We all know how it feels when we fall in love with someone. But can you also fall in love with a place, a country? That's what happened to me over 40 years ago with Scotland and the Outer Hebrides. It was a Saturday evening. I took the ferry from Oban to Castlebay on the small island of Barra, in the south of the Outer Hebrides. The crossing was terrible. Storm, rain, and waves. And it was night. Most of the passengers held on to the railing and tried not to throw up. At least I wasn't alone. The ferry was small, it pitched and rolled against the waves, the crossing took a long time, even longer than planned because of the storm. Finally, we arrived in Castlebay. It was completely dark. I pitched my tent behind a shed and hoped it would last through the night. When I woke up in the morning, I was greeted by a deep silence. Cold, clear air. The storm had subsided. A deep silence was around me and within me. I knew I had arrived at the right place. When I fall in love with someone, I want to get to know that person, learn things about them, and share experiences together. I felt that way about Scotland and the Outer Hebrides. I have been coming back for 45 years, lived in Edinburgh for several years, met my wife in Glasgow, and almost stayed in Scotland. When you love someone, you don't want anyone to hurt them. Every injustice hurts. That's how I felt about Scotland. In the early years, I found the many ruins and chimneys of old houses in the countryside picturesque, motifs for photos that I couldn't have taken in my northern German homeland, because there are no such ruins in the landscape there. It took me a long time to understand the history of these chimneys. It is a history that hangs over the country like a shadow of doom that no one talks about. At least no one talked to me about it in the 1980s and 1990s. And I didn't ask about it. Today, I wonder why I didn't ask more questions back then. Times have changed. In 1999, Scotland gained partial autonomy from England (“devolution”). The political and cultural climate has changed since then. The injustices of past centuries, the colonial exploitation of land and people by the British elites, are now discussed more openly. I have changed too. Ten years ago, I began researching this history and asking questions. Why are there so many lonely chimneys in the landscape? Why did a trip to the Outer Hebrides in the 1980s feel like traveling back in time? What stories are hidden in the landscape? What happened? I have learned a lot about the harsh history of this country, where people speak a gentle English, greet me on the road, invite me into their homes for a tea and a chat. A history of centuries of exploitation of the local Gaelic population by colonial landowners from the British upper class. The brutal eviction of countless people, entire villages, during the “Highland Clearances” of the 19th century. The impoverishment and depopulation of the islands. When I meet people in the Hebrides today, I ask them about their story. What connects them to these islands? Why did they stay or come here? Ten years ago, I decided to compile my encounters with places and people into a book. Together with the story of my own relationship with the Outer Isles. Perhaps it will become a book just for me and my family. But perhaps it will also be possible to print it so that I can share what I have learned with other people. I have already learned a lot from this project. About the islands, about myself, about photography, and about writing. I spent a long time experimenting with different photographic approaches. First with colour photography, to capture the beauty of the light and the colours of the land. With a Widelux panoramic camera I tried to convey the vast space of the landscape. There were “good” photos, but I missed something. When I saw the book “Sabine” by Danish photographer Jacob Aue Sobol, I saw what my photos missed. It needed a black-and-white approach, harsh contrasts, analogue film to convey the harshness of the past, and the roughness and barren beauty of the land. I have been working on this project since 2018 with my old Olympus, in 35mm format. This camera has been with me for more than 50 years. It is like a part of my body. I can operate it in my sleep. It withstands the Scottish wind, the cold, and the rain. I love looking at the world through its viewfinder. I work with Tri-X 400 film, which I expose at 800-1600 ASA and then push accordingly during development. I scan the negatives and do the post-production on the computer. The Hebridean Journey project consists of fragments, stories of places and people I encountered on Lewis and Harris. But it also tells of my connection to the islands, my journeys. Each fragment is a short sequence of images and text, linked by my thoughts, questions, and experiences. I have been working on the concept for this project for years. Many books have influenced me on my way. Alec Soth writes in his book “A Pound of Pictures”: “My process is like web surfing in the real world. The goal is to be carried by a wave of curiosity and free association.” I can identify with that. But I also want to understand. Why did things happen? What were the economic and political contexts of their time? Which actors were involved, who was responsible for evil actions? And I want to pass on what I understand. This requires not only photos, but also text. While I try to make sense of what I see and what has happened, the project is not a coherent representation of the world, but consists of fragments, impressions, thoughts and questions. The Hebridean Journey is a journey that is not yet complete. Perhaps I will never complete it, just as one hopes that a good love will never end. The project is like a puzzle in which more and more pieces have found their place, where an image is beginning to emerge but is not yet complete. On some of my trips to Scotland, I have been accompanied by novels by Haruki Murakami. I love his simple, clear language. The concise sentences that capture moments and moods with simplicity and elegance. The fluid transitions from reality to the magical and surreal. Completely different, yet a book whose style I love is “The World Behind Dukla” by Andrzej Stasiuk. His poetic descriptions of places and moments transport me right into those places and moments. Sven Lindquist's book “Exterminate all the Brutes” showed me how different narrative strands can be connected. The author's journey through the Sahara. The journey of the narrator Marlow into the heart of Africa, in Joseph Conrad's book “Heart of Darkness”. The depiction of the historical and philosophical roots of European colonialism, racism, and genocide in Africa. Inspired by this book, I began to research