December magic

– the light in the dark times

When the days grow shorter and, in some places, it hardly gets light at all, a space emerges that no other month can create: an in-between place full of memories, longings, and little wonders. I often experience December exactly that way—as if it had its own quiet kind of magic.

This time of year carries a special significance. The days of Advent not only bring the glow of lights and a sense of anticipation, but also stir up memories of awkward family gatherings—those infamous meals where I struggle to navigate around the many social faux pas and eventually can’t really enjoy my second helping anymore. The desire for harmony and closeness often clashes with the everyday reality of family and friends, especially during these days.

And yet, it is precisely here that small shifts begin to take place. I notice time and again how much power can lie in a simple sentence: I accept things as they are. Not out of resignation, but rather with a kind of quiet acceptance. As if every experience—even the messed-up ones—were a little pebble on my path, showing me where I am right now and what I’ve already left behind.

And that’s where art comes into play

It appears like a ray of light on the horizon—sometimes quite inconspicuously, while drawing, gluing, writing, collecting, or arranging; sometimes simply while marveling at an unremarkable detail at the edge of the day. In these moments, a sense of distance emerges. Something becomes lighter. A small object, a found item, or a splash of color is often enough to show me that even the untidy has a place.

I experience art as a form of free expression that cannot be forced. When I let go of control just a little, something begins to emerge that I couldn’t have planned beforehand. I don’t work to prove anything, but rather to be able to breathe again and to remind myself of what truly matters to me.

To me, there’s a quiet magic in that. Something new emerges without my having to fight against the old. I take it in—sometimes with a slight inner nod—and continue working from there. Perhaps that is indeed one of the most beautiful gifts of this time: to look at what is with a certain honesty and let something of my own emerge from it.

We don’t grow because we do everything right, but because we’re willing to turn our own stories into gold—or, for all I care, into collages made of fragments of everyday life and remnants of flowers that seek their own context.

A collage of seed pods and insect wings that interact to form bizarre bird-like figures — Unfortunately, this work has already been assigned **Current works here**

Purple is the joy of life

And right in the midst of this delicate interplay of darkness and light, a color blends in that suits December particularly well: violet. Or purple, if you prefer a more familiar term. A color of transformation, powerful and mysterious. It symbolizes change during the darkest time of the year—precisely when old stories have found enough peace to finally be allowed to transform.

I remember evenings just before Christmas Eve when the sky would suddenly light up with swaths of purple, as if it had decided to take the stage itself. It was a spectacle that almost seemed staged. At the time, I couldn’t say who or what was responsible for it. Perhaps it really was the coal dust from the nearby mine that cast these intense colors over the Ruhr region. My mother had a different explanation, one that I, as a child, liked much better: “The Christ Child is baking cookies.” And I was happy to believe her.

Today, I see it more as an interplay between memory and perception. My artistic work takes me a step beyond what I’ve experienced; it lifts some of the heaviness from December and gives it a different form. The darkness doesn’t become an adversary, but rather a stage on which I myself can decide which colors to bring to life.

December sometimes strikes me as a character who can’t quite be pinned down. Perhaps a teacher in purple velvet boots, or maybe a flamingo with violet plumage—a little headstrong and with a subtle sense of humor. A month that reminds me not to judge the unfinished too hastily, not to push aside the difficult things right away, and to make room for what is.

When I’m baking or making little things, this thought often creeps in all on its own. A little bit of that magic then finds its way into the dough, into my hands, into the materials, and later resurfaces in places where I wouldn’t have expected it.

A collage featuring a pine seed as a bird sitting on a scribbled ladder — Star Bird – Pine Seed Warbler on the Ladder to Heaven (unfortunately already taken) **See currently available works here**

I hope you have a time when moments like these can unfold—quiet, perhaps unspectacular, and yet full of little wonders.

If you’d like to see which collages—made from fragments of everyday life and flower petals—have found their own connections—and perhaps take a little piece of this magic home with you—you’ll find a hand-picked selection of my current work here.

🌟Here’s another magical and true Christmas story🌟

Every month brings me new inspiration.