Nicky in the lab.

The other day I rediscovered (or even discovered) the joy of making prints with the enlarger. It took me two lazy days to setup the whole thing in the cellar, clean the dust and prepare the liquids, but Wednesday night I was hastily choosing a few negatives to start my tests (I can only use the lab at night because the cellar at my parents' is not really lightproof).

After struggling with some new (old) equipment that I bought several years ago and never had the opportunity to use until now, I finally got some decent results on the outdated Agfa paper and started seamlessly printing all interesting pictures that I had prepared. After a while I also decided that some music couldn't hurt and I included a mp3 player in the setup. That's when I started having fun, in the cold, low-ceilinged, red lit cellar, nodding my head to the rhythm while watching the image come up in the developer. I'll be back down there for sure.

A sunny day.

Back in the day, the backyard was sunny and there was less to worry about.

A sunny day.
Mise en ligne par NMCB

Allein in Buda.

Yesterday I was wandering in a cold and rainy Buda, climbing up a steep, wet, autumnal hill to the Citadella, wrapped in my duffle coat and lost in grave thoughts. On my lonely way to the top I stumbled upon a kind of small underground church built inside the rock. I entered, took off my beret and looked around. Even this cave-like church had the characteristic fragrance that until now I found in every christian place of worship. The fact that I can't describe it nor explain its presence must add to the mild awe that these cold houses of God inspire me. Maybe this scent is simply due to damp waxed wood, which all churches feature in great quantities, but anyway.

I stood for a while at the entrance to that artificial cave, staring at the rounded walls and ceiling covered in a humid concrete. An old man passed by me and into a narrow tunnel where I followed him quietly. The tunnel was only half a dozen meter long and evolved into the actual nave, where a bunch of silent chairs were waiting for the next service. The old man dipped his fingers into a primitive stoup and I tried to remember the last time that I touched holy water. He then marched to a corner where a woman was already kneeling in semi-darkness, and kneeled next to her. I observed the two for a few lengthy seconds.

On my way back to fresh air I wondered why I was all of a sudden feeling so gloomy. It occurred to me that, of this old man and me, one was terribly wrong. Being vaguely atheist, I usually regard prayer as useless and a thing of the weak. But yesterday, walking out of this sacred cave into the calm and chill daylight, the possibility arose that I could as well be the one in the wrong.

Both ways, I thought, this is all very sad. Either there is no God and these poor people are praying for nothing, or there is one and I should be the one kneeling for the salvation of my clumsy soul.

I tried to find an answer in the subsequent light rain damping my canvas shoes. Pensive and moved, I resumed climbing the steep path covered in soaked yellow leaves.

An old portrait.

A portrait from 2008 when I used to sport a rather pedophiliac beard.

picture by Charlotte Fournier

Some pencil.

A very important reminder :

And two T-shirts.

Back.

Alright that's it. I'm back.
I could argue that I am not really back, simply elsewhere, but I've been so obviously here before that I can be nothing else but back. And I don't like it.
Being back means that I was some place else for some time and now it's over. My twisted mind tends to see that as a failure, especially when I had formulated the wish of staying for a longer time. Well.
As a grown-up, I feel like I should look back on the past six months, have some conclusive thoughts, then move on with my life and certainly not live in the past.

All in all, I think I'm a better NMCB. I went from a pretentious sociopathic asshole to a slightly less pretentious, less sociopathic semi-asshole.

This experience additionnally results in a ton of good memories, a fistful of people that I now call my friends, and a fistful of other people I wish I had had the time to know better.

And a lifetime worth of projects.

First step in my evil plan : living in Brussels.

Plans. Changed.

I'm going back to Belgium in one week.

Leaving Berlin makes me a little sad but almost every last person that I know here is leaving these days as well so it makes sense in a way.

Additionnally, I like the idea of having a network of friends living in all european capital cities. And if I'm not the one residing in Brussels, who will it be ?

For now I'll be going back to my parents'. Both my brothers are there for the moment so it shouldn't be too much of a living hell, at least I hope so. I don't plan on being at home too much and too long though. I picture a nice apartment in some nice neighbourhood of Brussels, and having breakfast in a café every day before heading to my overly well-paid job, possibly behind the wheel of some car having that new car smell, or the old car one, I won't be picky about cars I promise.

But for now, I'm trying to make my last Berliner week memorable. I mean more than just a memory of tidying and cleaning for several days (gods knows my room needs it, and now you do as well). It should be fine though. I'm not making a checklist, because they never get completed and that's bad for my good spirits.

I never know if I will be missing the places and people that I leave. We'll see about Berlin. Belgium had better be nice to me though, otherwise being back to the third world will be tough. But I already know of a few cool only-in-Belgium things that will immensely cheer me up. Yay!