A memory of my father from WW2. When he was fourteen in 1945 he was near the frontline. Some day he discovered a young soldier lying dead by the brook. He told me that he looked so alive but the dew on his fine hair was irritating.
Tag: soldier
Work in progress . . .
Until now I only use white gouache, black ink and black chalk.
Hypnotized.
Little soldier.
The last soldier.
Jawohl, Herr General.
Werkzeug der Macht.
