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.

Outward View: A Politically Turbulent Year

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.

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.

Inner World: Mental Health & Boundaries

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.

A Bright Spot: Costa Brava in Spring

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.

The Washing Machine Disaster

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!

Art During the Break – and the Return

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.

Touching the Core

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.

Fractured

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.

Writing, Thinking, Persevering

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:

When the World Trembles – Art in Times of Social Crisis

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 Invention of the Colour Blue

Did 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.

Which Art Era Suits Your Travel Style?

Looking 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.

What 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.

Unexpected Moments and Successes

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.

There were other surprises that showed me time and again that my visibility is growing:

• An invitation from the COPELOUZOS FAMILY ART MUSEUM to participate in the 35x35 art project. The resulting work will become part of the museum's permanent collection and will be published together with me as the artist in an art book presenting contemporary art from Germany.
• Dr. Theresa Schenker from Yale University, who had already contacted me in 2024 because she had discussed some of my work in her seminars and selected it for a textbook, got in touch again. This time with a request to include my biography in her teaching. In the course of our exchange, she also included more of my work in her teaching materials.
• A young high school student asked me for an interview as part of her complex learning project (a science-like thesis) on how painting can help treat depression. The interview has since taken place and was both challenging and enriching for me.
• The MainÄppelHaus Lohrberg became aware of my blog article about apples in art history and asked if they could publish an abridged version in the Christmas edition of their magazine.

What This Year has Taught Me

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.

2025 in Images

Outlook for 2026: A Direction, not a Promise

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.

Thank You

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.

I took part last year too. I actually managed to tick off quite a few items. I've caught up on some of the ones that were left open this year, while others remain on the list – but that doesn't mean I'm losing sight of them.
And because it really spurred me on, I'm taking part again this year.

My To-Want List for 2025

However, this year has been really strange for me. It's been like wading through waist-high water against the current. Nothing that knocked me over, but it definitely slowed me down. And then a few weeks ago, it finally caught up with me.
My overarching ‘goal’ for the rest of the year is therefore to find myself again. In some ways, it's more about starting than finishing. So please be forgiving if not all the points can be ticked off at the end.

These are my wishes for the rest of the year:

1. Seeing the colours on a walk, even when the day is grey.
2. Spending a whole day in my pyjamas, with tea and a book.
3. Try out the new paper I bought in September.
4. Redesign my studio. Last year, I had planned to renovate it. I haven't got around to it yet, and I won't be able to do it by the end of the year. That remains on my list for next year. But I can make a few changes so that I feel more comfortable again.
5. Be amazed again: by colour, light, a detail…
6. Spend a weekend completely offline.
7. See an original Max Liebermann again, for example, at the Frieda Burda Museum in Baden-Baden.
8. Start putting the ideas that are floating around in my head for two new art series down on paper.
9. Do something for the first time. Maybe something that requires me to muster up some courage or step out of my comfort zone. Maybe something I haven't had the opportunity to do before.
10. Spend an evening listening to music that moves me.
11. Leaf through old sketches.
12. Write a letter to myself.
13. Sit in a street café and watch the people passing by.
14. Take a different route for a change. Maybe just two streets further, but with an open mind.
15. Watch the sky until the colour changes.
16. Put on something nice, even if no one can see me.
17. Snuggle up with Stefan under blankets and watch an old film.
18. Resume our Sunday ritual. Browse through the book What Great Paintings Say* over breakfast and learn more about one of the works in it. We've lost a little time for this in our everyday lives. We're getting it back.
19. Try out a new colour or an unusual material.
20. Stroll through the Christmas market in Münster.
21. Watching the light as it falls through the curtains in the morning.
22. Allowing silence. Just now and then. No music, no podcasts, no noise.
23. Observing myself kindly. Not judging myself when things don't go well or I fall back into old patterns.
24. Spending time with people who are good for me.
25. Saying thank you to the people who support me and carry me when I can't do it myself.

*Affiliate link. If you order something through this link, you will be supporting my work at no extra cost to you. Thank you!

So, there it is, my list.
It's more of a little reminder to myself to be good to myself and gather strength. Just writing it down feels like a first step back to myself.
And you – what do you want to do for yourself this year?

The light on the Costa Brava has a magic of its own. Every hour changes the palette of sky and sea – in the morning, everything glows with soft gold; at midday, it turns a brilliant blue; by evening, the rocks burn with shifting shades of red. I catch myself mentally noting colour nuances: the shamelessly deep turquoise of a hidden cove, the glaring white of the houses in Cadaqués, the delicate pastel pink of dusk.

On our first morning, before breakfast, we head straight to the beach. The day before had been long – we’d explored the area around our accommodation, nestled in a fragrant pine grove, and spent the evening on the terrace. But then tiredness took over. Now, as soon as we wake, we’re drawn to the edge of the Mediterranean, to Platja del Racó. The morning light whispers softly in the surf. The sky, the sea, the slightly pebbly sand – everything lies in pastel shades. The water is icy, but we can’t resist: barefoot through the wet sand, letting the waves wash over our toes – a first arrival at the edge of vastness.

It’s not just the light – the sea itself, this endless, rolling mirror, shifts from hour to hour, from second to second. No painter could make it more varied: turquoise, jade green, steel blue, violet grey. On some beaches, the water is so clear we can see every pebble, every movement of a starfish. In small coves it gleams like glass, while near the rocks, spray flies up and the sea churns in deep blues and greys. Where the surf is stronger, stirred-up sediment clouds the water in murky browns. No two days are the same.

The Costa Brava can do it all: gentle and soft, wild and untamed, translucent and tender or full of force. It’s my first time here – and I fall for it instantly. For its changeability, its play of colour and mood. The sea finds a new language every day.

