Everyone in me is a bird

EVERYONE IN ME IS A BIRD

Six years ago, I lost my brother to sudden cardiac death. My world collapsed and changed within a second. From that day on, grief has accompanied me. But when my brother left, he gave me the gift of perceiving life differently. He has taught me to be fearless, and to embrace what is to come. At his funeral, a small robin flew around us. Since then, birds remind me of my brother. A month after his death I found out I was pregnant. My daughter was born with her hair forming a small universe on her forehead.

Transcending between my chosen home-country Argentina and my native Germany, this work undoes distance, freely moving between time, seasons, countries, and space.

As part of a fragile ecosystem, nature becomes the connection. After three early pregnancy losses, the pregnancy of my second child was accompanied by doubt and fear, but I learned to listen to my body and trust that everything was going to be alright. My son was born during a full moon and a thunderstorm, followed by a major flood in Germany. Puerperium comes with immense joy, but also isolation and sadness, feelings that interchange at high-speed. One tries to find a new place in the world, searching to be reborn as well. These images are my journey, while I find step by step back to a new me.

I watch my children growing up, in a world of changing climate, and constant destruction of our planet. My children have awakened the most primitive instincts in me - unconditional love, aggression, the fear of death. Photography is my tool to remember, a sometimes desperate grasp of a fleeting moment. Through my images, I look for the magic in the ordinary, what it means to live, to lose, and most of all, to love.

(*the title is taken from a poem by Melissa Studdard)

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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Flowers in a vase in the city of Buenos Aires, on March 14, 2022. Pink flowers symbolize a mother’s love and at the same time, their transience reminds me of how fleeting time can be.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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Self-portrait to say goodbye to the belly at 40 weeks pregnant on July 8, 2022, near Cologne, Germany. The next morning my water broke - my son was getting ready to leave my body.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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I hold my son on November 7, 2021, in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Some say that puerperium ends after 40 days, but in fact, it feels much longer.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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Two white herons encounter in the air next to a tree standing on an artificial lake in the city of Buenos Aires, on March 25, 2022. Chased for their plumage, white herons were on the brink of extinction. As an archaic symbol, birds stand for immortality, departed souls, fertility and strength.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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I embrace my husband on July 30, 2020 in our apartment in Buenos Aires, Argentina. We had experienced two early pregnancy losses by then and a strict lockdown in Argentina. The challenges made us grow together, get stronger as a couple.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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A galgo dog nurses her offspring on April 16, 2022, near Ezeiza, province of Buenos Aires, Argentina. I watched her thinking that in the end, we are all simply mammals.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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My daughter Elena moves on the bed in our sleeping room while I lie behind her in Buenos Aires, Argentina on April 29, 2020. On that day, I noticed I would lose my pregnancy. I started to photograph us, trying to transit these difficult emotions.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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I hold a blood-stained tissue after a very early pregnancy loss in Buenos Aires, Argentina on May 3, 2020. After a week of heavy emotions during full lockdown in Argentina, my body ended the pregnancy before it had really begun.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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A pomegranate is cut in half in Buenos Aires, Argentina on June 4, 2020. Pomegranates are ancient symbols of fertility, frequently used in paintings. Their color and beauty have often inspired me.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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My daughter Elena sits on my lap in our sleeping room and stretches her hand out towards the sun in Buenos Aires, Argentina on April 29, 2020. On this day I noticed I would lose my pregnancy. I took the camera to photograph and have something to hold on to.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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A white goose enters a lake on March 29, 2021, in Buenos Aires, Argentina. The artificial lake in the middle of the city has become my personal small paradise, a place to reconnect with nature and observe the birds and find a moment of silence in the always-rushing city.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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Self-portrait searching for the sun on April 9, 2022, in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Time has become extremely valuable with two children, small moments of me, just me, somewhere.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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I nurse my son Lucio on March 6, 2022, in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Nursing amazes me, the capacity of my body to produce exactly what he needs. We try to separate ourselves from animals, but having a baby brings me right back to the most basic of our existence as mammals.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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Smoke rises behind a fir-tree on January 9, 2022 near Cologne, Germany. On our travels to my native country, I look for the reconnection with nature in old legends and myths, something lost and wanting to be found again.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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My husband Blas brushes our daughter Elena’s hair after a bath on April 7, 2022, in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Through the camera, I observe their connection and hold on to the ordinary.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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Fallen palm leaves light up in the late afternoon light on March 4, 2022, in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Although their circle on the tree has ended, a new one is about to start. Everything has its place in nature.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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A herd of deer stands on a meadow on August 25, 2020, near Cologne, Germany. They felt as a reminder of climate change to me, that when we destroy nature, it comes closer to us. These deer are kept for the production of wild meat.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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My husband Blas comforts our daughter Elena during a nap on August 15, 2020, near Cologne, Germany. We had arrived from Argentina a few days earlier, escaping the rising curve of Corona cases in our home country. Around these days, I lost the third early pregnancy. We stopped trying, wanting to give us time to heal. But two months later I was pregnant again - our son had found its way into our lives.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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A self-portrait a week after giving birth to my son, on July 18, 2021, near Cologne, Germany. Together with the abrupt hormone change, the empty belly causes all kinds of emotions. It feels as if the body is suddenly out of balance, the belly a big balloon without a function. One tries to find a new place in the world, searching to be reborn as well. Immense joy, sadness, fear, excitement—all those feelings interchange at high speed. And then, slowly, while the body recovers and settles, so does the mind. Step by step back to a new me.

© Sarah Pabst - Image from the Everyone in me is a bird photography project
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A white rabbit sits on the grass on March 20, 2022, in Punta Indio, Province of Buenos Aires, Argentina, exactly two years after the pandemic had officially arrived in Argentina. It once belonged to someone but now roams free through the small village. Rabbits are ancient symbols of fertility and life and a reminder of my childhood.

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