Acrylic and linen

Acrylic on linen 153cm /110cm.Dreiklang in the echo of memoryIn three horizontal fields unfolds a visual score of line, color and structure. Above: black tracks such as fingerprints or topographic maps – signs of identity and location. In the middle: a red fragment, raw and unprotected, embedded in a texture of white and green – a heart, a fracture, a break. Bottom: wave-shaped lines, flowing, almost musical – movement, repetition, change.The color boundaries – red, blue, yellow – mark not only formal transitions, but emotional thresholds. The frame of mixed tones holds the whole together like a memory that cannot be clearly understood, but still carries.

Berlin, Zingster 25.The color was loud, the days long. I painted to breathe — Acrylic on canvas, layer on layer, like skin that wants to renew itself. The picture bears traces of noise, of departure, of survival. It originated in an apartment that was too narrow for silence, but wide enough for longing. After Bamberg it became quieter. Healthier. But this work remains: as an imprint of a state, as a testimony of a time when art was my body.

Acrylic on linen 152cm/110cm. "Dossypossy" – acrylic on canvas, a picture space of – wide enough for memory, sound and fragment. "Dossypossy" moves between the lines, collects signs, whispers stories. A visual alphabet of color, structure and social resonance.

Forest of color Green as ground, as memory, as tissue.An image that breathes like moss, like shadows, like hope.Between the layers: yellow, red, blue — like voices that show up and disappear again.The surface is dense, vulnerable, alive.A space that does not depict, but remembers.Not of a place, but of a feeling: lost and found at the same time.

Acrylic on linen 33cm-41cm 2cm. Crossed – movement as resistanceThis picture lives from tension. Diagonal lines cut through the surface like memories that do not fit. Yellow and green shine as if they wanted to assert themselves against the black, which lays itself over the colors like scars. Red flashes – an impulse, an outcry.The texture is dense, almost eruptive. Every stroke of the brush seems a reflex, a resistance to forgetting. There is no figure, no center – and yet the image pulsates like a body that moves, that resists. „Crossed is not a title, but a state. A state between breaking and breaking. Color becomes a language that needs no words. To the trace of a life that cannot be smoothed.