Summer at Last
It’s finally June. Time for outings, for hikes, for a cup of coffee on the main avenue in Bad Pyrmont—and for all those conversations with the lovely people you rarely saw during the winter.
The days are growing longer, the meadows are lush, and the light streams so generously through the windows of my studio that even the dusty back corners are catching my eye again.
At the beginning of the year, I was still trying to figure out what I wanted to accomplish this year. Now, at least until early afternoon, June is giving me clear inspiration to get back into the flow more easily and put new ideas into action more smoothly.
For this month, I’m choosing red.
The red of the poppy, which prefers to grow where no one has planted it. The red of blood, which flows tirelessly through us. A warm, vibrant red that asks no permission and needs to justify nothing.
A resounding “yes” to life.
Juno—the woman who keeps things moving at the store
The name of the month June is derived from the goddess Juno—and that fits perfectly. For Juno traces her origins back to the mother goddess Uni, the Almighty, the primordial mother of all life.
Juno was regarded as a protector, as the goddess of feminine power, dignity, and independence. But what interests me about her is not so much the solemn aspect as this notion of inner sovereignty—the ability to not have to constantly improve oneself in order to have meaning.
Especially today, that seems almost like an act of defiance.
Everywhere you look, there are these polished surfaces, perfectly lit lives, and carefully curated self-images that make it seem as though their owners have neither doubts nor bad days—nor have they ever accidentally put on two different socks. Yet to me, much of this just seems human.
June, college, the universe… In other words, a woman who knows what she wants, gets things moving, and keeps everything together.
To me, Juno seems like the kind of woman who gets up in the morning and knows right away what to do.
I, on the other hand, spend several weeks every spring impatiently waiting for summer, only to complain about the heat, the dryness, and sunburn a short time later. After all, there’s always something. It’s probably part of being human that even the most beautiful moments rarely remain entirely carefree. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s almost always that nagging thought that none of this will last forever.
Finds and Laziness
In any case, the first beautiful finds of the summer are already on my desk: tiny fallen cherries, leftover seeds from last year, and broken calyxes from poppy capsules, rescued from a freshly mowed meadow. Fresh green and vibrant red—the very colors of June, now also gracing my work desk.
Nature seems to have absolutely no interest in reducing everything to a single ideal form. Thank goodness. Otherwise, there would probably be nothing but poppies. And poppies alone would get boring after a while. Nature also produces thistles, thorns, crooked twigs, and elm seeds that flutter in the wind—and leaves the rest up to me.
As I said, the light in my studio has been fantastic these past few weeks; there’s a wide selection of materials, and the work is calling to me.
However, it only holds my attention until early afternoon. My studio has a south-facing window—which is a blessing in winter but becomes a challenge in summer. At some point during the afternoon, it quickly gets unbearably hot. A fan? It’s an obvious idea, but since I’m working with tiny bird feathers, with Venus flytrap leaves that have only just dried, and with dandelion seeds from my last walk in the woods—I can’t have any wind. When working on the tiniest pieces, I already hold my breath anyway, so that no fly wing gets lost and no little stalk slips out of place. A fan would send half my studio flying before I could say “Juno.”
So I’m going with the flow, just as nature has always done: busy in the morning, lazy in the afternoon. Sitting somewhere in the shade and enjoying myself. I could call it surrender—but “the art of summer living” sounds better.
Crow’s feet and laugh lines.
So what does all this have to do with the goddess Juno, anyway? It’s quite clear: Juno was often depicted alongside a peacock—magnificent, majestic, with a hundred eyes in its plumage. My bird-like creatures have inherited more of the peacock’s feet, though, without the stunning plumage. Their spindly little legs and scrawling feet are also less goddess-like. But with their slightly quirky appearances, they at least bring a smile to my face—even if that’s sure to cause even more wrinkles in the long run.
The big difference between Juno and me? As a goddess, she doesn’t have to worry about perfection. She rarely struggles with self-doubt or the feeling that she should actually be much further along by now. She is all-powerful and doesn’t even ask herself whether she’s good enough. That sounds like a great artist who doesn’t need to establish herself on the art market first in order to be taken seriously. I find that appealing. Juno probably wouldn’t have needed a gallery owner either.
I, on the other hand, try to approach my artistic journey with a sense of humor. I simply can’t help but keep working in my studio in good spirits—even if that etches itself into the corners of my eyes and leaves its own crow’s feet there. Juno, in her maternal kindness, will forgive me. I, however, remain strict with myself, because it’s simply human nature: I find it hard to view the crow’s feet in my works with the same benevolence as I do those under my own eyes.
I’ll cheerfully carry on anyway. And the divine plan here is: to constantly seek perfection in imperfection.
Through my art, I can pick up right where I am. Like a goddess, I draw inspiration from what I have. Not from what is expected of me.
What’s currently being created in the studio
If you’d like to see what I make out of poppy capsules, lilac seed pods, scraps of paper, and other bizarre found objects—and which creatures are currently basking in the June sunshine in my studio—you can find an introduction to my current work here. Maybe you’ll even find something that brings a smile to your face. And a few crow’s feet.
I also drew inspiration from June for a new series of works. The new series is called “Hiking Days” and has something to do with the Löffel coat of arms.
With best wishes from this shady afternoon—
Magdalena
Every month brings me unexpected ideas that I record in my journal.
Click here for the other monthly notes:
November – Art is dead! Long live art!
April – Find out what you really want
The monthly impulses are my long-term project that grows with the course of the year.
They are now also available as a https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMnAYkkBpIQpodcast on YouTube and can also be found on Spotify under the title ZEIT für KUNST .
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