Author

I write field notes, essays, and stories about things I encounter: physical places and imagined ones, objects with histories, sensory moments, collections, mysteries, games, memories, and curious connections.

Much of my writing begins with observation. Something catches my attention before I fully understand why. I follow it through context, association, research, memory, and interpretation until a larger story begins to form.

I am particularly interested in places and objects because both can carry traces.

A place can hold atmosphere, history, use, memory, tension, change, and possibility.

An object can carry signs of its maker, owner, purpose, material, culture, journey, age, and use.

Neither exists in isolation. Meaning often becomes clearer through the relationships surrounding it.

I publish many of my writings on Waldverloren — a notebook of places, things, and what I notice along the way.

Places

I have always been drawn to places with character.

Forests, streets, houses, rooms, landscapes, old buildings, imagined worlds — places that create a particular feeling, invite exploration, hold memories, or simply make me stop and pay attention.

I am interested in what gives a place its character: its atmosphere, history, surroundings, sensory qualities, the things within it, and the relationships between them.

A place is more than a setting. It can shape how we feel, what we notice, how we behave, and what we remember. Some places become landmarks in our personal lives. Others become characters in stories. Some we care for, some we avoid, and some we continue to miss long after we have left them.

Much of my work with perception begins here: by moving through places, paying attention to what is present, noticing what changes, and asking what a place might reveal when we give it our attention.

Places are where perception, context, memory, things, and stories meet.

Where I Come From

Throughout much of my professional career, I worked with systems, data, technology, and analysis.

I translated complexity into structure, recognized patterns, investigated problems, built analytical systems, and helped people make sense of information-rich situations.

But information itself was rarely what interested me most. I was interested in what could be discovered through it:

The pattern behind the numbers.
The relationship between apparently separate elements.
The detail that changed the interpretation.
The missing piece.
The wider context.

Looking back, even my interest in databases and analytical systems grew from something much older because I have always collected and cataloged things.

As a child, I collected watches, toys, fossils, minerals, books, stamps, coins, comics, and anything else that seemed interesting enough to investigate. I searched drawers, attics, flea markets, forests, and bookshelves for things that might contain a story.

But I was just as interested in the places around them: forests and old buildings, unfamiliar streets and hidden corners, libraries and museums, places that invited exploration or seemed to hold something yet to be discovered.

Later, collections became databases, libraries, archives, music catalogs, game libraries, photographs, notes, and datasets.

The tools changed. The impulse did not.

I wanted to know what was there, how things related to one another, what patterns could be found, how context changed their meaning, and what story those relationships might tell.

That underlying impulse has remained remarkably consistent:

to find, notice, collect, relate, interpret, document — and tell stories about what I discover.