Where Time Stands Still: Pals

Back at our accommodation, we start the day with breakfast and make loose plans. This holiday is meant to bring rest and inspiration – not a sightseeing marathon. So we decide each day anew what we feel like doing, depending on mood and weather.

Today, we’re drawn to Pals. The medieval village, built from honey-coloured sandstone, rises on a hill that can be seen from afar. We wander through archways and across ancient cobblestones; I feel as if I’ve stepped into another time. Every corner seems to have looked exactly like this for centuries.

Later I learn that the old town had to be rebuilt. After the Spanish Civil War (1936–1939), Pals was in a terrible state. The war had shaken Spain to the core – economically, socially, and structurally. Under Franco’s dictatorship, many regions suffered not only from political stagnation but also from deep poverty (so much, by the way, for the economic competence of authoritarians).
During that time, the medieval centre of Pals fells increasingly into disrepair. People moved away, and those who stayed – or had no choice but to stay – focused on sheer survival. Many historic buildings stood empty, the village decayed, and its significance faded.

From the 1950s onwards, Dr Pere Servià i Cantó, the village doctor at the time, began advocating passionately for the preservation of Pals’ historic centre. Through personal commitment, public appeals and quiet persuasion, he managed to have the old town placed under heritage protection – a rare achievement under Franco’s regime. Pals was gradually restored. Today, it’s considered one of the most beautiful medieval villages in Catalonia – all because one doctor refused to give up on his home.

We visit the village church. It’s not grand or richly adorned like so many others – no golden altars, no elaborate frescoes. And yet, it moves me in a way I didn’t expect. As someone who’s not religious, I usually enter churches for the art, the architecture, the history. But here, it’s something else: the nave is plain and slightly low, yet the multi-ribbed vault above the choir is unexpectedly refined. The centuries-darkened sandstone gives off a quiet warmth. The space carries a sense of community, of shelter.
As we explore the interior, we suddenly hear Gregorian chants somewhere in the background. Deep, resonant voices fill the room. It’s a special, completely unexpected moment.

Oleander blooms between the walls as we drift through the village, climbing narrow lanes, briefly losing our sense of direction. We stop in at one or two souvenir shops – not the usual shelves of cheap trinkets, but curious little places that draw us in. Inside, it feels as if we’ve stepped into a cave. The walls seem carved out of the rock itself – uneven, cool, with stone niches and shallow vaults. Some of the old buildings here were in fact built onto the natural rock – or even into it. Originally, they were likely used as storage rooms or wine cellars. Today, they hold handmade ceramics, colourful bowls, small works of art.

I find myself wondering how many hands have touched these stones. How many feet have crossed these uneven floors. And how much patience it must have taken to save this place from falling into ruin. The connection between past and present is tangible – in the walls. In the light.

Blossoms, Walls and Crowds: Girona

The next day, Girona is celebrating the Temps de Flors – a famous flower festival that takes place every May and transforms the old town into a sea of blooms. Everywhere – on staircases, in courtyards, along the medieval walls – elaborate floral arrangements are on display. The scent of countless blossoms mingles with the atmosphere of the centuries-old alleys, turning this venerable city into a fragrant, temporary work of art.

In early May, the Costa Brava still feels half-asleep in its off-season quiet. But Girona is different. The city greets us at a very different pace: fuller, denser, louder.
The old town is packed. People squeeze through the narrow streets shoulder to shoulder. For me, it’s hard to bear – I feel my body tense, my breath quicken. Again and again, I brush up against the edge of panic. Thankfully, I’m not alone. My loved ones stay close with understanding and care – and that makes all the difference.

Looking back, visiting Girona during the flower festival might not have been the best idea. The floral arrangements are beautiful, no doubt. Some are playful, some impressive, some unexpected. And yet: I would have preferred to see the city without the crowds. With more space. More air.

Still, Girona leaves an impression. The city is beautiful. As Game of Thrones fans, of course we can’t resist visiting the filming locations. Yes, we’re definitely not the first – but that doesn’t stop us from whispering a gleeful “Shame” at the foot of the cathedral steps

We see the Eiffel Bridge, a red iron structure designed by Gustave Eiffel shortly before he built his famous Parisian tower. For the occasion, it’s wrapped in yellow foil and adorned with flowers.
From here, there’s a lovely view of the colourful houses lining the Onyar River – yellow, ochre, brick red, stacked at uneven heights like a sketch along the water’s edge.

Later, we walk to the spot where the Onyar flows into the Ter. Outside the old town, things grow quieter. There are still plenty of people around, but the streets widen, the noise fades a little – and suddenly, you can breathe again. For a moment, we imagine living here. In one of the flats overlooking the water. With a studio by the river.

L’Escala: Where the Little Prince Looks Out to Sea

The next day takes us to L’Escala. We had planned to visit the weekly market and lose ourselves among local specialities – but instead, we find a flea market by the beach. Unfortunately, not the kind filled with hidden treasures, but more of a bazaar of cheap tourist goods. Still, it doesn’t dampen our mood – the sun is shining brightly.

We decide to spend the day at the beach. The bay of L’Escala opens in a gentle arc along the coast. We walk barefoot at the water’s edge and find it simply wonderful – the vastness of the sea. It’s enough just to be, with no plans, no to-do lists.

During our walk we come across a statue of the Little Prince, sitting on a low stone wall, gazing out over the horizon. I’ve always loved the book. Maybe it’s time to read it again.
But what, I wonder, is the protagonist of a French author doing here in Spain?

I want to know what it’s all about:
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry wasn’t just a writer – he was also a pilot, as we know from The Little Prince. During the Second World War, he flew reconnaissance missions. On 31 July 1944, he took off from Corsica for a flight over southern France. He never returned. No radio contact, no crash report – just silence.

Some fishermen from L’Escala claimed to have seen him in the sky shortly before he disappeared. It’s not confirmed, but given his flight path, it wouldn’t have been impossible as a final sighting.

