Nothing terrible happened. But still, 2025 was a year that I endured rather than experienced. There were no personal disasters. But the underlying feeling of the year did not bode well from the start.
It started right away in January. I felt uninspired and empty inside. There were also beautiful events, wonderful moments, and I enjoyed those. But I couldn't carry over the positive outlook from last year—my batteries just wouldn't recharge.
At the end of September, my exhaustion culminated in depression, worse than it had been in years. I hadn't seen it coming, and it was as if it had ambushed me and hit me over the head with a club. It just jumped on me—but there was no external cause, no reason. Nothing happened—it was just there.
Since then, I've been slowly working my way back into the light—and so a review of the year, which makes me realize what was good about this year, what was beautiful, and what I can be grateful for, seems just right.
But first, like many others, the big picture scares me. We live in turbulent times, and this turbulence affects me personally, it gets under my skin, and the general situation becomes my personal situation. I'm sure I'm not the only one.
It's almost like choosing from a menu which of the many crises is the one that impacts you the most. For me, it's this one – because it affects everyone, worldwide.
I never expected Trump to do what he did so quickly in his second term. His policies have become even more radical, and democratic norms and social peace are under pressure due to his polarizing measures. Images of people being dragged out of their cars in the open street, facing deportation, often without their relatives knowing where they have gone, are a sad, and possibly only temporary, climax of his demonstration of power.
In many countries, right-wing, nationalist-conservative, or authoritarian forces have gained real power in 2025 through elections, coalitions, or creeping institutional shifts. Not only in the US.
In Europe, too, parties and governments are using migration as a central threat narrative, invoking cultural homogeneity, delegitimizing the media or the judiciary, and seeking to politically restructure the administration.
Similar trends can be seen in Latin America, parts of Asia, and Africa: strongmen, law-and-order rhetoric, the devaluation of minorities, and the weakening of supervisory bodies. Open extremism is one thing, but the normalization of right-wing positions in the mainstream carries particular weight. Things that were unacceptable ten years ago are now “debatable.”
Authoritarianism rarely begins with an open breach of the constitution, but with the erosion of protective mechanisms, the normalization of states of emergency, and the dehumanization of certain groups. This is exactly what we are seeing today. Even in Germany.
For a long time, I believed that our experiences with fascism and our politics of remembrance would prevent us from repeating such mistakes. But that no longer seems certain.
Demonstration against the right wing, February 2025
With the election of Friedrich Merz as Chancellor, something has shifted in Germany, not only politically, but above all in tone. From the outset, it seemed that social conflicts were not to be moderated, but rather exacerbated.
Instead of focusing on structural issues of integration, economic transformation, or the climate crisis—which is also intensifying—Merz resorts to riskily charged imagery. The “changed cityscape” allegedly caused by people with a migrant background, the feeling of loss of control, the supposed threat to public order. In doing so, he plays on fears without contextualizing them.
The link between migration and violence against women is particularly problematic. By subsequently defending his statements on migration, saying that people should “ask their own daughters,” he shifts the discourse away from prevention, education, or social responsibility—toward blame and fearmongering. In doing so, he ignores the fact that violence against women in Germany in the 2020s still primarily takes place at home, not on the streets. However, concrete measures that would really help women are being watered down, delayed, or blocked by the CDU.
Merz does not represent an effective counterweight to the AfD. On the contrary, by adopting key interpretative patterns of the far right (migration as a threat, order as a moral category, fear as a political argument), he makes their positions palatable. He shifts the “overtone window” (the framework of what can be said in a socially acceptable manner) toward the AfD.
This is a mistake that conservative politicians have always been fond of making. Adopting right-wing positions does not lure voters away from the right, but rather drives them toward it, as election research shows.
Depression can be explained psychodynamically by powerlessness, among other things. People have tried many things, made choices, written about it, fought against it with art, and now, exhausted, the possibilities for action themselves seem exhausted. Every impulse runs headlong into a wall, and all the energy that one could and would like to muster bounces back and turns inward. Thus, political powerlessness becomes personal, what psychology calls learned helplessness. I couldn't just sit back and accept that.
