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Jeden Monat nähern sich unsere Kolumnisten, die Berliner Filmemacher Dominik und Benjamin Reding, dem jeweiligen Heftthema
auf ihre ganz eigene Art und Weise. Geboren wurden die Zwillinge am 3. Ja nuar 1969 in Dortmund. Während Dominik Architektur
in Aachen und Film in Hamburg studierte, absolvierte Benjamin ein Schauspielstudium in Stuttgart. 1997 begann die Arbeit an
ihrem ersten gemeinsamen Kinofilm „Oi! Warning“. Seitdem arbeiten sie für Fernseh- und Kinofilmprojekte zusammen.

Each month our columnists, Berlin-based filmmakers Dominik and Benjamin Reding, approach the respective issue-specific
theme in their very personal way. The twins were born on January 3, 1969 in Dortmund. Whilst Dominik studied architecture
in Aachen and film in Hamburg, Benjamin graduated in acting studies in Stuttgart. They started working on their first joint
motion picture “Oi! Warning“ in 1997. Since then they have tightly collaborated for TV and cinema film projects.

An Essay by Dominik Reding
I t’s gone!” Pit’s voice is shaking. “Nuts, they keep on hanging them in different Pit passed her school-leaving exams with 1.6, danced at the farewell party with the over-
places.” I smile and walk ahead. At the bottom of the stairs Pit stops again, looks
weight headmaster until he panted and tumbled, lived in Italy for a year, started to
around to the left and right, searching. Pit is actually called Patricia, but everyone calls study photography at the Hamburg School of Arts and fell in love - unhappily - with a
her Pit. Me, too. Always have done. We have to pass through the hall featuring modern renowned, married press photographer. On a night train to Warsaw, I met her again.
art, which always needs a lot of space. Just like when we first came here, back then dur- “Do we go there?” “Of course!” We got off the train at the Berlin-Ostbahnhof. The muse-
ing our school-leaving excursion. Our classmates wanted to go to the roller-skating um had been relocated. A new building, white and bright and stern, just like all muse-
track. Pit and I wanted to visit a museum. ums these days. In the new light the painting looked differently, the colours appeared
26 April 2016. On the bus, people are talking English, French, Spanish. Loud, more vibrant. Red, blue, yellow, bright, almost garish. Pit looked at the painting for quite
full of vim. Reading is impossible, so is sleeping. Maybe I should try to doze. Or bring some time, at the dark, crouched figures in the front, “Why is this woman praying?
my dairy up to date. Do all these people want to go there, too? The bus is filled to capac- Whom is she afraid for? Maybe her friend? Has she lost him...“ She gazes into space,
ity. Outside: the cold of a starry night in April. The lights of Skopje disappear in the dis- with pain in her eyes.
tance. I look for my passport, my documents, read my name, Patricia Kamp, again and 5 May 2016. Pushed back is what they call it here. 30 young men. Pushed
again. Almost as reassurance. back from the border. They had to hand over their jackets, their rucksacks and even
But there was no museum nearby. Only hotdog stalls in the car park. And puddles and their shoes to the police. Bruises, abrasive burns, burst lips. Our volunteer physicians
mud. It had been raining for hours. Underneath looked after them. They worked for 16, 18 hours,
the roof of a bus stop we looked into our guide- without remuneration. At night, they ask me for
book. A few houses along, there should be a food, with their hands shaking.
museum. We started running. In the entrance When we met next, Pit did not want to go to the
hall, Pit dried her hair with her T-shirt. I searched museum anymore. But I did. “Come on, it is our
for some change. “Never mind.” The man behind tradition.” Pit had appointments. A speech at a
the counter waved us through, maybe because we congress, for three years, she had been a lecturer
were so wet. At that time, it was hanging at the for photography at a private university, and in the
farthest end of the hall. Black frame with a golden evening she had to attend an exhibition opening
strip. We did not want to look at the painting at at her gallery owner’s showroom. “The painting
all, but there was a radiator right next to it. Pit is so gloomy, these desperate, crouched figures.
stretched her hands into the warm draught. “Look They look like displaced people. Don’t be cross
at the goggle eyes they have!” She looked at the with me, but I don’t want to look at it again.”
painting and laughed. “Like marsh toads.” 12 May 2016. She has had a baby.
27 April 2016. I finally arrived, at sun- Foto: Benjamin Reding/Ludwig Meidner-Archiv im Jüdischen Museum, Frankfurt a.M. Without anyone of us being aware of it. A young
rise. They show me my place to sleep. A piece of woman from Libya. She had only been in the
concrete floor between cardboard boxes. But the camp for two days. Last night, in her tent, all on
team is friendly, five permanent employees and her own. Then the news got about. We send the
30 volunteers. Tomorrow, I will join in, my first doctors, but it was over. Both are healthy and
time in the camp. An interpreter comes along, too. well. At least.
Siham, from Homs. I am nervous, do they really Pit gave me a call. Two days ago. She was in
need me, another do-gooder-aid worker-nanny?” Berlin, ordering air tickets, applying for visa. If
The colour stuck to the canvas, wide stripes, as thick as putty. A wild, dramatic black- we could meet up? “As always, in the museum?” “Yes,” I answered.
blue cloudy sky, an agitated landscape in gaudy shades of red and yellow; below and 19 May 2016. In a tent with Siham, we drink tea. She asks about Europe. How
in front, a group of people, swathed in black cloths, old and young ones, men and people dress there, how and where one meets friends, where people go out. She wants
women, crouched, their eyes opened wide with fear, their arms stretched out ecstatical- to go to Germany, as almost everyone here. She wants to be free. She says it time and
ly. “What’s that supposed to be? Did they take the wrong drugs?” Pit grinned. “The again. She had studied in Syria, three of her fellow students are dead. Shot in the civil
painter definitely did.” “The museum closes in ten minutes. Please proceed to the war. She does not even know by whom. My flight leaves tomorrow at 8:50 a.m.
exits.” The creaking voice from the loudspeakers brooked no objections. “When we Thessaloniki, Berlin-Schönefeld. Well, I take the plane, I don’t have enough energy for
come to Berlin next time, we will look at this painting again?!” Pit gave me a questioning a bus journey anymore. Siham had asked me: Pit, are you coming back to Idomeni?
look, I nodded. She stands in front of it silently, peers at it intensely, lets her fingers glide across the
28 April 2016. TA jeep brought me to the camp. I will serve out food, for the crouched figures. “Yes, they’ll make it, for sure.” Pit says it softly. Then she turns around
next three weeks. Soup, couscous salad, pita bread, fruit. White tents everywhere, black and pushes me towards the exit with great power. “Come on, let’s have a drink some-
letters on the tarpaulin - UNHCR. It smells of burnt plastic. Where does this smell come where, and something to eat, I’m ravenously hungry.” The painting is hanging where it
from? We set up the tables; immediately, there is a dreadful crush, shouts, rows. The always has. At the farthest end of the large hall. They only replaced the title sign. Slightly
men in the queue are ranting. Also at me ... “Hira”. I don’t need a translation. larger, slightly easier to read: “Ludwig Meidner. The Last Day.”

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