Saint-Exupéry’s disappearance remained a mystery for decades. In the 1970s, a fisherman found a bracelet bearing his name near Riou, a small island south of Marseille. In 1998, wreckage of an aircraft was discovered nearby, which in 2000 could be confirmed as Saint-Exupéry’s plane.

The statue of the Little Prince is said to commemorate his last possible sighting. It’s part of the Passeig del Petit Príncep – a coastal walking route dedicated to Saint-Exupéry’s work. Along the way, several figures from The Little Prince have been placed into the landscape – the fox, the rose, the snake.
We only spotted the Little Prince himself. The others must have escaped us – just one of many reasons to come back someday.

Between Cliffs and Sea

Over the next few days, we explore hidden coves nestled between rocky cliffs – places you can only reach by narrow paths or from the water.
In some of these coves, we are completely alone. No voices, no engines – just the sound of waves and the occasional cry of a bird. We sit on smooth rocks with our feet in the water.
I could stay here forever.

On other days, we enjoy the vastness of the long, sweeping beaches where the view stretches all the way to the horizon. I absorb the surrounding colours. Green isn’t just green – it shifts with the light into blue or yellow tones. Even the grey of the rocks has a life of its own.

And just like the colours, like the light, the voice of the sea keeps changing. At times it’s a gentle lapping; then again a wild, untamed roar. My lips taste of salt, the air smells of pine – or, in the narrow streets, as we pass by, of roasted garlic. The Costa Brava speaks to all my senses.

I can feel my rhythm slowing the moment my gaze opens into the distance. Little by little, a sense of rest settles in. The far line of the horizon and the primal calm between rock and sea begin to stir new images within me.

By Boat to Cadaqués – In the Artists’ Fishing Village

We arrive in Cadaqués by sea.
For a long time, this small village was hardly accessible any other way. It lies tucked into the hills, a scattering of white houses crowned by an old church, with the turquoise sea gleaming all around. As soon as we set foot on land, we wander through narrow alleys lined with old cobblestones. Our path leads us up to the church square. From up here, there’s a breathtaking view across the red-tiled rooftops all the way down to the bay.

As if the view weren’t enough, someone now settles into a corner of the wall and begins gently strumming a guitar. Just a few notes – and they fill the square. A special moment.

We continue to stroll. All around us, on walls and in small alcoves, we spot pieces of art. In my sketchbook, I capture passing impressions: the light as it breaks on the waves, a shadow cast on a wall, the pattern of an old window frame. Cadaqués leaves its mark – maybe some of it will find its way into my paintings one day. Maybe not.
But I know I’m taking it with me.

For a long time, Cadaqués has been a refuge for artists. Not only for the inescapable Salvador Dalí – whom we consciously avoid, due to his ties to authoritarian regimes, his violent fantasies, and his misogyny – but for many others, like Marcel Duchamp, Pablo Picasso and André Breton. Perhaps they came for the light. Perhaps for the seclusion.
Or perhaps because this place, with its narrow lanes, whitewashed walls and rugged cliffs, has a kind of defiant spirit – one that refuses to make itself neat for the world.

Calella de Palafrugell: Where the Village Embraces the Sea

Sadly, even this journey must come to an end. But we make the most of our final day: the sun is shining, and we spend the morning at Cala d’Aiguablava.

Cala d’Aiguablava literally means “the bay of light blue water.”
The crescent-shaped cove is sheltered and relatively shallow. Sunlight filters through the clear water and reflects off the fine, pale sand beneath – making the sea itself seem to glow.

In the afternoon, we head to Calella de Palafrugell. Here, the gleaming white village presses so close to the small coves that the waves almost lap at the café terraces. A few older men sit in the shade among brightly painted fishing boats pulled ashore, chatting in Catalan.

The scene feels almost unreal – a living picture book in blue, white and ochre. With the sea in view, we enjoy our last ice cream in Spain. In a small boutique, I buy a beautiful scarf that will always remind me of this trip. And then it’s time. We still need to pack our suitcases. Our flight leaves early the next morning.

But after dinner, just in time for sunset, we return once more to Platja de Pals to say goodbye to the Mediterranean.

Turquoise water, pale rocks, green pines – this is one of those rare places in the world where the postcards don’t lie.

What Remains? The Wild Coast as Muse

The Costa Brava has long been a muse for creative minds. In the 1930s, Marc Chagall, for instance, spoke of a “blue paradise” after spending time in Tossa de Mar. Dora Maar also stayed there for a while. She was captivated by the atmosphere of the place, photographing the daily life of the fishermen and the town’s architecture. Truman Capote spent time near Palamós, where he wrote parts of In Cold Blood.

Many artists, painters and writers have drawn inspiration from the region’s wild coves, its dazzling light, and the primal character of its culture. Traces of their creativity can be found all along the Costa Brava.
Now that I’m back in my studio, they accompany me.

The generosity of space, the intensity of colour, the sun-drenched afternoons – they, too, will find their way into my paintings. Perhaps not in any visible form, but quietly present, nonetheless.

I move differently through my days. More vague, more quiet, more cut off. My inner rhythm has slowed. Everything feels too much. I don’t want to do anything – and yet there’s so much to do. I’m in a kind of in-between state, caught in my own thoughts.

Am I still an artist if I’m not painting?

Some days, I don’t feel like one. When I’m not producing anything, not touching colours, not finishing any work – I feel like I’m disappearing. Like I have nothing to show, nothing to say. As if my creativity is simply waiting for me to breathe again.

In our society, a person’s identity is tightly linked to productivity. When you meet someone new, one of the first questions is: what do you do? Who we are is often defined by what we make. And although I don’t actually believe in that, I sometimes catch myself thinking the same way. Not about others – but about myself.

