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My favorite images are always the starting point for a new post.
I start writing then, looking for thoughts and words,
without knowing where they will lead me.
Sometimes, the post is already published,
I notice that something is missing.

Anders Petersen, Stockholm; 1973

This time, I didn’t mention Anders Peters capability
to show intimacy without becoming indiscrete.
Neither did I mention that his work is not only about despair
but also about the lust for life and love.

Anders Petersen, Stockholm; 1990

The women, whose bare breast is meandering snakelike towards me,
her eyes self-confident and warm,
but yet also taunting as if saying: you men, I know you all.

In the semi dark, a woman, depicted in a moment of natural,
absent-minded nakedness.
Photography can’t be more tender and more intimate than here.
This is not just an image about this specific woman,
but also an image dealing with my imaginations
and hopes connected to this big something we call love.

Anders Petersen, Stockholm; 1996

The more abstract Anders Petersens images get,
the more they touch fundamental points that connect all of us.

Darkness. A naked belly.
The mouth torn wide open, shapeless, like the entrance of a cave.
This torso is loosing its likeness to a human.
Fear, desperation, desertion.
If those feelings get the upper hand, you will be lost.
A dark hole will swallow you.
Seen from an outside point, it’s sheer madness.
We leave.

I am remembering those nights,
when my mother didn’t stop crying for hours and hours.
Her weeping sounds becoming increasingly desperate,
losing by and by similarity with human utterings.

Anders Petersen sympathizes with the beings he photographs.
He stands the abysmal depths that he experiences
through the life of his protagonists.
Finally: he is not judging, he is not adjudging them.

Anders Petersen, Stockholm, Psychiatric Division; 1993-1995

Without respect for the other person,
forget about taking photographs of him or her.
They are superfluous then.