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  Obituary for Jens Walther-Seefeldt (born 1956): Success? What for? – Berlin | Bit Updates
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Obituary for Jens Walther-Seefeldt (born 1956): Success? What for? – Berlin

Monday, January 8th, 2018 | bitcoin updates


Photography wanted to study many in the GDR, much more than the country needed photographers. Accordingly, it was difficult to get a license for studying in Leipzig. Jens had been a welder in a housing combine for ten years, did not take a long shot and got his place at the first attempt. His brother-in-law, who had taken him to photography, needed three attempts. Jens studied the art of time-keeping, in a time that was racing. The land in which he grew up fell apart and nothing remained as it was. Many thought the new era was colorful, exciting. Jens looked a bit different. For his diploma thesis he photographed a GDR concrete factory that had been closed with the change and now crumbled. A lot of silent surfaces with a thick, gray layer of dust on top. The country he grew up in had taught him to look at the world differently than the world wanted to look at. It had taught him to distinguish well his needs in life from the alleged demands that the environment places on a life. In socialism he had lived like this, had seen others marching in lockstep, shaking their heads and singing Bob Dylan songs. In capitalism, he lived to see others running after money and success, shaking his head and continuing to play the Dylan songs. In that, however, he was getting better, both on the guitar and with the voice. Jens' brother-in-law tells how, during the many years that followed her studies, she completed photo assignments together. You could work well with Jens; He had that very own look for which the brother-in-law envied him. Unfortunately, but Jens forgot the dates every now and then and was not quite in the thing. Could it be that he was not so keenly interested in the photo assignments? There were so many other interesting things. The music, for example, the Dylan songs. Then there was the country he loved so much. Who says that a tour through Mecklenburg with bike and food is nothing more valuable than a paid working day with a camera and tripod? When the sun is shining, you should sit in the sun! If you do something more important, she is gone again. And then the cooking. It may well be that the production of a perfectly lit, surprisingly composed photograph generates satisfaction and recognition. But you can not eat it. A ten-course meal, on the other hand, perfectly seasoned, surprisingly composed, everyone has something of it: body and soul. And if you do it right, you can earn some money with it. Jens saw that there is a sense in having to pay for what you do. So he ran a catering service, cooked for family parties – and hoped the families would recommend him. Because he also likes to run the catering, but he did not have that kind of advertising. He made flyers and business cards, and then he did not hand them out.

 This thing called "success," he did not seek. Friends were surprised that this person had so little ambition. But what is the ambition for living a good life without him? There was never an exhibition with Jens' photos, so what? He did not have to write a cookbook, but was happy with the cookbooks that were available to buy. What you can learn from it! The thing with the daughters It was like music. He played in a band and they sang the songs of others. After all, they were already there and anyway much better than anything that you would think of yourself. There was a circumstance in his life that he was struggling with: his daughters business. He had separated from his mother when they were little, his mother moved away with them, and he went far too seldom. When they grew up and he was living with another woman, Conni, and their son, the contact became closer. They talked to each other about the wishes they had, the things they had missed. And were there for each other now. That was important when he got sick. The prostate cancer was discovered when he was 50. And even now he found a way past all expectations. The doctors recommended therapies with serious side effects. He found this fight against cancer a struggle against himself. What was growing in him belonged to him. Should not he look for the causes in himself? He turned to alternative medicine, psychologists, nutritionists, fell to real helpers and charlatans, experienced successes and setbacks. And felt the visits to normal hospitals again and again as a foreign determined imposition. Many doubted: Should not he this time after the majority opinion? He said, "Let me decide my own life." And he often encouraged the others. He was feeling dirty, the others were suffering, and he was joking. He lived for another ten years. Nobody knows whether it could have been more or had been less. It is true that it was ten good years, because it was his years. Conni was with him, his daughters, his son. And when the sun was shining, he sat down in the sun.

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