Shortly after sunset on a rugged Sardi­nian coastal area, I took this photo. It shows wonderfully the move­ments of the water and how this washes around the rocks. Such a shot is always some­what asso­ciated with try-and-error. Crucial is the search for the ideal expo­sure time and just then still the right wave move­ment to catch. 

Nein diese Aufnahme ist nicht verwa­ckelt. Sie wurde mir ganz bewusst so foto­gra­fiert, um den Eindruck eines Ölge­mäldes alter Maler­meister zu erwe­cken. Hierzu bewegte ich die Kamera während der Belich­tungs­zeit in einer bestimmten Bewe­gung, um diesen Effekt zu erzeugen. Ein Technik, die viel Übung erfor­dert und vor allen Dingen mit vielen, vielen Fehl­ver­su­chen einher­geht. Diese Aufnahme des Sylter Strands mit Meer und Düne tat sich bei allen Ergeb­nissen am stärksten hervor, durch ihre wunder­schön geformten Linien am Meeres­rand und den Wellen­för­migen Linien an der Dünenlandschaft. 

A little surreal seems this shot already, I admit. Taken during hurri­cane-like gusts on the sandy beach of Stin­tino. With my back to the wind, I stood there to protect my camera from the whip­ping wind and the patte­ring of the whirled up sand. I sear­ched for beau­tiful patterns in the sand that changed by the minute thanks to the wind. As the sun lit up the scenery with side­ways back­lighting, I managed to get this shot. 

Another scene that the wind gave me on the beach of Stin­tino. This is a small stone that was lying on the beach. The waves of sand, formed by the strong wind the day before are wonderful to see, but so is the slipstream of the stone, which is other­wise comple­tely invisible. 

Ich bin ein Fan geworden solcher Details­auf­nahmen oder kleinen Szenen , wie man sie auch nennen kann. Hier formte das abflie­ßende Wasser des Meeres den Sand, um diesen Stein so, dass es aussieht, als wäre er umhüllt von einer Flamme. Es gibt immer wieder tolle Sachen am Meer zu entde­cken, man muss nur einmal genauer hinschauen. 

On the second day of our stay in Stin­tino, Sardinia, we had to fight all day with a hurri­cane-like wind. We made it to the beach once in the evening, but the wind constantly whipped the sand of the beach in our faces, so that it was almost impos­sible to take pictures. But I smelled my chance for some inti­mate land­scape shots the next morning. Before anyone else could leave their foot­prints in the sand, I was on the spot taking pictures. This was the first scene I discovered. 

This mussel could not be submerged. The reflu­xing water took ever­y­thing around it back into the sea. This small mussel, however, had been able to defend itself. Thanks to its shape, it was able to cling to the beach. The water, which had washed around it last, provided for remai­ning patterns, at least until the next wave. Under­neath, you can see many trian­gles that look as if they are coming from the little shell. 

On the way to a photo spot I wanted to visit at sunset, I spotted some huge rocks that were satu­rated with large and small cracks. Their size led me to believe that they were solid rocks, unaf­fected by wind and weather. However, the closer you look at them, the more brittle they seemed to me and you can see that the ravages of time are also gnawing away at them. 

Not infre­quently I had seen sea fennel on the rocks of the Sardi­nian coast. This specimen held on to the edges of a rock, so as not to be washed away by the next tide. In the light of the low sun, I was able to capture the struc­ture of the rock, as well as the brightly lit rock in this small scene. 

During my stay in Sardinia I had resolved to pay more atten­tion to the small scenes of nature. One of the first shots of such small scenery was this one. Three small stones that were washed up on the rocks of the coast and now lay there. The rising sun provided texture to the rocks and illu­mi­nated the scene. Tech­ni­cally not quite perfect yet, but I still like the composition. 