A state like the one I’m in now is a breeding ground for doubt. And it feeds itself. Do I doubt because I’m not painting – or am I not painting because I’m doubting?
Maybe something is working itself out within me that hasn’t yet found its form. Either way, this state is hard to bear.

Current affairs à la collective amnesia

Lately, I find it harder and harder to bear the news. The rising xenophobia, the normalisation of far-right rhetoric, the surge of the AfD – not at the fringes, but in the centre! Sometimes I think we’re right back in the 1920s and 30s.

There’s a mixture of anger, fear, and paralysis building up inside me. I don’t expect the new German government to counter this. On the contrary, it seems to be fuelling it. And then I look to the US – and see what’s already possible again, just months into another Trump-presidency. How quickly inhumanity is accepted again, as if it were just another opinion.

All of this weighs on me – more loudly when I can’t turn it into images. When I’m not painting, my way of seeing changes. Art is like a magnifying glass for me. It helps me see more clearly. But it’s also a filter – a way of processing what I feel. Right now, I’m missing both.

Staying curious

Next week I’m going to the sea. It’s not a long holiday, but it’s been a long time coming. Sun, salt air, different colours. I’m looking forward to the openness – and the small things. I’m looking forward to rediscovering my curiosity. About things that serve no purpose. About the seemingly insignificant things I’ve been too tired to notice. A shadow on a sunlit wall. The texture of a seashell. Sounds I never hear at home.

When I’m back in the studio, I hope my inspiration will draw from a fuller well again.
Of course, I can’t always just take a holiday – not as often as I’d like. But a shift in perspective changes the way I see. And sometimes, that works just as well from home.

States of in-between

I don’t know when the next piece of art will emerge. For now, I’ll simply be on my way. And that’s enough.
Some days remain fragmentary. Thoughts, feelings, observations – they stand beside each other. Maybe one day they’ll form a whole. 

With this mindset, I let things come to me naturally, and in the first few months, I was finally able to recharge my energy. And I certainly needed it for the rest of the year! From mid-March onwards, it felt as though a knot had unravelled. Projects fell into place effortlessly, successes came unexpectedly easily, and even the challenges found their place in this flow.
2024 became my most successful year yet. Not only financially, but more importantly, in the sense of feeling supported and truly aligned with my work.

Goals and How They Took Shape

In keeping with my guiding word, I deliberately avoided making concrete plans. What seemed most important to me in 2024 was not to overthink everything, but to let go of what wasn’t good for me. Instead of a to-do list, I created a would-be-nice-but-not-essential list. It was more open-ended, with the focus on living rather than achieving.

Some points on that list I did manage to tick off, while others remained undone – and that was absolutely fine. In their place, unexpected opportunities arose, often far more meaningful than anything I had originally envisioned. What truly mattered was that I could experience the year in all its fullness, without being constrained by a rigid plan.

Year in Review: Highlights and Challenges of 2024

A New Creative Home

Artists often work alone. Perhaps this is because art is frequently a struggle with oneself – a process that calls for silence. At least, that’s how it feels for me. Yet, at the same time, I also need interaction with others to fuel my inspiration.

I’m fortunate in many ways to share my life with another artist. His views and perspectives enrich me every single day. But for me, there’s no such thing as too much inspiration – quite the opposite. Engaging with people beyond my immediate circle often brings a fresh dynamism to my work.

In mid-March, I received an unexpected invitation to join a new creative community. Bianka Behrami and Kate Brunch had just established it as a space designed precisely for exchange and inspiration. I was curious and interested, so I decided to join – and it turned out to be a stroke of luck.

From the very beginning, I felt welcome. It has since become a kind of creative home for me. Here, I meet people who face similar questions and challenges to my own. Free from envy or competition, we talk about our work, inspire one another, share successes, and support each other through difficult times. Without this community, some of my projects this year would never have come to life.

Yale: My Art Becomes Part of the Curriculum

The spring still had plenty of surprises in store for me! In early May, I received an email from Teresa Schenker, the programme director for German language studies at Yale University.

She and her students follow an exciting concept: creating a bridge from Germany’s history, through key developments, to what the future might hold. Their approach intertwines language learning with cultural knowledge and intercultural skills – and art plays a significant role in this. Her students are particularly interested in contemporary artists, and they had already discussed two of my works – Where Should We Go From Here and 1.5° – in their previous semester.

When I found this out, I was completely stunned. The thought that my art had been part of a course at Yale University still fills me with joy. But the request went even further: Ms Schenker was working on a textbook titled Where We Come From, Where We Are Going, designed not only for Yale but also to be used worldwide by educators as an Open Educational Resource. And she wanted to include several of my works in it.

In the end, we decided on four pieces that fit perfectly into her teaching unit on environmental issues and sustainability. Of course, I said yes – how could I not? It’s an honour for my art to be used in this way: as a starting point for discussions, as a tool for learning, and as an inspiration for people thousands of miles away, whom I can touch through my work.

London calling

Shortly afterwards, also in May, I was contacted by a luxury interior designer from London. She was searching for artworks for a high-profile project, had come across my work, and wanted to commission several pieces. I had consciously decided against taking on commissioned work in the past – too often, such projects can limit artistic freedom. But the concept was intriguing, and I didn’t hesitate for long before agreeing.

The task was to blend my artistic signature with the designer’s vision – a delicate balancing act. The process began with me fully immersing myself in the project to understand its essence. Together, we developed ideas, discussed materials, colours, and textures. Her imagination and my creative input complemented each other in a way that was promising from the start.

Then the real work began. Over several months, well into October, I dedicated myself to this project, which took up the majority of my time. It was intense – and often demanding. But it was also exciting. I learned a great deal about myself and my work, about communication, and about finding the balance between fulfilling a commission and preserving my own artistic identity.

In the end, six pieces emerged – works I can truly be proud of – and a collaboration that I would count as one of the real highlights of this year.

