Jaschl Klein, the photographer from Hamburg, is stage directing. Time? it doesn't exist any more. Wind, cold? The men and women don’t feel them. Time has stopped, lost somewhere between all the centuries. Men and women in frogs of maybe centuries ago, tied into their group, and yet infinitely lost. The sky ls wide, the sand endless.

And the horse has wings: it really does. It lightly bows its head — the silky white mane follows the movement. carefully die hooves start plodding, and the wings beat slowly upwards. downwards, sideways, to and fro.
The old dream of the flying horse — a myth, a legend. surviving for thousands of years. Fly. Pegasus. But Pegasus stays on earth, wings spread, nostrils trembling. Standing with angelic patience.
For two years Jaschi Klein had to fight until she had finished her pictures of the flying horse. Ten different white horses she tried — some for short time only, some ran away, the others patient.
How many times did a sudden wind tear the wings apart? How long did it take to find the right material and consmrction? She is now using bamboo and cloth for glders.
You definitely cannot explain how Jaschi Klein makes it happen, this good-bye to reality, the apparent. But watching the artist at work, you notice that even the smallest detalis are of lmponance. "Can you lie down in the sand?" she asks a woman. "Can you do it flat on the ground, in front of the horse?" Yes, she can. But something ls wrong. It only takes seconds. "Can you take off your shoes? And the socks." Exactly, in her perspective these shoes would have destroyed what defines the atmosphere between the times and the realities.
The actors — mostly non-professional — do not need special training. Only this: 'None of them may be vain.‘ says the prime, grapher, 'because then the tension of the whole image is 'kaputt."
It may take hours, days, months until a series of photos is right, it takes perseverance. tenacity and an obsession. leaving everything else to become unimportant.

Does she have any wishes? 'To be finally able to throw these categories overboard and not to separate between the real and the unreal any more.‘ Jaschl Klein lives in this world between worlds. She sees the invisible. She sees images before they become real to our eyes. Before the white horse with wlngs floats through a desert scene. surrounded by people wrapped up In cloaks silently proclaiming a message. In this world horses can fly. Naturally. Even through cantules. (fatten torn Hamburger Aberulrlaenprl m

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