I wanted to make a difference—or at least make it clear that these developments would not go unchallenged. That there are people who see these shifts, name them, and are not willing to accept them silently. This is not normal. And it does matter. And that's why I took to the streets with many others.
The topic of politics, such as the intertwining of art and power, has also cropped up repeatedly in my blog articles this year.
The powerlessness remained, but it was no longer mine alone.
But underlying all my attempts not to let myself be defeated was an all-encompassing exhaustion this year. Like unstable ground that is difficult to walk on. Mentally, the hardest part is the alienation from one's own inner standards. You no longer recognize yourself in your own reactions. And that is frightening: Will it stay that way?
Artistic work depends on abilities that exhaustion attacks first: openness, resonance, tolerance of ambiguity, playing with uncertainty. Exhaustion does the opposite. It demands clarity, calm, control. Everything that is unfinished, everything that is searching feels threatening.
Exhaustion also changes your sense of time. The future loses its contours. Planning becomes exhausting, visions feel unrealistic. In addition, it is overlaid with self-observation and self-criticism. I am constantly registering what is no longer possible. This meta-level consumes additional energy.
But: exhaustion is not a final state.
I know it will pass. I just have to find a flow that neither makes me work against it nor surrender to it. Sometimes that sounds easier than it is.
We couldn't go on like this.
So we drove away. To the sea. To the Costa Brava.
At the beginning of May, there weren't many tourists around yet, and some of the beaches were still deserted.
Platja Del Racó near Pals
I had never been to the Costa Brava before.
The first thing you notice is the restlessness. The sea is rarely calm, the wind rarely neutral, the light rarely clear. Everything is in motion.
The rocks of the Costa Brava are broken, layered, jagged. You can see their history in them. They carry time within them.
Cracks, breaks, faults—everything seems like something that has remained after something else has disappeared. The light is clear and expansive. It doesn't sugarcoat anything. In spring, the colors appear muted, almost austere. The blue of the sea is not just blue; it constantly shifts—into gray, into green, into the depths.
Platja Del Racó near Pals
Standing by the sea for the first time in a long time, breathing the air, my feet in the sand—light, warmth, salt, wind—then my sense of time shifted. No agenda, no urgency. My perception returned.
I could see again, perceive the different nuances of colors, structures regained texture. The constant inner self-observation – Am I feeling better? Should I feel more? Am I myself again? – subsided. Suddenly I was someone who walks, swims, looks, eats, sleeps again. Not someone who constantly measures themselves. I feel myself as a body in space again.
Playa Sa Riera near Begur
Unfortunately, inspiration is not a state that can be preserved. It arises in open spaces, but it requires a minimum level of inner security. Back home, exhaustion dominated once again.
But the vacation showed me how my system can feel when it is not under constant pressure. The smells and colors of Spain are now a part of me.
I don't remember exactly when it started. Sometime in late summer or early fall, our washing machine started making strange noises. So we called a repairman. Of course, we had to wait for an appointment, as you know how it is. Anyway, he looked at the machine, said he needed to check for replacement parts, and would get back to us with a cost estimate. More waiting, then eventually the feedback: it couldn't be repaired (no idea why he couldn't tell us that right away!).
So we picked out a new washing machine and ordered it. We were happy because the delivery time wasn't that long. The delivery arrived on time and the technicians were very nice. They took the old machine away and connected the new one—but it wasn't drawing any water. As we learned, the technicians have five minutes per delivery and connection. They tried for an hour at our place, then explained that they weren't allowed to stay any longer. We would be reimbursed for the delivery costs and should contact the dealer. Then new technicians would come.
Many phone calls followed. It wouldn't be so easy, consultations had to be made, they would get back to us. They didn't. More phone calls. In between, we were offered a voucher for 30 euros so that we could hire a technician ourselves. For 30 euros! And then we'd get a scoop of ice cream for 50 pfennigs?!
