SARAH PABST


MORNING SONG - THE BOOK

First Edition  

Purchase here:

https://www.sarahpabst.com/morning-song-the-book


"I began to take forbidden walks to a nearby lagoon where I found a magical world. Nature had regained its space, the lagoon was crystal clear in the middle of Buenos Aires, full of birds and fish. I began to feel part of a larger ecosystem, as a mother and as a woman, analyzing this connection with our inner animal. I began to heal. In the next 4 months, I lost two more pregnancies. Now, looking back, despite the pain, I know the timing was not right. As I am doing this book I am pregnant with my second child."


Morning Song is a very personal project about motherhood, love, life and also about dealing with a loss - and therefore about healing.



First Edition of 333, signed and numbered:

35€/42USD

Special edition numbers 1-30 of 333 with signed print on Hahnemühle Baryta, 15x21cm, The Lake:

80€/93USD

22 cm x 16 cm

124 pages


https://www.sarahpabst.com/morning-song-the-book



Polychrome Printing on Bristol 150gr

Inserts 16 x 10 cm on Bond 70gr

Hard cover on Bristol 150gr

Hand-bound with open spine, including closing spring, in Colombia

Printed at Matiz Taller Editorial in Manizales, Colombia

Published por️ Raya Editor️ial

Photogr️aphy and text: Sar️ah Pabst

Edition and art direction: Santiago Escobar️-Jar️amillo

Design: Sebastián López U.

Testimonials by Sabine Eichbauer️, Mir️a Flor️es, Sabr️ina Bor️a, Ulla Hospelt, Olga Lucía Jar️amillo Ochoa, Sar️ah Pabst

Tr️anslation to English: Jennifer️ Weidenholzer️

Proof reading: Gabriele Hospelt

Tr️anslation to Spanish: Blas Finger

On March 20, Argentina entered a full lockdown which we expected to end quickly but instead lasted for several months − much longer than we thought. We were only allowed to go outside for groceries, urgent matters, and essential work. I had to explain to my 2½-year-old daughter that she wasn’t allowed to play outside anymore, that kindergarten was closed, and we couldn’t visit other people. Borders closed, flights from my family in Germany to visit us got cancelled, and from one day to the next, our world had completely changed.

I felt as if I were drowning in chaos − our routine, our place, everything was out of order. We were struggling with our everyday life. I felt trapped, like a caged animal in a megacity. From the terrace I looked at the treetops in front of our building and felt the desperate need to connect with nature. Growing up in rural Germany, nature and animals had always been a very important part of my life and I wanted my daughter to live the same way. When moving to Buenos Aires, I made a compromise with myself to feed that need through frequent travels and escapes to the countryside. All that suddenly stopped.

After a month, I found out I was pregnant. A sudden silence occupied the chaos. It was like, after spinning in high speed, the world had pushed pause. During full quarantine, after several days of heavy emotions, my body decided to end the pregnancy before it even had really begun. What followed was a profound sadness and guilt: I felt betrayed by my own body and at the same time, guilty about my sadness, for it had been “nothing“ so far. For a brief moment, I was a soon-to-be mother of two. And what struck me most − I knew all along before having any evidence in my hand. I began to be aware of the connection again, of my mind and body, of my instincts, my female intuition.

In order to fight against an overwhelming feeling of paralysis, I picked up the camera and began documenting what was around me. My daughter, my partner, myself, and what I missed so much − nature, little moments outside, forbidden walks to a nearby lagoon where I encountered a magical world. Nature had regained space, the lake lay crystal clear in the middle of Buenos Aires, teeming with birds and fish. I started to feel my part in a greater ecosystem, as a mother and as a woman, analyzing this connection with our inner animal.

Technically, by nature, humans don’t undergo metamorphosis, but this quarantine somehow felt as if we do. Only the outcome is still unclear.



https://www.sarahpabst.com/morning-song-the-book

MORNING SONG was supported by the National Geographic Society Emergency Fund for Journalists and is part of a collaborative project with Ayün Fotógrafas.

It was awarded with a second prize in the Picture of the Year International/ Covid19 Personal Expression Category, an honorable mention in the Picture of the Year Latam Nuestra Mirada category, a finalist in the  Women Photograph Award of the Photograhic Museum for Humanity and a jurors pick in the Daylight Photo Awards, all 2021. 



