As a kid I was watching them through the glass cabinet in my granddad's hallway. All the colours, layers and shapes  of the stones my granddad had collected throughout his life. I was fascinated by their age and their beauty. Felt humble watching them. Shortly before my granddad died I went to photograph them.

 

I asked my granddad, if he - in some way - found a believing in stones? When he used to explain about the material, where the stones are from and what they tell us, I got the feeling that these layers of beauty are a reminder of science. Of where we derive from.

When he answered my question he said:
"I do not believe the tales of the priests.

I believe the stones tell us a different story."

Here is what I photographed that day. The last time I saw him. Still feeling humble.