A scene taken with my tele­photo lens as I waited to get a shot at blue hour. Waiting for the graceful light and the calm­ness of the sea that evening inspired me to take this shot. Nevert­heless, since the small waves are moving fast, it was not easy to get this shot. Several attempts were neces­sary until ever­y­thing fit in the previously selected image detail. 

Mean­while, I find myself looking for small or inti­mate scenes in nature to photo­graph all the time. This is not about macro photo­graphy, but rather about the small land­scapes that are some­times over­looked in the vast expanse of the world. Partly really exci­ting what there is to discover. Like this rock, which has so many cracks and crevices and yet is a massive stone. 

Actually, this is a not so small water­fall. What I liked about this section, however, was the fact that over the years the water has ground down the edge of the rock, that a hollow was created through which the water can now flow. 

Through the gap in the rock walls of the Lauter­brunnen Valley, the water of the Trüm­mel­bach Falls dug itself over centu­ries. Here I photo­gra­phed one of the last narrow sections of the water­fall quite inti­m­ately. Only a few meters further, the water rushes into the open valley. 

The Mürren­bach Falls plunges over 250m into the depths. I have deli­bera­tely selected and photo­gra­phed a section of the water­fall with a longer focal length, which shows how the water masses flow over the indi­vi­dual rock ledges and cascades. And although an enormous force is exerted by the water on the rock walls, the water looks smooth and silky even with a short expo­sure time of 1/640 sec. 

Es ist eine Form der Foto­grafie, die viel­leicht nicht jedem direkt zugäng­lich ist. Vor allen den Technik-Begeis­terten, die nach immer mehr Pixel, Auflö­sung und Schärfe gieren. Denje­nigen, die sich durch Gefühl und Emotion leiten lassen, dürfte diese krea­tive Art zu foto­gra­fieren even­tuell deut­lich mehr zusagen. Details, Konturen und Struk­turen werden dadurch aufge­löst, Farben und Licht bekommen an Bedeu­tung, die bloße Essenz des Bildes bleibt erhalten. Es eröffnet auch die Möglich­keiten, die Emotionen und die Wahr­neh­mung der Land­schaft in Fotos auszudrücken. 

At the city wall to the old town of Alghero grow some centu­ries old elephant trees. Already on the first day fasci­nated me the RInde of these trees. When on the second day of our stay there, the light was favorable, I used a quiet minute for this shot. What wonderful minia­ture land­scape emerges in it, if you look at it a little. Beau­tiful nature. 

Not only many, but also deep folds of this tree, testify to its great age. Consciously, I chose to take a detailed photo showing only a section of its mighty trunk. For this shot, I used a higher focal length to reduce the visi­bi­lity so that nothing from the surroun­ding area is visible. 

The patterns that a pine tree bears in its bark always fasci­nate me. Espe­ci­ally old speci­mens show many finer patterns and shapes within the coarse patterns. Chains, curves, cracks are signs of a long life of the tree and beau­tiful to look at. 

Even in autumn you can discover a lot of things on the forest floor. The fallen leaves are already begin­ning to rot, are neither green, yellow nor orange, but already brown. And between the leaves stick out again and again small green leaves. This little plant would have to belong to a growing Ruprecht’s weed. If it survives the winter, it should bear flowers next summer. 

When you are photo­gra­phing in the forest, you often discover so many unplanned motifs that are worth photo­gra­phing. In the dark­ness of the spring forest, whose canopy had already closed wide, I disco­vered the flowers of the Ruprechts­kraut on the ground. After some sear­ching, I was able to locate a beau­tiful specimen that I could bring into a great image compo­si­tion with the leaves in its vicinity. 

In many places the wild garlic flowe­ring season begins at the begin­ning of May. This wild garlic bud was also about to blossom when I photo­gra­phed it. In the days that followed, wild garlic was in full bloom in my home region, refres­hing the spring gree­nery in the forests with magical white. A visit to the forest at this time is wort­hwhile to take a look at this splendour. 