Since we weren't getting anywhere, we decided to return the machine. It was to be picked up. The repairman came—and refused to take the machine because it was still plugged in. Yes, of course! If I could have done that myself, I probably wouldn't have booked a connection service.
More phone calls. Eventually, we reached someone competent. A repairman came, disconnected the machine, and took it away. Hallelujah! But we still couldn't do laundry. And by then it was the end of November. At least we were able to take advantage of the Black Friday discount on our next attempt.
This time, the delivery time was two weeks. Oh well, can't be helped. Two more weeks of washing by hand. Hooray. The machine was delivered. Reconnected. Still no water. I was almost desperate. But this time we contacted the manufacturer and he took pity on us. He sent a certified repairman from nearby.
He came, determined that the hose had been kinked during the first delivery so that no water could flow. He connected a new hose to test it. The washing machine was standing in the middle of the room, but it was working. All good. The repairman packed up and was about to leave. Hello? It can't stay like this! He said he didn't have the right tools with him and would come back tomorrow.
Guess what. Of course, he didn't come and didn't call. When we called him, he said he was sick and would try again the next day. He didn't come the next day either. Well, he's sick, so we wait until after the weekend. We couldn't reach him on Monday. On Tuesday, now December 23, he finally got in touch. Again, he promises to come the next day.
And sure enough, he shows up, not at the agreed time, but at least he's there.
Since noon on Christmas Eve, our washing machine has been back where it belongs. Our very own Christmas miracle!
All in all, the year was a constant barrage of stress for me; my system was busy limiting damage rather than exploring possibilities. And that also had an artistic impact.
That doesn't mean I didn't paint, but no art came out of it. I don't mean that in a judgmental way. My self-esteem is easily shaken, but perfectionism has never been one of my vices. Every experience contributes to creativity, it just doesn't always find immediate expression. This applies to traveling just as much as it does to living through depression.
And so it took until well into the second half of the year before I was actually able to make art again.
This series did not arise out of abundance, but rather out of an attempt to reconnect—with myself, through creative work. At that time, art was only possible in this way. Not through color, not through composition, not through external stimuli. But rather through structures, gestures, repetitions. Not a reduction out of aesthetic desire, but rather a necessity.
A framework in which other tensions become visible: presence and absence, loud and quiet, weight and lightness.
The body is not the subject, it is a tool. The core lies not in the image, but in the process.
The works in the Fractured series oscillate between structure and dissolution, control and decay. The tension is not resolved. The areas of color, cracks, and traces refer to time, not in a narrative sense, but as a visible process of emergence and decay.
We are vulnerable during periods of inner change. In this series, vulnerability is not simply asserted, it is made legible. The cracks, layers, and breaks are not concealed.
Professionally, my blog was my most reliable constant in 2025. While painting requires ambiguity, resonance, and a certain inner expansiveness (which I did not have at my disposal during this phase), writing allows me to work differently—from thinking and reflecting, in a clearer structure.
The blog is a space for me to think.
Here I can sort, link, and classify things: art history, the present, politics, my own perceptions. Writing is not a retreat, but a form of self-location. Where am I right now? What do I see? What can be named?
Writing allows me to take a stand, even when I lack the energy to create.
And so, this year, articles on a variety of topics have once again been written. I wrote about my inner life, about famous artists and works of art, about tools and mechanisms in art, and even attempted to answer the question ofWhat is art?.
A total of 32 blog articles were written this year. I immersed myself in each and every topic, discovered and learned new things through each article, and every single one is important to me. But if I had to choose my three favorite blog articles, they would be these:
Art and politics were the big topics for me this year. In this article, I won't explain what art is, but why it is needed. Not only, but especially when the world seems unstable.
How does art respond in times of political, social, or societal upheaval?
Art and art history are tools for better understanding the present.