MORNING SONG - THE BOOK

First Edition  

Purchase here:

https://www.sarahpabst.com/morning-song-the-book


"I began to take forbidden walks to a nearby lagoon where I found a magical world. Nature had regained its space, the lagoon was crystal clear in the middle of Buenos Aires, full of birds and fish. I began to feel part of a larger ecosystem, as a mother and as a woman, analyzing this connection with our inner animal. I began to heal. In the next 4 months, I lost two more pregnancies. Now, looking back, despite the pain, I know the timing was not right. As I am doing this book I am pregnant with my second child."


Morning Song is a very personal project about motherhood, love, life and also about dealing with a loss - and therefore about healing.



First Edition of 333, signed and numbered:

35€/42USD

Special edition numbers 1-30 of 333 with signed print on Hahnemühle Baryta, 15x21cm, The Lake:

80€/93USD

22 cm x 16 cm

124 pages


https://www.sarahpabst.com/morning-song-the-book



Polychrome Printing on Bristol 150gr

Inserts 16 x 10 cm on Bond 70gr

Hard cover on Bristol 150gr

Hand-bound with open spine, including closing spring, in Colombia

Printed at Matiz Taller Editorial in Manizales, Colombia

Published por️ Raya Editor️ial

Photogr️aphy and text: Sar️ah Pabst

Edition and art direction: Santiago Escobar️-Jar️amillo

Design: Sebastián López U.

Testimonials by Sabine Eichbauer️, Mir️a Flor️es, Sabr️ina Bor️a, Ulla Hospelt, Olga Lucía Jar️amillo Ochoa, Sar️ah Pabst

Tr️anslation to English: Jennifer️ Weidenholzer️

Proof reading: Gabriele Hospelt

Tr️anslation to Spanish: Blas Finger

On March 20, Argentina entered a full lockdown which we expected to end quickly but instead lasted for several months − much longer than we thought. We were only allowed to go outside for groceries, urgent matters, and essential work. I had to explain to my 2½-year-old daughter that she wasn’t allowed to play outside anymore, that kindergarten was closed, and we couldn’t visit other people. Borders closed, flights from my family in Germany to visit us got cancelled, and from one day to the next, our world had completely changed.

I felt as if I were drowning in chaos − our routine, our place, everything was out of order. We were struggling with our everyday life. I felt trapped, like a caged animal in a megacity. From the terrace I looked at the treetops in front of our building and felt the desperate need to connect with nature. Growing up in rural Germany, nature and animals had always been a very important part of my life and I wanted my daughter to live the same way. When moving to Buenos Aires, I made a compromise with myself to feed that need through frequent travels and escapes to the countryside. All that suddenly stopped.

After a month, I found out I was pregnant. A sudden silence occupied the chaos. It was like, after spinning in high speed, the world had pushed pause. During full quarantine, after several days of heavy emotions, my body decided to end the pregnancy before it even had really begun. What followed was a profound sadness and guilt: I felt betrayed by my own body and at the same time, guilty about my sadness, for it had been “nothing“ so far. For a brief moment, I was a soon-to-be mother of two. And what struck me most − I knew all along before having any evidence in my hand. I began to be aware of the connection again, of my mind and body, of my instincts, my female intuition.

In order to fight against an overwhelming feeling of paralysis, I picked up the camera and began documenting what was around me. My daughter, my partner, myself, and what I missed so much − nature, little moments outside, forbidden walks to a nearby lagoon where I encountered a magical world. Nature had regained space, the lake lay crystal clear in the middle of Buenos Aires, teeming with birds and fish. I started to feel my part in a greater ecosystem, as a mother and as a woman, analyzing this connection with our inner animal.

Technically, by nature, humans don’t undergo metamorphosis, but this quarantine somehow felt as if we do. Only the outcome is still unclear.



https://www.sarahpabst.com/morning-song-the-book

MORNING SONG was supported by the National Geographic Society Emergency Fund for Journalists and is part of a collaborative project with Ayün Fotógrafas.

It was awarded with a second prize in the Picture of the Year International/ Covid19 Personal Expression Category, an honorable mention in the Picture of the Year Latam Nuestra Mirada category, a finalist in the  Women Photograph Award of the Photograhic Museum for Humanity and a jurors pick in the Daylight Photo Awards, all 2021. 


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