My grandmother 1938, 18 years old – © Sarah Pabst

My grandmother 1938, 18 years old.

Sarah Pabst

Zukunft

[ EPF 2017 – HONORABLE MENTION ]

I was still standing on a northern corner.
Moonlit winter clouds the color of the desperation of wolves.
Proof of Your existence? There is nothing but.
(Franz Wright)

Between 1933-1945 Germany and many parts of Europe were dominated by Nazism and World War II. 72 years later, the traumatic experiences of this period are still present in Europe. Memories are associated with pain, violence and threat. In Germany in particular, this legacy took the form of guilt in post-war generations, ashamed by the events and their place in history. This work is traversed by that history. My grandparents survived the war and just as many of their generation they have passed away and now their memories will soon be part of the past.

My niece Reem, half Israeli, half German, dressed up as princess.
My niece Reem, half Israeli, half German, dressed up as princess.
Flowers on a grave.
Flowers on a grave.
Letter my grandfather wrote as a prisoner of war, 1945, in France.
Letter my grandfather wrote as a prisoner of war, 1945, in France.
My mother, three months after my brother suddenly died.
My mother, three months after my brother suddenly died.
My sister Anna and her family. Her husband Ran is Israeli, they have three kids. During Nazi Germany her whole family would have been deported. Above: The Prison where my great-grandfather was a political prisoner during Nazi Germany.
My sister Anna and her family. Her husband Ran is Israeli, they have three kids. During Nazi Germany her whole family would have been deported. Above: The Prison where my great-grandfather was a political prisoner during Nazi Germany.
My brother Milan and fragments of a letter of my grandfather. Nine month later he died of sudden cardiac death.
My brother Milan and fragments of a letter of my grandfather. Nine month later he died of sudden cardiac death.
Forest next to my parents house. In 1944, my grandfather tried to escape from the German army together with Rumanian war prisoners. They tried to run through a forest towards the Americans. They were caught, the prisoners shot and he sentenced to death by hanging in the next morning. In the same night, the Americans arrived and he survived.
Forest next to my parents house. In 1944, my grandfather tried to escape from the German army together with Rumanian war prisoners. They tried to run through a forest towards the Americans. They were caught, the prisoners shot and he sentenced to death by hanging in the next morning. In the same night, the Americans arrived and he survived.
A photo of my grandfather's archive, a german plane in Russia. The dots resemble the holes in my inherited memories.
A photo of my grandfather’s archive, a german plane in Russia. The dots resemble the holes in my inherited memories.

I always ask myself, what if. What if I had been born at the same time as my grandmother, what if the Waffen-SS had hanged my grandfather for running away with young Rumanian prisoners of war, what if the US-troops had arrived some hours later? Future is unpredictable, things can turn either way. What if my sister had been married to a jew not now but 80 years ago? And questions one can’t answer – Why are people capable of deporting children, men, women, entire families to their sure death?

 

A small piece of a photo of the bombing of Kiel out of a book I found on the streets of Buenos Aires on World War II, intervened by the dots that resemble the holes in my inherited memory.
A small piece of a photo of the bombing of Kiel out of a book I found on the streets of Buenos Aires on World War II, intervened by the dots that resemble the holes in my inherited memory.
My younger sister Lea. After the war my grandmother waited for her father, a political prisoner of the Nazis, to come back home. American soldiers occupied her house. It was a dangerous time for a young woman alone. She was lucky and an officer saved her from being raped by another soldier. Lea very often reminds me of my grandmother - both at the same time fragile and incredibly strong.
My younger sister Lea. After the war my grandmother waited for her father, a political prisoner of the Nazis, to come back home. American soldiers occupied her house. It was a dangerous time for a young woman alone. She was lucky and an officer saved her from being raped by another soldier. Lea very often reminds me of my grandmother – both at the same time fragile and incredibly strong.
A bunker, left over of German occupation in Zeeland, Netherlands. They stand like silent testimonies in the landscape.
A bunker, left over of German occupation in Zeeland, Netherlands. They stand like silent testimonies in the landscape.
A photo my grandfather took in 42 in Russia. The dots resembles the holes in my inherited memory.
A photo my grandfather took in 42 in Russia. The dots resembles the holes in my inherited memory.
Graves with the inscription "unknown" in German in a cemetery in Engelskirchen, Germany, of World War II. Engelskirchen is a small town where I grew up. It was heavily bombed shortly before the end of the war.
Graves with the inscription “unknown” in German in a cemetery in Engelskirchen, Germany, of World War II. Engelskirchen is a small town where I grew up. It was heavily bombed shortly before the end of the war.
My brother's eldest daughter Lina playing at a creek close to my parent's house. In that moment, her childhood was still perfect.
My brother’s eldest daughter Lina playing at a creek close to my parent’s house. In that moment, her childhood was still perfect.
My grandfather (6th from the left) in 1942, somewhere in Russia. The dots in the picture reflect the holes in my inherited memory.
My grandfather (6th from the left) in 1942, somewhere in Russia. The dots in the picture reflect the holes in my inherited memory.
Lavie, the eldest daughter of my sister Anna., half Israeli, half German.
Lavie, the eldest daughter of my sister Anna., half Israeli, half German.

