I remember my time as an exchange student in Southern California.
I remember the long weekends and the long uneasy silences at the home of my guest parents that I couldn´t explain to myself.
I remember my determination to function and to adapt to the situation, as well as I could, being a guest in a home not being my home.
It came up to one weekend I couldn´t bear all of this deadening silence anymore. I went out to the backyard, sat down a hidden place and started crying.
Then my Mom, who wasn´t my mom, followed me out to the spot in the backyard I was sitting at, and explained to me, that she and Dad, who wasn’t my dad, were separating.
All those secrets the grown-ups have you sense as a child without being able to understand. The rules you are exposed too, the labyrinth of punishments you are subjected to, the explanations you hear, they all grow to threatening shadows on the wall.
The photographs of Glen Erler have triggered childhood memories going back in time even before the incident I mentioned.
Glen Erler mostly hides his protagonists. You see them from afar, you see their faces obstructed by shadows and fences, you see them behind milky window glasses. You see them being alone.
Sometimes his photographs talk of sadness, sometimes there is a hint of desperation, but overall there is a reflection of the invisible s inner world of a child mirrored through reality. And there are those photographs of places, of places no grown-up ever cares to notice, places that have been your places, places that have been close to you and bore a magic that grown-ups can´t experience anymore.
I remember myself sitting on a tree through the hot days of summer, reading, musing, feeling safe and proud of being up there, sitting high up, between the branches of a dead tree.