Visibility and Recognition

This year, my art was more visible than ever before. Two of my works were exhibited at the Aedra Fine Arts Gallery, and Saatchi Art featured several of my pieces throughout the year. I was particularly thrilled by the invitation to exhibit at the Carrousel du Louvre in Paris.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t accept due to financial constraints, but the invitation alone was a wonderful recognition. It shows me that my work is valued – even in circles I couldn’t have imagined being part of just a few years ago.

International sales have also contributed to this feeling. Four of my works found new homes in the USA this year, along with pieces in London, across Europe, and within Germany. The thought that my art has become part of people’s lives across multiple continents is something I truly cherish.

Making Time for Breaks

My biggest challenge this year was making time for breaks. Because I love pushing my artistic boundaries, trying new things, and experimenting, I occasionally find myself exceeding my personal limits – whether in terms of workload or energy. I had to consciously remind myself that I need time to recharge. Unfortunately, I didn’t always succeed, but I’m learning.

I wasn’t willing to sacrifice time with my loved ones – that’s non-negotiable for me. But as a result, there was little room for anything outside of work – not even for engaging with art. It wasn’t until November, at the ARTe art fair in Dortmund, that I finally had the chance again.

There was also no time for travelling this year, which I find deeply disappointing. I’ve been longing for the sea, and I’m determined to change that in 2025.

Art and Projects

The Dynamics of Chaos and Order: The SQ Art Series

The SQ series explores contrasts: chaos and order, tension and harmony. The name SQ stands for square – the geometric form that serves as the foundation for each composition in the series. Every piece consists of nine square wooden panels, which together form a larger square. The outer structure is strictly symmetrical and clearly defined. But within, I deliberately relinquished control, leaving space for the unforeseen to simply happen.

Each panel tells its own story. It could stand alone, yet it is part of a greater whole. Together, they reveal a dialogue between structure and unpredictability.

In the fine cracks, subtle lines, and textures of these works, time becomes tangible – its traces are everywhere. It adds, it takes away, and in doing so, creates something entirely new. This series combines a love for structure with a joy in chaos. It is both an artistic and personal exploration of the tension between control and letting go.

The Beauty of Fleeting Moments: The Glimpses Art Series

Glimpses is an homage to the small, fleeting moments that often pass us by unnoticed – moments that, in hindsight, often resonate more deeply and awaken memories that lie dormant within us.

In this series, I allowed myself to play, experiment, and go with the flow. It wasn’t about making a grand statement. Rather, I wanted to create an atmosphere that leaves room for interpretation. Each piece tells a story of transience, but also of the beauty found in these fleeting moments.

Working on Glimpses felt like a heady dance with colours, nuances, and textures – without any fixed goal in sight. Like memories, the pieces in this series are made up of many layers, some of which disappear beneath a veil of white paint. This veil doesn’t obscure everything: small gaps and glimpses allow the underlying layers to remain visible.

As with looking back on past moments, some parts are crystal clear, others are hazy, and some remain hidden. For me, this balance between clarity and mystery is at the heart of Glimpses.

Project “Connecting Perspectives”: My Interview Series

The idea of interviewing other artists had been on my mind for quite some time. It came into sharper focus in March, when I was interviewed by the lovely Gudrun Krinzinger alongside four other women (a connection that, incidentally, arose from last year’s annual review project). Ever since, I kept coming back to the idea, but I struggled to find the spark that would help me implement it meaningfully.

The decisive impulse came through the creative community I joined. During our exchanges, I noticed how individually we all approach challenges – and yet, how many shared experiences connect us. This made me curious: What does creativity mean to different people? How do we handle setbacks? And where do we find the universal experiences that unite us?

From these reflections, my interview series was born – a project that is very close to my heart. I ask all participants the same set of questions, and each time, I’m fascinated anew: The answers are so diverse, yet they reveal a shared thread of similarity. They showcase the richness of creative paths and the common ground in overcoming obstacles and doubts. I’m deeply grateful to my dear colleague and now close friend, Nadine Achtelik, for being the first to trust me with her story.

For me, it’s exciting to uncover the personal stories behind creativity. It doesn’t matter whether someone works professionally in a creative field, focuses on a specific genre, or simply engages with art as a hobby. What interests me are the personal perspectives, experiences, and thoughts that drive creativity.

If you’d like to be part of this project, I’d love to hear from you! I’m always looking for new interview partners – regardless of creative discipline or “level of professionalism.” Your perspective enriches the series and highlights just how diverse and unifying creativity can be. The more voices, the more exciting the series becomes.

The Book Project: Old Attitudes

Over the course of this year, I developed the idea for a very special project: I want to publish my Old Attitudes art series – a collection of nudes – as an art book. When I create a nude, it’s never simply about depicting a naked body. It’s about capturing intimacy and identity, making postures and emotions visible.

The first pieces in the series were created in the spring and summer of 2020, during the height of the Covid-19 pandemic. It was a challenging time full of uncertainty for everyone, but especially for women. In this extraordinary context, I began to explore themes of womanhood, connected with femininity, sensuality, and sexuality.

The series examines the ever-evolving, expanding, and shifting roles of women, often in tension with traditional power structures. The works depict women in their individual strength and vulnerability, as well as their resistance to societal expectations and assigned roles. These themes are reflected not only in the compositions but also in the titles of the pieces, offering viewers insights into the complexity and multifaceted nature of femininity.

I began developing the book’s concept by reviewing my material, structuring the chapters, and planning how to present the series in a new light. Four new works were created specifically for the book and will be published there for the first time. These additions expand the series, offering new perspectives.

Despite significant progress, I ran out of time to complete the project in 2024 and had to postpone its release to next year. This extra time allows me to refine the project further, and I’m already looking forward to seeing the series and its themes come to life in book form.

