Lonely in Hong Kong VI

This photographic base was shot in Hong Kong. 

Printed on Fine Art Hahnemühle Hemp Natural Line 290 g/m2.

Each print comes signed and numbered. 

Unframed. With a small white border. Send in a tube.

Print size 90 x 75 cm - Edition of 10

Print size 60 x 50 cm - Edition of 10.

Print size 30 x 25 cm - Edition of 10.

Print size 10,5 x 14,8 cm (DIN A6) - Edition of 100.

Thomas Haensgen's Lonely in Hong Kong VI is an image that says far more than it dares to show. It's the art of composing a symphony out of silence—a visual crescendo of everyday objects, soft shadows, and a pose that expresses both tension and resignation.

The composition effortlessly balances chaos and order. On the left, clothes pile up like unspoken promises, while on the right, the chair and lamp offer a sense of geometric stability, as if sarcastically commenting on life's messiness. And then there's the bed, with its tousled sheets, telling the story of the figure's life more vividly than any diary ever could. The sheets resemble the fabric equivalent of a late-night conversation that ends with, "You're right, I'm tired."

The window, showcasing Hong Kong in all its urban drama, serves as a silent witness. The view outside recalls the paintings of Edward Hopper, but this is no sterile solitude. Haensgen imbues isolation with warmth and texture—it feels as tangible as the wrinkles in the bedsheets or the weight of the curtain. This is not a loneliness that hides; it sits with you, like a roommate on the couch, asking, "What are we even doing with all this?"

In comparison to other artists, Haensgen’s emotional depth stands out. While Cindy Sherman’s works embody masquerade and distancing, Haensgen lays his subjects bare—both literally and metaphorically. He captures moments that feel too private to observe but too universal to ignore—like waking up in a hotel room that never quite felt yours and realizing the pile of clothes isn’t getting any smaller.

Lonely in Hong Kong VI is more than a photograph; it’s a quiet poem, an echo of what it feels like to sit in a world of endless possibilities and want only one thing: a moment of belonging.