Axams, Tyrol.
A small village framed by mountains, quiet streets, and a Bürgerstube that rarely hosts anything out of the ordinary.
But tonight is different.

Inside, the walls are lined with large portraits — 70 by 100 centimeters — faces from New York, Paris, London… and above all, Berlin.
Men and women who have lived on the margins, who carry their stories in their eyes, their wrinkles, their tattoos.
Photographs by Frank R. Hoffmann.

Frank moves through the room like a traveler jumping continents.
One moment he’s describing a night in New York, the next a cold morning in Paris, then back again — as if these places still cling to him.
He is in his element.
Even in this small alpine village, his world feels vast.

Locals have come for the vernissage, though many are here mainly for the dinner — prepared by Beni, the one-star chef everyone talks about.
The mayor stands nearby, half curious, half cautious.
There’s a quiet question lingering in the air:
How is it possible — or appropriate — to hang portraits of tattooed faces like these in a place like ours?

A single mother with a twelve-year-old son talks to Frank a little too long, drawn in by something she can’t quite name.
Three other women, less focused on the food and more intrigued by the guest from Berlin, ask question after question.
Frank answers them all, weaving stories, giving them glimpses of lives far beyond these mountains.

The audience is small — but attentive.
For a moment, they feel connected to a bigger world.
For a moment, they feel like part of it.