My Theme for 2024: Womanhood

Beyond my work on the book and the Old Attitudes art series, the theme of womanhood has been a constant thread throughout this year – in my art, my thoughts, and the world around me. It was a year in which women and the concept of womanhood came into focus time and again, moving me creatively, politically, and personally.

Women in Art: Forgotten Voices and Unequal Legacies

Over the course of the year, I delved into the lives and works of three female artists, whose contributions to art history have often been overshadowed by their male counterparts.

It is both fascinating and deeply unsettling to see how much these women have been undervalued. Their voices and perspectives are irreplaceable, yet they were frequently overlooked or dismissed. This issue goes beyond their works themselves – it also extends to the legacy they left behind. Women’s works are less frequently displayed in museums, less regularly collected, and rarely contextualized in the same way as those of male artists.

It’s time for this to change!

Political, Social, and Personal Reflection

What does femininity mean to me? Where do I feel the expectations placed upon me, and how do they influence my decisions and daily life? These questions are not just theoretical for me; they are deeply personal. They arise in everyday moments: in the tension between strength and vulnerability, between societal roles and the freedom to redefine myself.

This year, the elections in the United States clearly demonstrated how much gender issues shape the political landscape. Similarly, the upcoming Bundestag election in Germany is likely to bring similar debates to the forefront. Issues such as equality, representation, women’s rights, and women’s health are not niche topics – they are central to creating a fairer society.

I was particularly moved by the case of Gisèle Pelicot in France. Her courage in publicly confronting years of rape and abuse by her husband was not only a testament to her personal strength but also a catalyst for important societal discussions. Violence against women and sexualized violence can no longer be dismissed as a “gentleman’s misdemeanour.”

“The shame must change sides!”

This statement by Gisèle Pelicot stays with me because it so aptly captures the essence of what needs to change: Women should no longer bear the burden of silence. Instead, the perpetrators must be held accountable, and societal structures that enable such violence must be dismantled.

Strengthening the Next Generation

As a woman who engages with these themes in both her art and everyday life, I feel a responsibility not only to reflect on the past but also to help shape the future. And above all, that means empowering girls.

We need to show them from an early age that they are just as valuable as boys – that their dreams, their skills, and their voices matter. It starts with small actions: listening to them, taking their questions seriously, and encouraging them to carve their own paths. It means fostering their self-confidence, supporting their interests, and, most importantly, not confining them to outdated gender roles.

But that’s not enough. We also need to shape society in a way that offers girls not only opportunities but also protection. Girls should never have to feel afraid to express their opinions or move freely in public spaces. Structural changes are urgently needed to eliminate the systems that enable or ignore violence against women and girls.

We need to move away from a culture that teaches girls to be cautious, kind, and understanding, and towards one that teaches them to be bold. And that can only happen if we shift the responsibility for safety and equality off their shoulders and place it where it belongs: in the hands of society.

We lose so much potential when we discourage girls out of fear or outdated gender roles. As a mother of sons, I feel this responsibility deeply. I’ve tried to raise them to not only learn respect and equality but to live it – to see their privileges not as entitlements but as tools to drive change.

The future belongs to the girls we empower today and the boys we teach that true strength has nothing to do with power over others. It’s our responsibility to leave them a world where they can be themselves without fear – free, courageous, and full of confidence in their abilities.

These reflections have been a defining part of my year.

Art Business: How Is It Progressing?

And what a difference a year can make: In 2023, my website had just under 3,000 visitors – this year, that number has tripled. My reach and follower count on social media have also grown significantly.

I’m still far from a breakthrough, but my work is bearing fruit. That’s a huge relief: This year, I’ve found myself questioning far less often whether becoming self-employed – and as an artist, no less – was really a smart decision.

I think I have my blog to thank for much of this progress. This year, I’ve published a total of 36 blog posts (including this review). I always write about topics that genuinely interest me, which is why I enjoy the process so much. I love diving into research – there’s always so much to learn.

Once again, my topics this year have been wonderfully varied. Here are my three favourite blog posts from this year:

1. The Courage to be Imperfect: Why Failure is Part of the Creative Process
   The fear of failure is one of the greatest obstacles to our creative growth. It can be paralysing, keeping us trapped in a state of uncertainty and self-doubt. Instead of bravely trying out new ideas and enjoying our creativity, we retreat – staying firmly within our comfort zone. The result? We hold ourselves back.
   
   
2. The Soul of the Renaissance: Leonardo, Michelangelo, and Raphael
   It was a time of discovery, exploration, and rediscovery – in art, science, and thought. Three giants embodied this artistic epoch like no others and shaped the very soul of the Renaissance:
   For the visionary Leonardo, art and science were inseparably linked. Michelangelo, driven by boundless passion, created masterpieces that pushed the limits of what was possible. And Raphael captured the beauty of the world with an effortless harmony that remains unmatched.
   
   
3. Quiz: You won’t believe these Art Fun Facts – or will you?
   You might think the art world is a fairly dignified place. But that’s not always the case. There are spectacular thefts, eccentric artists, and utterly absurd events.
   The stories from the art world that I’ve gathered are incredible – but are they true?

Sharing is Caring: My Recommendations

What Did I Learn in 2024?

2024 taught me a great deal – about myself, about balancing success and rest, and about how important it is to live at the moment. It was a year when projects and opportunities came together in wonderful ways. Yes, it was busy, but it was also filled with creative highs and meaningful connections.

I learned that it’s not just about what I achieve, but also how I achieve it. The creative flow that carried me this year wasn’t always something I could plan – often, it was letting go that made the biggest difference. At the same time, I realized how crucial it is to set boundaries: for myself, my time, and my energy. It’s not something I find easy, but it’s a lesson I want to continue to internalize.

