Fritz Claus

Fritz Claus carried a camera like others carry coffee—always in hand, always half-empty. He shot Berlin streets in the 1920s, not for postcards but for the quiet before the storm: empty chairs, wet cobblestones, a cat’s tail flicking out of frame. His photographs feel like you just missed the moment, which is exactly what he wanted. Slide past the crowds and look at “Untitled (Photograph)” hanging in the corner: a lone umbrella on a bridge railing, rain still dripping off the handle like it was dropped seconds ago.