Inside this issue
I am an Austrian expressive photographer with a deep respect for nature and all its creatures. I find the beauty in the mundane and the wonders in the small things, and I want to convey what I see and feel with my eyes and my heart. My photos are triggered by an emotional engagement with the world surrounding me and reach from natural and urban landscapes to small scenes to abstractions.
Tapping deeply into the wellspring of my creativity I look at the world from a different perspective and celebrate the quirky and the curious, acceptance and diversity, inclusivity and the spirit of discovery, inspiration and imagination - and the power of a boundless mind. Engaging with nature to reconnect with myself, I want my images to express all aspects of my emotional landscape - reaching out to the viewer.
In 2012 I paused by my local river and everything changed. I’ve moved away from what many expect photographs to be: my images deconstruct the literal and reimagine the subjective, reflecting the curiosity that water has inspired in my practice. Water has been my conduit: it has sharpened my vision, given me permission to experiment and continues to introduce me to new ways of seeing.
Astrid wrote a beautiful article for On Landscape in 2021 about finding creativity and the difference that it makes to her. I very much recognise and agree with her assertion that the best course of action is to keep an open mind. The piece was accompanied by a series of personal and often intimate images, and two years on it seems a good opportunity to see what other fruits time spent in nature and an absence of preconceived outputs have led to.
Would you like to start by telling readers a little about yourself – where you grew up, what your early interests were, and what you went on to do?
I grew up in Graz, a medium-sized city in Austria surrounded by forests and mountains, so I was never far from nature. I was a shy and introverted child who always felt as though I didn't belong. We didn't have much, my parents worked hard, and I was an only child, so I spent a lot of time alone. I loved being outside in the forest, dreaming up my own worlds, writing fairy tales and poems. I didn't have many friends, and I always felt uncomfortable around other people - I saw myself as an oddball. As I got older, I tried desperately to fit in by putting all the things I thought were unwanted by society in a box and burying that box as deep as I could and putting on a mask that I wore for many, many years. I studied to become an interpreter and ended up working as a scientific coordinator in a research centre and being a caregiver for my elderly and sick parents - secretly mourning the imaginative child and plagued by anxiety and depression.