A wrapped object loses its original function and becomes a sculpture—usually unintentionally. Sometimes the covering serves as protection, sometimes as camouflage, and often it marks a temporary state of transition. We pass by such scenes every day without really seeing them.

Wrapped reveals what normally goes unnoticed—precisely because it is concealed. Tarpaulins, plastic sheeting, nets, and fabrics drape themselves over objects as if trying to hide their true form. And yet, what is wrapped remains visible, at least in part. One can sense what lies beneath. Contours, shadows, and silhouettes quietly speak of what withdraws from view.

Each covering points to what lies behind it—and becomes an invitation to look more closely. Concealment is not only an act of hiding, but often also one of appreciation: a sign that something is being preserved.

Wrapped is a photographic reflection on what is otherwise overlooked—temporary sculptures of everyday life. A play between visibility and invisibility. Between protection and mystery.

Here, too, Lindemann turns his attention to what most people fail to notice, revealing how much the seemingly insignificant can have to tell.