2024 also showed me the value of connecting with others. My creative community inspired and supported me, the interview series enriched me with diverse perspectives, and my interactions with clients who have integrated my art into their lives motivated me. But the strongest sense of connection I feel is in my personal life. My partner and my sons are my greatest support and foundation – they give me the freedom to pursue my passion.

I’ve learned that I’m on the right path. The doubts that often accompanied me in past years have grown quieter. It was a year that encouraged me to keep going – with my art, my self-employment, and my efforts to create a life that feels true to me.

This year, I truly grew with my art – diving deeper into my own themes and the world around me.

My Year in Pictures

Goals and Plans for 2025

My guiding word for 2025 is Momentum. It represents moving forward, harnessing the energy of the moment, and the flow I hope to carry into the coming year. But as in 2024, I don’t want to overload myself with plans. Instead, I want to focus on what truly matters – both in my art and in my life.

One key goal will be completing my book project. And of course, I want to create new art as well. I have plenty of ideas and am excited to see which of them make their way onto canvas, paper, or wood. But it’s not just about creating; I also want to dedicate more time to experiencing art in the coming year. I’ve realized how much engaging with the works of other artists inspires me and how important it is to maintain that connection.

Another wish for 2025 is to travel more. My longing for the sea is calling. But I’d also love to visit a new city or attend an exhibition in a special place – to step out of my daily routine and gain new perspectives.

Finally, I want to work on recognizing and respecting my own boundaries – both physically and mentally. This past year has shown me how vital that balance is, and I hope to be even more mindful of my energy in 2025.

For me, Momentum means staying in motion without overwhelming myself. It’s about finding a balance between what drives me and the rest I need to be fully present. I’m looking forward to carrying this guiding word through the year and seeing where it leads me.

Thank you!

To wrap up, I want to thank everyone who supported, inspired, and accompanied me this year. Your encouragement, your energy, and our conversations enriched my 2024 and often made a difference exactly when I needed it most. A special thanks also goes to those who crossed my path and brought new ideas and impulses.

And, of course, a huge thank you to Judith Peters, who turns the annual review blog into such a special event every year. It’s not just a writing challenge – it’s a creative family gathering where connections are made, and the joy of meeting again next year is already in the air.

Now I’m curious: What themes, encounters, or moments shaped your year? Was there a thread running through your 2024? I’d love to hear about it in the comments!

If you also participated in the annual review blog, feel free to share your link in the comments – I’m excited to see your insights!

Some lessons I had to learn the hard way. Others I haven’t fully absorbed yet – but I’m working on it and constantly learning. For me, art is also a journey of self-discovery. Here are the 5 key things my art has taught me this year.

1. Art Needs Its Own Rhythm

I have to admit, patience is not exactly my strong suit. When I have an idea for a painting or a series, I want it to be finished immediately. But that rarely works.
There are phases when everything flows effortlessly, and others when nothing moves forward, no matter how hard I try.

A painting needs time to develop, and I have to be willing to go along with it. When I push too hard, my work becomes heavy-handed – and you can see it in the painting. But when I let things take their course, what I’m searching for often emerges as if by itself.

2. Mistakes Are Part of the Process

I’m not a perfectionist. Yet, I’ve often felt the fear of failure myself and know it’s the greatest enemy of creativity. Every creative attempt carries the risk of failure – but it’s also the only way something new can emerge.

It’s so easy to hesitate, to hold back, and tell yourself there’s no point in starting because it won’t work out anyway. But that’s a terrible way to think, and if I gave in to it, I’d only be robbing myself.

Not everything you start will turn into a masterpiece – of course not. But I can amaze myself when I take the leap and trust the process.

3. Knowing Your Limits Is Important

I’m incredibly grateful to be able to work as an artist. Being creative and expressing myself is deeply fulfilling. But that also comes with a risk. There’s always another idea to try out, another stroke to improve the painting. And because this work is so rewarding, I sometimes fail to notice just how draining it can be.

This year, I experienced that first-hand again: after a cold that completely knocked me out, I felt exhausted for weeks. It was a clear reminder of how important it is to respect my own limits.

Slowing down and making time for breaks isn’t the opposite of being productive. It’s the key to staying creative in the long run. For me, setting boundaries means creating space – space to rest, space for new ideas, and space to truly enjoy what I do.

4. Creativity Connects

This year, I’ve often thought about how creativity brings people together. It’s a universal language that connects us across differences. It’s not about the finished piece or the creative genre – it’s about the stories, thoughts, and emotions behind it.

Creativity creates space for encounters that might never happen in everyday life. For me, this has been especially true this year. By chance, I stumbled into a new creative family in March. The connections and ideas that have emerged since then have deeply moved me. My interview series is also a natural outcome of this community of creative minds.

Everyone brings their own perspective, yet there’s this shared flow that ties everything together. But creativity doesn’t just connect me with others – it also connects me with myself. Through my art, I can feel who I am and what moves me.

5. Art Is My Mirror

My art often reflects what’s going on inside me, even if I don’t realize it right away. When I’m fully immersed in a painting, focused on colours, shapes, and layers, it sometimes reveals more about me than I initially knew.

I step back and suddenly recognize something in my work: a mood, a thought, or a feeling that I hadn’t been able to grasp before. Subtle, yet deeply honest. This year, I experienced that again while working on my art series Glimpses – it gave me glimpses into myself as well.

My art not only allows me to express myself but also helps me understand myself better. It shows me what moves me, where I might be stuck, and sometimes even where I need to go next. For that, I’m incredibly grateful.

Lessons from a Creative Year

So these are the findings of this year: I’ve had many small and big lessons hidden between colours and shapes. Have you learned something through your creative work this year? Let me know in the comments – I’d love to hear from you!

Is it just me, or are colds hanging around longer and nastier this year? Mine, for one, took me out for a solid two weeks! I admit, at first, I tried to get a few things done here and there. But that was my own fault—come my birthday, I was flat out and not going anywhere.
Note to self: if you’re going to run yourself ragged, do it considerately!

