Zeppelin de Hindenburg vliegt over Stuttgart, genomen vanuit der woning van de familie Wachenheimer aan de Hauptmannsreute, mei 1936, Stuttgart 1936

This photo album shows us a series of gelatin silver prints taken by the Wachenheimer family from their home in Stuttgart, in May 1936. It's such a poignant record, isn't it? The surface is smooth, the tones muted, but the contrast feels stark. Looking at the album page, I notice the crisp edges of each photograph, neatly arranged, yet the handwritten notes bring a personal, almost diaristic touch. The contrast between the domestic setting and the looming presence of the Zeppelin is quite unsettling. The Zeppelin itself, a symbol of progress, floats ethereally in the distance, casting a shadow over the scene. It’s like a premonition, a ghostly presence in an otherwise ordinary domestic scene. This reminds me a bit of Gerhard Richter's blurry photographs, where memory and history blend into something uncertain, something felt more than seen. Ultimately, it asks us to consider how the personal and the political are always intertwined.