Group of works
Hiking Days
Spoon crests had their heyday—and I was lucky enough to grow up right in the middle of it. They were always reliably on display in the souvenir shops at our destinations back then: small enamel pictures in the shape of coats of arms, colorful, whimsical, and, to me as a child, irresistibly appealing. My very first one was the coat of arms of Möhnesee, where family outings and hiking days—as our school trips were called back then—regularly took us.
What fascinated me back then still captivates me today: the density that a miniature can convey. An entire region, its history, its self-image—condensed onto about one square centimeter of enamel.
Spoon crests have since gone out of style. On my trips, I still like to ask for them at information points and in shops—and I’m delighted with every find. The small collection I have assembled is the starting point for this series. Wherever one of these crests appears in one of my works, it carries within it a sense of place and memory—and allows my thoughts to wander beyond the edge of the image.
Tell me where the bugs are
Unique – including certificate of authenticity
Framed with anti-reflective museum glass
Space and effect
The work can often manifest itself in different ways in the room.
Size, distance and light determine how the collages are perceived – not just as isolated objects, but as part of a situation. Each work in this group unfolds its effect on its own or can form its own small order as an ensemble on the wall.
The photograph shown conveys this relationship and perhaps gives an impression of how the work is in dialog with its surroundings – placed on the wall or closer to the viewer. Further views allow the structure, details and composition to be discovered more precisely.
Change of perspective
Sometimes I step outside the door and let the world affect me in a way that goes beyond the everyday. Perhaps I manage to see past the obvious…
Inconspicuous fragments can suddenly reveal themselves as small treasures. For the smallest finds, there is then a space in which they can be something else. This shift can sometimes reveal something new. The inconspicuous appears mysterious, the discarded seems to tell new stories.
This often opens up a space in which I can discover new perspectives – on the material, on the world and on myself.
This view gives rise to works such as this series: small settings that perhaps slow down the gaze and allow it to perceive things anew. This is particularly evident in the juxtaposition of the collages in this group of works – similarities seem to emerge, differences become perceptible and the gaze can begin to wander freely
Effect and scale
The collage Tell me where the bugs are of the work group Hiking Days often only reveals its presence on closer inspection. The works are small-format, deliberately restrained and invite you to get closer. Structure, material and subtle nuances only reveal themselves on closer inspection.
The framing creates a self-contained pictorial space that looks like its own habitat. Organic found objects and everyday fragments meet as equal elements. The surprising combinations create a field of tension in which nature, everyday fragments and art can coexist.
This impression is often reinforced in the series: return and deviation stand side by side without explaining each other. The change of distance – stepping back, coming closer, comparing – can become part of the observation.
Each work is framed dust-tight (anti-reflective museum glass) and comes with a signed certificate of authenticity.
If you look closely, you will discover shiny chocolate beetles and crawling gemstones with scribbled legs.
Twig of dogwood. Fruits from the peony. Heather blossoms, a lime blossom, tomato green. Rose buds, very small. Chocolate paper – the shiny one that you actually throw away, but which, how could it be otherwise, I couldn’t throw away. Electronic resistors whose wires I twisted into snails. And lo and behold: the tiny splinter of a Christmas bauble, which only now drew attention to itself with its silvery sheen on my work table.
That was the material. So far, so unsuspicious.
Beetles emerged from the chocolate paper – with antennae made of electronic resistance wires, which now radiate a dignity like the horned rams. Some beetles have the body of a tiny rosebud. Others owe their shape to the fruits of the peony. Anything else? Oh, yes – the smallest beetles are made from heather flowers.
Twigs of dogwood entwine the whole scene in sweeping curves – an airy home that is both frame and wilderness. Tomato green has settled like an evergreen star, landing on the edge of the delicate structure. A lime blossom still plays along. And a few other plant remnants that want to remain incognito – not everything here has to be determined down to the last detail, and I respect that.
To summarize: If you don’t look closely, you won’t actually see anything else of significance here.
A small enamel find that lends weight to the whole scene. It is more than a casual indication of location. More like a clue. An answer to a question that urgently needs to be asked. So if someone asks you: “Tell me where the bugs are!” Then you now know the answer: In Ulm and around Ulm and around Ulm.
Work data
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