The world is currently moving in a direction that frightens me. In the United States, critical voices are being silenced. Foreign journalists who report neutrally are having their accreditations revoked. In Germany and Europe, too, people who call a spade a spade within the democratic spectrum are experiencing hostility and even shitstorms that go so far
Read MoreDid you know that blue appeared relatively late in art? I wasn't aware of that at all. In this article, I trace the history of the colour blue—from its material production and symbolic meaning to its role in art history.
In art history, the colour blue appeared surprisingly late. For a long time, people painted with whatever they had available, using earth pigments such as ochre, red, brown and black. A natural, durable blue simply did not occur in the environment. That is why it is not found in Stone Age cave paintings. It was not
Read MoreLooking back at my previous year-end reviews, it has almost become a tradition for me to post an art quiz on my blog every year. Art can be lighthearted and playful.
Of course, these quizzes are never meant to be taken entirely seriously. And yet, I am convinced that the art we like reveals a lot about ourselves. This year, the focus was on discovering art periods through travel motifs, moods, and preferences.
In just over two weeks, I’ll be heading to Spain – the Costa Brava, to be exact – and I honestly can’t wait. It’s been ages since I’ve seen the beach, and my longing for the sea has been getting a little out of hand.But you know how it is when excitement builds – you
Read MoreWhat makes me happy: My texts are found, read, and shared. I am grateful for that, and it also gives me a sense of self-efficacy. The number of visitors to my website doubled again in 2025 compared to the previous year.
Looking back, and this is precisely why the tradition of annual recaps has become so important to me, the year was mostly fuller and more positive than it felt when I was in the midst of it. Despite all the doubts, exhaustion, and breaks, this year also brought unexpected inquiries, encounters, and feedback that I hadn't anticipated and that mean a lot to me.
In terms of exhibitions, the year was also more present than I had realized. A total of seven of my works were shown in national and international exhibitions: in Cologne, Berlin, and Cuxhaven, as well as in Paris, Granada, Palma de Mallorca, and Zug in Switzerland.
Melting Glacier (on the right) at Art Shopping Paris in Carrousel du Louvre
There were other surprises that showed me time and again that my visibility is growing:
When I look back on my year as a whole, it seems to me that I haven't learned any new truths, but rather deepened existing insights.
Exhaustion is not an individual failure, but a state that arises when inner demands and external impositions are permanently out of sync.
At times, it was almost impossible to create art in my studio, but thinking, writing, and organizing were still possible. My blog was not Plan B, but exactly the place where I could remain present.
Vulnerability was once again not only the subject of my art this year, but a real state of being. I had to respect that in order not to harm myself. Creativity, inspiration, and inner expansiveness cannot be forced. But just because they are temporarily unavailable does not mean they have disappeared.
Much of what one might describe as the outlook after a difficult year sounds like damage control, administration, and “just don't do anything wrong.” At least, that's how I feel. Respect my limits more, don't overwork myself, and so on. That's important, too. My motto for 2026 will be “Back on solid ground.”
But I don't want to stop there. That sounds so static. Once I'm back on solid ground, I want to take a leap. I want to start the new year on a positive note. Without any concrete plans, but with anticipation. Something I can work towards without it becoming a chore.
2026 as a year that moves forward again, not inwardly managed.
Travel, exhibitions, places, conversations, encounters, and working, playing, and experimenting in the studio with curiosity again.
Finally, I would like to say thank you.
Thank you to everyone who reads, thinks, comments, or quietly follows along. Thank you to those who have purchased my art and thus directly support my work. And thank you to everyone who accompanies me on my journey—through conversations, feedback, encounters, or simply through interest, especially my partner and my sons, who are always there for me.
As always, special thanks also go to Judith Peters, who reignites the annual blog spectacle every year. This creates space for very different voices to coexist. Without competition, without comparisons, but with a lot of openness and exchange.
If you have written your own year in review, please link to it in the comments. I am very much looking forward to reading through all the texts. I promise to take the time to do so and to comment.
Thank you for being here.
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