I give my print-at-home ticket to the inspector of the German ICE train as we travel at 300kph. As he unfolds it I notice some blotches on the reverse side, and worry that my printer has gone wrong and started leaking ink. Later I notice it’s not a stain, but rather Robert Walser, lying dead in the snow on Christmas day 1956… a hasty black and white printout of the famous police photograph that i’d made while working with Tim on ‘Lest We See…’
Walser never made it into the piece. There’s something off limits about the photo, like it really shouldn’t be disseminated any further. But mistaking it for a mistake – a stain on a folded, dog-eared, white sheet of paper – somehow feels right, like a ghost having found a new way to slip into reality.