A moment in nature that I have eagerly awaited this year: The wild garlic bloom in May. I was eager to locate some wild garlic fields in the Brett­wald that I already knew existed. Finding them didn’t turn out to be parti­cu­larly diffi­cult, as our Brett­wald was lite­rally littered with wild garlic. Now it was just a matter of watching until the bloom was in full swing. This photo shows a very young bloo­ming wild garlic flower. 

Every spring I look forward again to being able to go into the forest to pick wild garlic. The high­light of the wild garlic season for me is then always the bloom at the end of April, begin­ning of May. If the condi­tions for a photo fit, then nothing keeps me at home and I go into the forest to portray the wild garlic. 

In spring the forest is full of these small incon­spi­cuous but beau­tiful flowers of anemones. Their green foliage make the forest floor turn green early. 

Windrushes can be disco­vered during any walk in the forest in the spring. They cover large parts of the forest floor and often visible from the roadside. 

At any time of year, I am drawn to the local forest in my photo­gra­phic forays. Because there is always some­thing to discover. In spring there is even more to explore. Because on the ground of the forest, many early bloo­mers spread out, such as the small wood anemones, which you can always put in a great scene. Like this flower, which seems to be hiding among the many green leaves of the wild garlic. 

One could not speak of abso­lute camou­flage with this autumn leaf that fell to the ground. The other­wise so green meadow let this specimen shine. His strong yellow lite­rally stood out. Sure, there are many such motifs in autumn, but still this scene was worth a photo for me. 

A shot that I have to thank my daughter. She disco­vered during a walk this yellow colored autumn leaf on the gravel of the forest path. The gray-blue gravel forms a beau­tiful color contrast to the yellow of the leaf of an oak. 

A beau­tifully colored autumn leaf on which still some morning dew persists lay lonely on the ground of a forest path. 

I photo­gra­phed these leaves on our fan maple in our home garden. Year after year I am fasci­nated by its great red tones, which shine beau­tifully espe­ci­ally in spring. 

This flower belongs to a plant called ‘Multi­co­lored spurge’. The beau­tiful and in close-up fasci­na­ting flower is rather mono­chrome in yellow to green. For me, ther­e­fore, the Tiel Mono­chrome spurge fits quite well. 

In my opinion the best time to photo­graph flowers like this beau­tiful prim­rose is during sunrise. The dew on the blades of grass around make a beau­tiful bokeh and photo­gra­phed against the light, a successful picture is almost just a forma­lity. On this April morning it was indeed very humid and foggy. But the wet socks do not matter when you find such beau­tiful motifs. 

This wild growing yellow buttercup espe­ci­ally stood out on the green meadow. Beau­tifully unfolds its color in the morning sunlight. 

In the back­light dande­l­ions look parti­cu­larly beau­tiful. This morning I found this young, still perfectly round dande­lion on a, still very wet from the morning dew, meadow. 

Den einen Freud des anderen Leid. Gemeinhin zählt die Puste­blume zu den Unkräu­tern. Der Löwen­zahn, den nichts aufhalten kann, wächst sogar durch Beton und in jeder noch so kleinen Ritze. Möglich machen es die kleinen Schirm­chen, die vom Wind wegge­blasen werden und aus denen eine neue Pflanze erwachsen kann. Außerdem kenne ich kaum ein Kind, dass nicht dabei Spaß hat sie weg zu pusten. Oder? 

Snow­drops are among the first harbin­gers of spring. For me, too, their bloo­ming means that we will soon be able to enjoy the many colorful blos­soms of spring again. 

A beau­tiful macro shot of a daisy. If you look at some flowers in detail, so you are always fasci­nated about the crea­ti­vity of our mother nature 

This plant has one of the most beau­tiful flowers I know. A real summer flower that unfolds all its glory in a sunny location. 

This beau­tiful full moon on a spring morning dipped down into the softly colored morning haze of veil clouds, just before the rising sun. 

The crocuses are for me a sign of spring. In this picture a busy bee has sneaked into the picture, which knows no spring fatigue and is already in the first beau­tiful days on the new flowers. 