the colonial entanglements of the history of the Isle of Lewis. James Matheson, who purchased the Isle of Lewis in 1844, had made his fortune trading opium to China. British industrial magnate and soap manufacturer Lord Leverhulme, who bought the Isle of Lewis from the Matheson family in 1918, had leased a huge concession in the Congo Free State from Belgium's King Leopold II, which he brutally exploited to extract rubber and palm oil. Countless people died. Both James Matheson and Lord Leverhulme were “honourable” members of the British upper class. Both had seats in the British Parliament. Lord Leverhulme was even a member of the House of Lords. Hebridean Journey explores the stories of people and places on the isles of Lewis and Harris. Why do people chose to live in these remote places? But maybe, I am asking the wrong question. Aird Uig is a small village, a community of artists and people who have fled the noisy and fast-paced world. A former Royal Air Force radar station, located on a rocky peninsula on the outer west coast of Lewis. A place where no tree withstands the wind. This is where I meet Nicola. She is a painter in her early 50s, originally from Northern Ireland. A few years ago, while working in Newcastle, she has met her partner Mark. She says, “it was the right moment to take some risks.” A year later, the two come to Aird Uig. They stay. When I ask her why they stayed in this place, she says: “The place chooses the people. Not the other way round.” Captions. 1. The road to Rhenigidale on the Isle of Harris. Rhenigidale was the last village in the United Kingdom to get a road connection. People fought for that road for more than 50 years. Other villages were abandoned, because they never received a road connection. 2. Lews Castle. James Matheson bought the entire Isle of Lewis in 1844. Born in the Scottish Highlands, he had made a fortune from trading opium to China. He had Lews Castle built. 3. Stornoway. The town plays a special role in the history of the Isle of Lewis. It was founded on a sheltered bay on the east side of the island, opposite the Scottish mainland. Today, Stornoway is the economic, political, and administrative centre of the islands. It is the place from which Lewis was and is controlled. Malcolm Maclean, who founded the Ann Lantair art centre in Stornoway 40 years ago, calls Stornoway an “English colonial outpost.” This refers to places established by the British Empire in its colonies. Often located on the coast, accessible to the British fleet, with a military garrison. These outposts enforced British rule in subjugated territories and colonies, securing trade and exploitation on the coasts of Africa and India as well as in the Outer Hebrides. 4. Stornoway is a town with a working class culture. Some of the families who were evicted from the rural villages of Lewis, stayed in Stornoway. Others moved on to the slums of the industrializing cities of Glasgow, Edinburgh or Manchester. Many emigrated to Canada. 5. The landscape of Harris and Lewis is dotted with chimneys, the ruins of houses whose inhabitants were evicted in the “Highland Clearances” of the 19th century or who were forced to leave their homes because of poverty. 6. Sheep on the Pairc Peninsula, Isle of Lewis. In the 19th century, 30 out of 40 villages were evicted on the Pairc Peninsula in order to establish sheep farms. Sheep were more profitable than the rents that could be squeezed out of small tenant farmers. 7. Uig Lodge. When demand for sheep wool decreased, landowners converted large areas of Lewis and Harris into “sporting estates”. Sporting estates were used by the British upper class for deer hunting, fishing and social networking. Owning a “sporting estate” and a “lodge” was a status symbol of the new rich of the industrial revolution who looked for recognition by the traditional aristocratic upper class of England. Several villages in the Uig district on the west coast of Lewis were evicted in order to establish the Uig Lodge sporting estate. 8. Baile na Cille Church in the district of Uig, West Lewis. The church was built in 1829 for the minister of the Church of Scotland. Local people tell, that many smallholders were evicted and their land given to the minister. The Church of Scotland was part of the establishment in those years. 9. If you travel around the Isles of Lewis and Harris, you will encounter large graveyards. The young men of the isles were a valuable resource of the British empire. Thousands were drafted into the British army to fight in the countless colonial wars of the British empire. No other area of the British empire lost a higher percentage of the young men in these wars. 10. Abandoned white fish trawler. After World War I, the fishing industry of the Isle of Lewis broke down. There were not sufficient young man any more, after more than 1.000 of them had been killed in the war. Also, the transport of fish from Lewis to the mainland ports became too expensive. 11. Abandoned whaling station on the Isle of Harris. The station was originally established by a Norwegian company. After the first world war, it was taken over by Lord Leverhulme who wanted it to become part of his grand fishing industry schemes which failed when local people refused to work for him. 12. Harris and Lewis are still characterized by high poverty rates today. However, since “devolution”, the partial independence of Scotland, the long-term population decline has slowed. 13. The Aird Uig peninsula, the most north-westerly point of Lewis. In the second world war, the peninsula was home to a Royal Air Force radar station. The station was shut down in the 1950s. In the 1980s, people started to recover the old barracks. Today, Aird Uig is home to a community of artists and people who have fled the noisy and fast-paced world. 14. The people in Aird Uig have founded a community trust who has bought the peninsula and the old radar station. They plan to remodel it into an observatory for whales and stars. 15. Micheal came to Aird Uig more than 30 years ago, with his wife and children. “We had a company, made children’s clothes, in the Midlands, had 12 people employed. Then came Maggie Thatcher, put the interest rates up to 15 percent. We lost everything, the company, the house.” They looked for a place to live they could afford to buy. That brought them to Aird Uig. Some years ago, Micheal had a stroke. His wife has passed away. The kids have moved to the mainland. His two dogs died last year. “I am the only one left”, he says. “The summers are nice up here, the winters hard. The storms rip apart the house in the winter. You spend the summer fixing the damage. Then comes the next winter.” Still, he has no intention of leaving. “Where should I go to?”, he asks.