Where jetliners used to take off every few minutes, nearly everything has ground to a halt. The bright blue sky above the tarmac is serene, the contrails have disappeared, the endless corridors are eerily deserted. In April 2020, at the height of the first lockdown of the coronavirus pandemic, the photographer Marc Krause explored Frankfurt Airport with his analogue camera to capture the strange calm of this “non-place.”Without the hectic hustle and bustle of pre-pandemic times, he noticed things that are usually drowned out by the rushing crowds: the geometric lines of the constructivist architecture, the changing patterns of light and shade, the junk left behind by travellers in vast halls that would be teeming with thousands of people on a normal day. Offering a fascinating glimpse of a seemingly surreal world, this publication is an unsettling testimony to a historic moment in time and a powerful photo book that leaves viewers torn between melancholy and hopeful longing.Text in English and German.

Where jetliners used to take off every few minutes, nearly everything has ground to a halt. The bright blue sky above the tarmac is serene, the contrails have disappeared, the endless corridors are eerily deserted. In April 2020, at the height of the first lockdown of the coronavirus pandemic, the photographer Marc Krause explored Frankfurt Airport with his analogue camera to capture the strange calm of this “non-place.”Without the hectic hustle and bustle of pre-pandemic times, he noticed things that are usually drowned out by the rushing crowds: the geometric lines of the constructivist architecture, the changing patterns of light and shade, the junk left behind by travellers in vast halls that would be teeming with thousands of people on a normal day. Offering a fascinating glimpse of a seemingly surreal world, this publication is an unsettling testimony to a historic moment in time and a powerful photo book that leaves viewers torn between melancholy and hopeful longing.Text in English and German.