In no other season the grass seems to be greener than in spring. 

This bright poppy blossom in the middle of the wheat field natu­rally catches the eye. Blessed with the comple­men­tary color to the green young wheat, it lite­rally glows and you almost have to be afraid that the color won’t over­shoot on the camera sensor. Admit­tedly, the title of this image with the pun only works in German-spea­king count­ries, but it’s still a beau­tiful little scene of nature. 

In photo­graphy, I find parti­cu­larly beau­tiful that you can find his plea­sure even in very small unspec­ta­cular things. Like this little scene in our nature. On the one hand, a dramatic cloud-covered sky and on the other hand, this small floa­ting clouds in front of it that moved over the expanse of the young poppy field. Probably this scene would have gone unno­ticed by many, but it amused me, so I captured it on a photo. 

A wide­spread spring bloomer in our native bushes and deci­duous forests is the chick­weed. Often seen it is given little atten­tion, while it has such an incon­spi­cuous beau­tiful flower. 

This plant defies even singing heat and blazing midday sun, so it is not for nothing called coneflower. 

The land­scapes in southern Germany are charac­te­rized in many regions by the rows of viney­ards. Aligned in parallel, their arran­ge­ment provides struc­ture and, depen­ding on the inci­dence of light, parti­cular patterns. Here I was able to photo­graph the diffe­rent yellow-green tones of the summer viney­ards as diagonal lines from an elevated posi­tion in the evening backlight. 

Nature always finds solu­tions and ways. So this little pansy found its way between two washed concrete slabs to the sun and fresh air. 

The play of light and shadow that fog and sun offer is worth getting up early and going out into the cold. The fine water drop­lets of the fog make the sun’s rays visible. This photo, even as a black and white photo­graph, would convey this beau­tiful mood of light. 

Already a few weeks ago they fell from their bran­ches to the ground. There they lie now, the first frost of winter packed them with small white frost particles. Each indi­vi­dual leaf a land­scape in itself. Beau­tiful and fasci­na­ting. In this photo still with beau­tiful frozen dewdrops on the grasses. 

Bereits vor einigen Wochen fielen sie von ihren Rebzweigen zu Boden. Dort liegen sie nun, der erste Frost des Winters verpackte sie mit kleinen weißen Frost­par­ti­keln. Jedes einzelne Blatt eine kleine Land­schaft für sich. Wunder­schön und Faszinierend. 

This vine fully over­grown with moss is already a great motif. With the autumnal morning frost, however, it looks even more unreal. 

It is some­times amazing what bizarre shapes nature forms. A little fog and frost makes these fasci­na­ting shapes look even more mystical, like this vine and its companions. 

This old vine trunk with all its character, the old flaked bark and musk growth, defies all weather condi­tions on the slopes of the viney­ards. This morning the mist settled on him as frost. 

Dieses Bild wirkt als ob es Gold regnen würde. In Wahr­heit ist es eine herbst­lich gelb­ge­färbte Birke in der Abend­sonne. Der Effekt, der die Blätter wirken lässt, als ob es Gold regnet kommt von der ICM-Technik, bei der man während der Belich­tungs­zeit die Kamera in bestimmten Bewe­gungen und Rich­tungen bewegt. 

Zuge­geben ein sehr abstraktes Bild. Mit etwas Fantasie erkennt man aber die Gräser und Blätter des Wein­bergs im Herbst. Im oberen Bild­be­reich sind es bereits gefärbte Blätter im Sonnen­un­ter­gangs­licht, die für das inten­sive orange sorgen. 

Eine weitere ICM-Aufnahme. In diesem Fall weniger abstrakt, da die Bewe­gung nur leicht ausge­führt wurde. So sind die Birken deut­lich erkennbar. Ein Bild das von seinem Farb­kon­trast lebt. Die gelben Herbst­blätter im Vorder­grund, der blaue See im Hintergrund.