The Story behind Five Leaves Left

It was a cold winter morning. It had snowed and it was foggy.

My dog was pawing at the front door and wanted to go out for a stroll. We set off on our usual round in the Brandenburg countryside, southeast of Berlin, where we have had a cottage for some time and where we spend the weekends. We crossed the village road and turned into a small field path, which is flanked on both sides by large deciduous tree species. To the side of it there is an attached meadow where there is a small group of fruit trees, nicely lined up, apple, pear, plum, all well known to me from my regular rounds with the dog.  

But that day everything looked changed. All that snow and fog shrouded the fruit trees in a soft, flat white. With no foreground and no background, they stood there, without leaves, with nothing but their naked, fragile bodies of wood, detached from their surrounding topography. And separated from anything that might distract the view of them. As if each specimen had been placed in a white space so that it could act and be perceived only for itself. Solitaires, each tree with its unique personality and biography, shaped by the cycle of the seasons, the struggle with the elements and the pursuit of light.

I went back, got my camera and began photographing some of these strange creatures. A small series of portraits emerged, five trees in all, each with its own complex structure and vulnerability, like a nervous system. I could hardly wait for the next day to photograph more portraits, but the special moment, of the previous day, had vanished. The fog had lifted, most of the snow had melted, and the trees were once again showing their usual surroundings of fields and signs of adjacent civilization. The magic had dissipated overnight. But I knew, of course, that it would return, just not very often. And that I would continue the project of the tree portraits. But I also knew that the project I had started would probably drag on for several years, depending on the simultaneity of snowfall and fog.  

I then used the following months (and years) to be prepared for those rare moments, making regular trips by driving around the region in an ever-widening radius, marking the locations of fruit and deciduous trees that had a special story to tell for me, and whose past lives were reflected in their bodies. In the end, this project took me twelve years and I was able to photograph hundreds of trees. With some of them I have developed a special relationship over time and visit them regularly to come and see how they are doing.

Todd Schulz

Brandenburg, Germany

November 2023