Dear Matt,

You asked me to tell you why I started collecting postcards of the Kugelhaus.
I had gone to the psychiatric clinic after a series of panic attacks relating to a marriage crisis. The public hospitals wouldn’t have me there for more than a week, so my husband was happy to pay for the private one. He is a generous man.

I was released after two months, equipped with several pills a day and a suggestion by the psychologist to start some hobby or activity of my own, like collecting.

Back at home, I felt but worried not knowing about what to collect. I decided to ask the librarian for advice and he guided me through my first months of research. But one day I was left alone, and with fear and great insecurity I managed to get up from the desk and venture into the shelves by myself. Everything happened quite quickly, it felt like falling in love: there it was, the Kugelhaus! No more trembling on my hands. I was in awe, what a fantastic feeling of belonging!

My visits to the library became less and less frequent. I swapped it for the internet and trips to flea markets and secondhand shops. Like in a love story, you want to be alone with your beloved.

Since then, my collection and my love have grown and fed each other, and they have changed me. My husband doesn't get jealous, he is actually delighted and willingly funds all my expenditure.

For the last four years, I have spent my summers alone in Dresden. I walk the park, I sit on the benches under the sun or the light rain, and I dream. I don’t need much more.

Among the items I own, the photos and postcards depicting people are my favourites. I spend most of my time with them. I try to imagine how it felt to be there. I try to be each one of this lucky people. I do not wish to think what happened to them afterwards, when the building wasn’t there anymore. I focus on the exact moment in which the photo was taken, their shadow registered on a negative together with the Kugelhaus. What were they feeling, what their thoughts were. Was it hot or cold? Did it smell of grass as it does now?

There is a little game I like to play by myself. I chose one photo and I imagine I am walking behind the camera just on the moment the photo is being taken.

For example, I see myself in front of this group of happy men on white gowns, they say flattering things to me as I pass and feel shy and blush. But I start to speak to the photographer, who is the most handsome of them all, and so charming. I recreate the conversations we have then, and later, when he invites me for a drink at the café inside, he tries to kiss me. I even speak aloud, alone at home!

I never get tired of the stories I invent. Every time they become more complex, or I add new details. One day I ought to write them, they are so amusing.

This was a long reply, but I hope it in some way answers your question.

Best regards,

Margaretta Heim

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