romka #8 is out now

romka is a collective photo album in which people from all over the world share the stories behind their favorite photographs.

romka #8
31 photos and stories
78 pages at 20×25cm
2,000 copies

romka #8 features photos and stories by Aaron McElroy, Alex Thebez, Anna Walker, Bradley Peters, Brian St. Denis, Christian Patterson, Darja Nagel, Dragana Damjanovic-Schachner, Elisabeth Jayot, Hans-Christian Schink, Harry Griffin, Jan Adriaans, Jason Fulford, Jason Lazarus, Juan Pablo Garza, Lena Guimont, Lindsay Varvari, Marcel Casado, Mariken Wessels, Matt Colquhoun, Mikal Strøm, Nathanael Turner, Peter Watkins, Robert Häusser, Robin Schwartz, Roxana Azar, Ruth van Beek, Shauna Greyerbiehl, Stine Sampers, Thomas Hauser, and Zachary Norman.

Latest entry from the archive

Zachary Norman

I took this photograph while visiting my family in the mountains. My grandma Imogene and cousin Destiny are communicating via Barbie walkie-talkies:

“Imogene, can you hear me from yonder?” This is Destiny yelling now.

My great aunt Inez and cousin Dieira look on. The large house in the distance is unoccupied, so we know there is no one watching us.

Zachary Norman, romka #8

Random entry from the archive

Amber Fairweather

I walked on this beach by the sea when I was thirteen. Songs by Portishead and the Cranberries were in my head. I just learned about Andy Warhol and Edie Sedgwick in art class, so those two were there as well. I wore frayed Levi shorts, thrifted from a Salvation Army in Santa Maria. I proudly embroidered a pink, blue, and yellow peace sign on them with my own two hands. When a girl at church asked if I made them, I replied in shame, “No!”

That was after the shelter where my mother, my brothers and I stayed in one room until we found a place to live. She had left my dad for the fourth, fifth, the sixth time? I lost count, but I promised her that I would run away if she didn’t make a decision whether to stay with him or leave. After all, getting hit wasn’t the worse of it. My mom drove me to Pismo Beach to walk along the sandy beach, to escape the sun and drift in the fog. I knew that I was alright at Pismo Beach with my Vans and frayed shorts that made me feel like a hippie, free, you know? And when we finally found an apartment and went to church every Sunday, they laughed at my shorts, so yes, hence the shame. And when we left California to go to a small town near Penn State, Pennsylvania, they laughed at my suede tan Vans and the thrifted jeans that I would patch with smiley faces because they made me feel like Jimi Hendrix. And I felt ashamed of my love for my daydreams of the 1960s, hippies, violet hair, and black nail polish. I longed for Pismo Beach, the sea that you see in this photograph. I understood because this is where my heart fell out one day. I guess I didn’t feel as ashamed as they did, because they shot heroin up their veins. I left, went to college, and moved to New York.

Fifteen years later I returned to Pismo Beach. I returned with my true love. I swam in the ocean and found my heart. We drove down the highway, past Los Angeles towards Las Vegas. It’s great to find your heart again, even if it’s lost at sea.

I did, can’t you see?

Amber Fairweather, romka #7 (2012)

Gefördert durch die Kulturstiftung
des Freistaates Sachsen

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