In my last blogpost, I reflected on authorship and the fine line between staging something and simply witnessing it. I came to the conclusion that maybe it doesn’t really matter whether something is planned or found what matters is whether we see it. Whether we stop long enough to ask: what is this doing here?
With that in mind, I’ve been thinking more and more about the things I don’t stage. The ones I don’t plant, but stumble across. For almost a year now, I’ve been documenting these accidental arrangements, small moments of unintentional beauty, absurdity or tension in public space.
I wasn’t planning on doing anything with them. But lately, the thought of making them visible of sharing my lens kept resurfacing. So I created an Instagram account. @notsosureifart
It was the first name that came to my mind, I didn’t overthink it. But after I sent the first few follow requests to friends, one of them texted me and said:
“Wait… does that say Not so sure I fart?”
Oopsie, I maybe should’ve thought about it more. If you read it too quickly or without spacing it, it becomes an entirely different kind of expression.
Not so sure I fart.
Honestly, quite funny. The more I thought about it, the more I started to love it. The accidental comedy, the embarrassing randomness of it all, it fits. It’s exactly what everyday installations are.
They’re moments that aren’t quite right, but also kind of perfect. So I’m keeping the name. And I’m starting to post.
First Observation: Pizza Meets Banana
Let’s start with one I captured in Vienna’s 10th district, at the base of a long, grey staircase. The space itself is cold, textured, structured. Concrete blocks. Worn yellow line. Functional. Urban. But then there’s the placement: A pizza carton flattened out. And on top of it, almost centered: A dark, wrinkled banana peel. I didn’t touch it. I didn’t adjust it. I didn’t even pause for long. I just saw it, lifted my phone, and walked on. But even in that moment, something clicked. There’s a kind of accidental balance here between nourishment and neglect, fast food and fruit, indulgence and decay. Between the printed, branded flatness of the pizza carton, and the organic curve of the banana skin. One is processed. The other is natural. One has color, text, identity. The other is just… a leftover. But together, they feel like a quiet comment on how we consume, discard, and overlap things in the city. There’s also a weird kind of irony in how the banana, typically seen as the “healthy option,” looks so much more dead than the pizza bag does. And the placement right next to the last step of a descending staircase adds an unspoken tension. It’s not centered, not theatrical, but it has just enough presence to stop you if you’re paying attention.
This is what I love about these kinds of moments:
They aren’t trying to say anything.
But if you choose to listen, there’s often something to hear.
By documenting them, I’m not claiming authorship. I’m just noticing.
And now, I’m sharing, on the web.
