March – The art of looking
Between black and white
When I work artistically, I quickly realize how many perspectives open up at the same time. There is not one truth, but many possible approaches. Depending on how I look and what I allow to happen, the picture shifts. Some things become clearer, others recede, and often something new emerges exactly where I would not have expected it.
March feels like such an in-between space to me. Transitions rarely give clear answers. Rather, they require me to endure not knowing immediately what is right. And it is precisely in this that something unfolds that I cannot plan. Sometimes the most exciting discoveries are right in front of me – just when I feel like I’m groping in the dark.
The color of the earth
For me, this month is the color of the earth. Brown – the soil that has long since begun to process the past and transform it into something new. Nothing about it seems spectacular. And yet that is exactly where the decisive thing happens.
This earthy brown connects. It carries without pushing itself to the fore and leaves room for what is yet to come. Perhaps it is precisely this quality that I appreciate in March: a floor that demands nothing and yet makes everything possible.
On a journey of discovery with materials
When I work with materials, I always encounter little peculiarities. Paper behaves differently than expected, paint runs, wood resists, found objects bring their own stories with them. It’s less about controlling than observing.
Ideas often emerge tentatively. Sometimes they rustle like something indeterminate in the undergrowth and I don’t know at first whether I should follow them. Only when I move on do I realize whether something will come of it. This hesitation is part of it. Just like the willingness to get involved.
The open leaf
In March, the white sheet looks to me like a field that has not yet revealed much. A little prepared perhaps, but above all open. It doesn’t demand much. Just attention.
When I start out, I enter my own terrain. There are twists and turns, small detours, dead ends and sometimes unexpected clearings. Not everything makes sense immediately. And yet, step by step, an orientation emerges.
A little humor helps me not to take myself too seriously. And a little courage to keep going, even if I don’t know exactly where I’m going.
Your own point of view
Over time, I always come back to the same point: everything starts with my own perspective. Before anything can grow, it is worth looking at your own point of view.
Which beliefs do I carry with me? Which ones have I adopted without questioning them? And which perspectives have I simply overlooked?
I notice how something falls into place as soon as I allow myself to ask these questions. Not as a quick answer, but rather as a slow clarification.
Prepare the floor
Nature shows us how. Only when the soil is prepared can something germinate. My work also shows that development takes time. It cannot be accelerated, but rather accompanied.
Maybe that’s exactly what March is for. For questions that can remain unanswered. For perspectives that shift. For a new direction without having to know where it will lead.
Courage to look at yourself
I begin to understand that my own view is not an obstacle, but a starting point. The more I trust it, the freer my work becomes.
It is less about doing something right than about remaining attentive. Nature and art do not demand perfection. Rather patience, curiosity and the willingness to let the unfinished stand.
The most interesting approaches are often right in front of me. I only overlook them if I’m looking for a result too quickly.
The reflection
Over time, it becomes clearer to me that each work reflects something back. Not in the sense of an explanation, but rather as a hint. Something shows itself without being completely tangible.
This is precisely where I see the opportunity to move forward. Orientation does not arise suddenly, but grows. It becomes clearer and clearer, but more reliable.
Perhaps this is where diversity begins. The moment I allow myself to follow my own path without having to categorize it immediately. And at the same time leave room for other paths to emerge alongside mine.
Keep moving
Art makes no demands on me in a loud sense. And yet I realize that it wants something from me. Not as a demand, but as a movement.
It invites me to change as I work. Not to hold on to what I already know. But to keep going, even if the path is not clear.
In this way, each period becomes its own artistic phase.
And March is another beginning.
Here you will find the introduction to the monthly notes
And here are the individual impulses that each month brings with it:
Art is diversity. It’s time for art
With best wishes
Magdalena Hohlweg
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