It’s thirty-six degrees. A dry desert sun burns the roof.
From up here the vast empty ground seems endless.
The heat and the wind touch my skin.
I open a door,
the background noise of the city fades away.
With my eyes closed I see an ocean
of weightless light rays –
dancing, floating…
I trust my body.
I’m here.
(Diane Vincent)

–

On top things are different. On mountains, for example, or on trees. In cities you are up when you climb on roofs. Although the city is very close, there is nothing going on. No cars, no crowds, no people. Diane Vincent’s course over Berlin rooftops is a contemplative walk in Black & White with views of unadorned facades, chimneys, satellite dishes and in the sky. A carefully produced little artist book … (Hannes Wanderer, 25books)

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