 

My project is a series of questions, of a past that lives in us, of wounds we inherit from our forefathers. I heard their stories of life, suffering, hunger, guilt and death, and not only obedience but also resistance against the Nazi regime. Finally, these memories, their memories, became part of mine. Through them, I build and shape my own ones, the past, the present and thereby, also the future.

 

Small paper boats folded on New Years Eve with wishes for 2016. They are a symbol as well of me living 12000km away from my native country. Maybe I needed the distance to be able to photograph my families' story.
Small paper boats folded on New Years Eve with wishes for 2016. They are a symbol as well of me living 12000km away from my native country. Maybe I needed the distance to be able to photograph my families’ story.
A small piece of a photo of a book I found on the streets of Buenos Aires on World War II, intervened by the dots that resemble the holes in my inherited memory.
A small piece of a photo of a book I found on the streets of Buenos Aires on World War II, intervened by the dots that resemble the holes in my inherited memory.
Birds cover a winter sky. My grandmother always said that the bombs sometimes looked like pearls falling down from the sky, blinking in the sun. When they fell on her family's house, she was alone, getting ready for bed and survived my miracle.
Birds cover a winter sky. My grandmother always said that the bombs sometimes looked like pearls falling down from the sky, blinking in the sun. When they fell on her family’s house, she was alone, getting ready for bed and survived my miracle.
The house where I grew up. During Nazi Germany, the houses were used as offices by high ranking officers. Afterwards, they stood empty for many years, belonging to the municipality. First thing my father did when they started renting it was to cut the flagpole in the garden.
The house where I grew up. During Nazi Germany, the houses were used as offices by high ranking officers. Afterwards, they stood empty for many years, belonging to the municipality. First thing my father did when they started renting it was to cut the flagpole in the garden.
My brother Milan and his youngest daughter. My grandmother had lost two brothers in the war. As a child I listened to her stories, saw her grief and was always scared my brother would not come back. Many years later one of my biggest horrors would become reality. He died of sudden cardiac death in September 2016.
My brother Milan and his youngest daughter. My grandmother had lost two brothers in the war. As a child I listened to her stories, saw her grief and was always scared my brother would not come back. Many years later one of my biggest horrors would become reality. He died of sudden cardiac death in September 2016.
My father wearing a white shirt. To me, the white shirt was always a symbol of my childhood. My grandfather and the prisoners wore the white shirts as a sign of peace when they tried to escape towards the Americans.
My father wearing a white shirt. To me, the white shirt was always a symbol of my childhood. My grandfather and the prisoners wore the white shirts as a sign of peace when they tried to escape towards the Americans.
A firework explodes on the New Year's eve of 2016. When I took the photo I still didn't know it was going to be the hardest and most painful year of my life so far.
A firework explodes on the New Year’s eve of 2016. When I took the photo I still didn’t know it was going to be the hardest and most painful year of my life so far.
My grandfather in 1938, 19 years old.
My grandfather in 1938, 19 years old.

In September 2016 my brother died of sudden cardiac death. Suddenly, future came down on us. This project is dedicated to him.

 

Short Bio

Sarah is a German-born (1984) documentary photographer and painter based in Buenos Aires, Argentina since 2013. Besides her personal intimate work she mainly focuses on women and identity topics. Her work has been exhibited both nationally and internationally.

Her work has received international recognition being a finalist in Arles’ Voies Off, Athens Photo Festival, Organ Vida Festival, Nano Festival and the Gomma Grant, all 2017. She was nominated for the JS Masterclass twice. She was a winner of the Portfolio Revisions at FoLa and selected twice for Descubrimientos Photo España. In 2015 she won a 3rd Prize at the POY LATAM and the Canon Profifoto Grant 2014. Her work was published in California Sunday Magazine, GUP, Bloomberg, Vice, Lensculture, Le Monde Dipl., and Juxtpoz, among others.

She owns a masters degree in Fine Arts and Spanish (University of Cologne and Wuppertal, 2011) where she also worked as an adjunct lecturer from 2012-15.

 

Related Links

 

sarahpabst.com

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The Emerging Photographer Fund is supported by generous donors to the Magnum Foundation

Magnum Foundation

2 thoughts on “Sarah Pabst – Zukunft”

  1. Frostfrog

    I was fascinated, beginning to end. I wonder what the odds are that one of the bombs that fell on your grandmother’s house was dropped by my father?

    Tiny in reality, but huge in a symbolic way.

    My favorite, so far.

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