz | 2012 | BRD | HD | 19 min
Phantomanie | 2010 | BRD | HD | 85 min
Bruno S. - Die Fremde ist der Tod | 2003 | BRD | Beta | 60 min
Now or never | 1996 | BRD | 35mm | 14 min
Dead End | 1992 | USA | 16 mm | 24 min