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social media …

Suddenly it feels like *everyone* is reading Jaron Laniers “Ten Arguments for Deleting Your Social Media Accounts Right Now” … 
Yes, I have read it as well and I found it scary and interesting and basically confirming many vague ideas and fears and concerns I have had with social media in the past. As much as I liked scrolling through instagram before it got “curated” , now it feels terribly boring and oddly predictable, I still search for certain people’s posts but then I find myself being irritated at having to read them on a small screen with no interesting links and always the same visual language in every single post … and I miss peoples blogs! So much! I miss reading on a big screen and looking at great photography (unfiltered) and having a glimpse of other peoples lives and thoughts and getting to admire their sense of aesthetics or the lack thereof … I used to love the internet, because I could still discover things … it was multi-dimensional, I could dive into the maze o the net and go fishing for exciting, irritating, fascinating alternative, different, multiple information, ideas, lives … Now, everything looks the same, and it feels like my access to the depth of the internet has been blocked, like a water surface the has suddenly turned into a mirror … impenetrable, only reflecting a somehow distorted vision of myself and what I have already seen …. (to be continued)




It has been a long time. This “blog”, diary, whatever you wish to call it, has been asleep for far too long. An issue with the hosting company kept me, repeatedly from accessing my own website, and then I got annoyed and the mere thought of being locked out of my own account again, made me not even check whether it would work or not.
The last months have been darkness.
It took me by surprise as I had just moved studios and had gone through a period of intense self-doubt and had arrived a point where I genuinely could let go of all my past work and my ambitions to ever have some kind of success (again). I was tired, and worse of all I had become really sick of my own art. The mere thought of going on the way I was working made me nauseous. And then, one day, just sitting in my studio, wondering why I even still needed one, I suddenly felt a tiny seed of an idea … that grew rapidly within the next hours … and I knew what I had to do …
And then came Christmas and with it, family, obligations, and a real bloody cold that knocked me out for a couple of week. Nevertheless, as soon as I felt better I returned to the studio, but a kind of sluggishness was slowly taking hold, I felt tired, sad, very much alone.  “Grey”, lifeless, … missing a “spark”, something that makes me feel alive … This spark, I have been missing it for quite some years  … but the realisation of just how much I miss it, that bitter realisation only comes now. I miss Life. Laughter, friends, wild dancing, walking in a forest, working on art that makes me feel alive and happy and bursting with joy and the anticipation to share …
When did life become so dull? So serious? And then all these young people so busy with their careers and money and doing the right thing, staring at laptops wherever they go, always busy with being somewhere else, all dressed in grey, blacks and other subdued colours … When did youth become so incredibly boring? Not seeing inspiring people makes things worse … and then I live in Berlin … (One week in Luxembourg and I feel like screaming and hitting people … )
But then the day before yesterday I went to the Dussmann book shop and bought real, physical, paper books … one of them I felt attracted to, not really being able to explain why but also knowing that I had to and would buy it: “My guru and his disciple” by Christopher Isherwood. I began reading it yesterday and immediately I knew why I had bought it. It spoke to me from page one … reading the first pages I realised just how tense and stuck I was, how I have let anxiety and sens of duty take over my life again and how miserable it makes me feel … how alienated from myself I have allowed myself to become … a bargain I keep making again and again: fill my to do list with things I think I need to do (or think I am expected to do) as a weapon against anxiety . And leave everything out that makes me feel really happy. Because this freedom is scary. And comes with a different kind of responsibility.
Despite this feeling of general despair I have been disciplined enough to still work on my art, the absurd thing is, that everytime I manage to actually go to my studio ( it is an hour with public transport away from my home, so it does cost some mental effort to go there) I feel rather good … while I am there working and a couple of hours afterwards and then wonder why I am not there everyday … until the next day and the next anxiety …



no middle ground


there is no middle ground

there is here

and then the other


life on both sides

of an elusive “me”


creation, the fragile thread

that holds those multiples together

keeps them from drifting apart,

off into opposite extremes



I do not exist

unless I imagine

Mom … I miss you.

I wrote this a couple of days ago on my instagram account:

Reading “Swimming Lessons” by Claire Fuller.
There are only few books that manage to get under my skin. This one made me cry.
It reminded me how I miss my Mom. I am not supposed to, not anymore, I am 45 years old. an adult (whatever that means), my mother died 26 years ago, I should get over it.
The thing is, when she died, I didn’t grieve, there was too much relief that it was finally all over, I wanted to forget, to move forward, to create a new life. I never felt more free and more lost then I did then. The real crash came later. When it was too late to have sympathetic people look after me. I didn’t even make the connection between my unravelling and the events that had taken place years before.
Betrayal, illness, a claustrophobic country side, absences, silence, screams, hushed voices, lost love.
Briefly, yesterday, I hated my Dad ( and my mothers “best friend” ) , but then I love my Dad, and I am too much his daughter not to understand him. Even his betrayals. But I cry for a woman who was just as intelligent, bright, capable as her husband and who, by deciding to have children, got stuck in a life and a role that eventually killed her. A life I nearly emulated years later. Or actually did, for a while. It nearly destroyed me, as well.
I wonder whom she would have become, if she had managed to escape, to make true her wish to leave, to divorce, to have a life again. I think the love she had for my father, and his occasional outbursts of love for her, were what made her stay, against her own interests.
When I started the art project I did on my mother, in 2014, I thought it would help me understand who she was. The truth is, that I wasn’t  ready to talk about her, not with my Dad, not with anyone, this project is one of my “failures”, something aborted out of fear and the inability to face the complexity of someone else’s life.
Today, Mom, I simply miss you.


closed house


closed houes
no one is here

titles ….

Titles of new art works … I felt the need to make longer titles and to make them “visual” as well, to complement the art work instead of simply making up something quickly before the show …

suburbia2 suburbia prisoner playground night home ghost fog day beauty


dsc_3345Yesterday was a strange day. RTL Luxembourg interviewed me for their cultural program “Artbox”, and  we spend nearly the entire day together, they picked me up at home, then we went to my studio, then lunch together where I often go for lunch and then a visit to our garden … It was strange to allow people such an intimate look into my life and felt a strong urge afterwards to shut myself off from the outside world for a while. This is not an unusual or infrequent feeling and something that is a real obstacle in my work … I do not like being “public” … it exhausts me and I find it hard to stay close and true to myself in public situations. It´s not like I am shy and standing around in a corner blushing, but my brain freezes and I feel ill at ease and only wish to be alone again … or at least home or in my studio …
Today I need to recover.