What remains when life itself disappears?
The thin thread that connects life and death occupies my thoughts and turns into silver. In Ecclesiastes, the silver thread is a connection between body and soul, like a thread of life that breaks at death.
The circle is a powerful symbol that takes up a lot of space in my rooms. The image of togetherness, strong yet so fragile and easy to break.
Parts of trees line my path. I reshape, remove and make additions.
Along the walls in the studio they stand, some still mute. Others directly and immediately intrusive. It's like a collaboration where it becomes clear after a while what needs to be done, like they're talking to me. The process can go swiftly but sometimes also take a long time. It takes patience and courage to listen.
Thoughts on how people and trees can look healthy at first glance. On the inside, a completely different process is going on. A poisoned environment for both humans, animals and plants leads to slow stagnation and extinction.
The struggle to adapt, to fit in.
Environmental toxicity and stress lead to effects in all living things. A desire not to want to live becomes a real option. My son took his life at the age of 27. It's about not finding your way among all the alternative paths, but still being forced to choose.
Suicide, mental illness and death are taboo, but they became fellow travelers in my life and in my art. It is about boundless love and bottomless sorrow. The private becomes universal. A catharsis, a release and purification of the feelings that the works evoke. Death as a transition instead of an end. To a new life or back to nature's life-giving cycle with the ambition to reach acceptance. The thread, the circle and the annual rings of the trees.
A few steps back. Then further forward. Because you have to, because you can.
A tribute to life.