April, der macht, was er will.

This morning felt like autumn.
Cold air. Grey sky. Heavy. Two hours later, it was summer.
Light pouring through the streets. People opening up. Shoulders relaxed. By evening, something else entirely.
Not quite spring. Not quite anything.

In Berlin, they say:
“April, der macht, was er will.”
April does whatever it wants.

And at first, it sounds like a joke about the weather.
But the longer you stay here… the more it starts to feel like something else. April doesn’t commit. It doesn’t choose a direction and stay there.
It shifts. It contradicts itself. It refuses consistency.

It doesn’t ask for permission.
It doesn’t explain. It just… happens.

Somewhere between chaos and freedom, there’s a card that doesn’t belong to any suit. Not a king. Not an ace. Not even a number.

A card that can become anything.

The Joker.

Not the one people are used to thinking about, not the villain, not the madness, not the painted smile. Not The Joker. The original idea.

A card with no fixed value. No fixed role. No fixed identity.

A card that adapts.

We tend to mistrust what we cannot categorize.

So we label it. We reduce it. Sometimes, we even fear it. Because something that doesn’t belong to a system…
cannot be controlled by it.

But maybe the Joker was never meant to represent chaos. Maybe it represents possibility.

I was born in April.

And maybe that’s why this idea feels… familiar.

The ability to shift. To adapt.
To be different things in different moments.

To be the one who leads.
Or the one who observes.

The one who speaks.
Or the one who disappears.

In photography, I live in that space all the time.

Sometimes I am present: directing, shaping, controlling.
Sometimes I am invisible: waiting, anticipating, capturing something real before it even knows it exists.

Both are true. Both are needed. But there’s a cost to this.

When you can be anything, people don’t always know where to place you.

And sometimes… neither do you.

Consistency becomes a question.
Identity becomes fluid.
Control becomes a negotiation.

Because freedom without direction can easily turn into drift. And somewhere in all of this, there’s a quiet risk:
When you can be anything, you risk becoming nothing.

So maybe the strength is not in being everything at once.

Maybe the strength is in knowing when to be what.

To choose.

To step into a role fully, even if you’re not defined by it.

To lead when it matters.
To disappear when it’s needed.
To hold structure… without losing flexibility.

To move like April,
but with intention.

April doesn’t apologize for changing.

It doesn’t wait to be understood.

It doesn’t try to make sense to everyone.

It just moves.
From cold to warmth.
From light to shadow.
From one state to another.

Without asking.

And maybe that’s the real lesson.

Not to fix yourself into one version.
Not to chase a single identity just to be easier to understand.

But to accept the range.

To understand it.
To control it.
To use it.

April does whatever it wants.

Maybe…
so can we.