What’s left? What’s possible?
I made it happen!
Back in August, I was still talking about my upcoming move to Schwelm. I had imagined that, while packing, I would surely take a closer look at each and every one of my previous works. I would pick up each piece one last time before it was stowed away in a box, well-padded. I wanted to go through the materials and sort some things out.
It wasn’t my plan, though, to carry out my project so thoroughly. But what are plans, anyway, when life gets in the way?
And that’s how it happened.
For years, and on many occasions, I’d managed to avoid it thanks to my prudence. But then—a well-filled sorting box filled with treasures I’d collected over the years slipped off the edge of the overflowing table, where other items were already waiting to be packed.
It happened quickly and surprisingly quietly. Of course, the box opened while it was still in free fall. Of course, the entire contents scattered under the table, under the radiators, behind the table legs, and under the printer. Tiny scraps, little pieces of paper, seeds.
This little button with the missing corner—it would look great as a marginal note next to an insect. And this tiny little acorn that I just saw roll away. Oh, and this little scrap of paper. That was a leftover piece of packaging from a gift box of unknown origin. Two or three of these little red paper flags already appear in other scenes that I’d previously framed. It’s a nice idea to reuse this element again.
I wonder when I’ll find the time again to put this one withered rosebud in its rightful place? Would I ever miss one of these little treasures?
Or maybe the vacuum cleaner?
Of course, I decided against cleaning up quickly. Of course, instead, I crawled on all fours across the studio floor and picked up every single little piece. Now the seed pods, pine cone scales, elm seeds, button scraps, and plastic and metal finds are sorted a little differently, but they’re put away again. Who knows what might come of them yet.
And how fitting: This way, without getting bogged down in trivialities—as if I’d ever do that—I can move right on to the Work of the Month.
Between Heaven and Earth
…where dragonflies and Colorado potato beetles meet
By the way, in September I’m choosing the color green. Green like the traffic light that clears the way for new goals. Green for a determined new beginning and for making the right decisions.
Green is also the color of the little grass fly, which plays a supporting role in my assemblage “Between Heaven and Earth.” The star of this late-summer scene, however, is a dragonfly—even though its body doesn’t actually come from a dragonfly. That doesn’t detract from its authenticity, though.
The last rays of sunshine make the dragonflies dance and my heart leap
Dragonflies spend most of their lives—usually invisible to us—as larvae in ponds and rivers. As colorful aerial acrobats, they have only a short lifespan.
Along the paths, in addition to all the plant debris, buds, grasses, and seeds, I also collect all sorts of remnants of civilization—a little piece of paper here, a tiny bit of plastic there. There are even candy wrappers lying around. Alongside the dragonfly wings, I find other remnants of summer: here, a Colorado potato beetle with its pretty striped elytra—with those elegant stripes, it’s surely trying to distract from its huge appetite—after all, vertical stripes are known to make you look slimmer.
I also pick up the occasional dead ladybug. Although the various species of ladybugs hibernate, their lives are also short-lived.
The chip card doesn’t blend in quite seamlessly with the dragonfly’s wing—nor is it meant to—since its network of conductive tracks isn’t delicate enough. I like the contrast between this high-tech data carrier and the exquise natural wonder that is the dragonfly’s wing.
The little blue tag in the lower right corner was just as much a part of the landscape as the grasses depicted in the picture. Who knows who had been enjoying a stroll at the spot where it was found, wearing their brand-new summer T-shirt—the sticker had come loose from the garment completely unnoticed and fluttered away, only to stick to the sidewalk. Its scratched surface suggests that other pedestrians helped ensure the little slip stuck even more firmly. The slip’s turquoise-blue color is a reference to the vibrant hues of the large mosaic dragonfly. And even the tiny red scrap of candy wrapper—it belongs in the picture. This is how memories come together to form new stories that want to be told, observed, contemplated, and witnessed. For it is only through our observation that they come into being at all.
On the other hand, as always, there’s nothing of great significance in this collage.
And so I find myself packing again—which involves taking inventory, sorting through my belongings, decluttering, transforming, letting go, and renewing. This September marks not only the end of this summer for me, but also the end of my time in Bad Pyrmont.
I’ll take a lot with me, and I’ll leave some things behind.
So? What good memories will you take away from this summer?
Die Monatsnotizen im Laufe des Jahres 2026:
November – Die Kunst ist tot! Es lebe die Kunst!
März – Die Kunst des Hinschauens
April – Finde heraus, was Du wirklich willst
Juno – Die Kunst der Unvollkommenheit
Die Monatsnotizen sind mein Langzeitprojekt, das mit dem Jahreslauf wächst.
Sie sind jetzt auch als Podcast auf Youtube zu hören und unter dem Titel ZEIT für KUNST auch auf Spotify zu finden.
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