From Flow to Full Stop

And then there are those times when you need to pay attention to the subtle warnings from your body, which often just quietly raises a finger at first.

I have a little confession to make. There’s an artist I know (purely hypothetically, of course) who, when in full creative flow, gets so immersed in her work that she completely loses track of time. Just this one last thing, then the next, until she’s practically bouncing in her seat with an over-full bladder, but still, she has "just one more thing" to finish. Any similarities to the author here are, of course, entirely coincidental.

It seems harmless enough – but not so much when I don't even notice I'm exhausted, or even just that my feet have gone cold.

Let’s take a step back and get serious for a moment. My tendency to overlook my own needs in the name of enthusiasm has actually landed me in burnout and serious depression before. Hardly surprising, is it? Creativity is fun, even joyful, but it’s also demanding. It takes energy and focus – often without us noticing.

Long before this cold, my body had been signalling, “Hang on, this is getting too much!” But clearly, I needed a firm reminder, which is why that cold found its way right in and took me down.

Art and Self-Care During a Break

I’m feeling better now, mostly. My energy is coming back, but I still feel drained, and of course, there’s a mountain of stuff that’s piled up... I’ve got to be careful not to throw myself straight back into the pit of exhaustion.

In the past, I’d have jumped right back into things. These days, I’m trying a different approach. It doesn’t always have to be big creative projects to get back into the art groove. A bit of sketching, mixing some colours... Small acts of creativity that clear my head without draining what energy I’ve got.

And you know, even without the illness or exhaustion, these little warm-up exercises shouldn’t be underestimated.

Doing Nothing, Doing Good

Sitting still with a cup of tea and letting my thoughts drift is harder than it sounds. Especially when my schedule is jam-packed. There’s always that urge to “be productive.” But in truth, doing nothing isn’t really doing nothing. As Philippe Djian once said, a reclining artist is hard at work.

Doing nothing creates space for thoughts and ideas. These small pauses, I’ve realised, are just as essential for my creative process as the active painting sessions. The less I try to force creativity, the more it just seems to come on its own. My creativity thrives when I give it the room to unfold.

How to

It sounds so simple. Pauses are supposed to hit reset on your creative thinking – what was blocked starts to flow again, your energy and enthusiasm return.

Unfortunately, it’s rarely that straightforward. Because I’ve ignored my need for creative and restful pauses for so long, I’ve put myself in a position where stepping back feels almost impossible. I’m still a bit weak from being ill and should probably take more breaks than I’m actually allowing myself. But the irony is, I’m too tense to truly relax during these breaks.

So, what next? How do I find my way back out of this? Thankfully, this isn’t my first rodeo, so I have a few tricks up my sleeve to help. If you’ve got any other ideas, I’d love to hear them – I could really use some fresh insight!

1. Start Slowly
   If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that diving back in headfirst usually ends in disaster. Instead, I take it slowly, starting with simple tasks. They don’t even have to be creative. Filing paperwork, for instance – no thinking required, just punching holes and sorting, and suddenly one more unwanted task is off the list.
2. Tap into Inspiration
   When I haven’t got the energy to create, it’s the perfect time to find inspiration. Flicking through art books, listening to a podcast on creativity, or even just browsing Pinterest. It’s a way to feel connected to art without the pressure of having to create something right away.
3. Yoga – Letting Go of Tension
   Normally, I start my day with a few quick yoga poses to get moving. But recently, I’ve treated myself to longer Yin Yoga sessions. It’s only when I’m holding those poses that I notice how much tension I’ve actually been carrying, even when I thought I was fine. These moments let my body truly exhale and help me let go.
4. Take Micro-Breaks
   I need more breaks than usual right now. But even little ones help: a few minutes of meditation or just closing my eyes. It doesn’t have to be an entire day off; sometimes just a few minutes can help recharge. The trick is to take those breaks before I even feel like I need them.
5. Time with My Other Half
   Sharing a coffee, chatting about nothing in particular, or just being together – these moments ground me and help me recharge.
6. Change of Scenery
   A walk, experiencing nature, or sitting at a café with a friend – sometimes all it takes is a new perspective and something different to look at. I do love a good wander through a museum too.
7. Rethink To-Do Lists
   My “never-to-be-done” list can feel like a real downer sometimes. So I break it down into smaller, more manageable lists: What’s really important? What can wait? What’s quick and easy to tick off right now? And sometimes, it’s perfectly fine to leave something on the list and let it be.
8. Schedule Time for Doing Absolutely Nothing
   I’m not great at this, but sometimes it helps to actually schedule some time for doing nothing. If need be, I’ll even put it on my to-do list.

Protection Mode On – Pauses Aren’t a Luxury

In the end, it boils down to this: it’s alright to slow down. Pauses aren’t a weakness or a luxury – they’re a form of self-protection. Sometimes you just have to accept that you can’t do everything all at once. I’m constantly reminding myself of that. After all, it’s our mental health on the line here.

What about you? What helps you? I could certainly use a few more tips!

The last three months of the year are always packed with things that still need ticking off. But instead of making a To-do list, I’m writing a To-want list this time! Not about what I have to get done, but what I want to make time for.

I want to consciously focus on the things that matter to me. It’s not just about achieving goals (although there are some), and it’s certainly not only about the big things. It’s the simple, everyday moments and small joys that shouldn’t get lost in the shuffle. So, what do I want to experience before 31st December? Here are my wishes for the final stretch of 2024.

My To-Want List

I’ve divided my wishes and plans into three categories. All of them are important to me. This way, I can achieve my artistic and professional goals, gather fresh ideas, and find peace and joy with my loved ones.

I know I won’t be able to accomplish everything, but that’s not the point. This isn’t another checklist to tick off; it’s a source of inspiration.

Art and Business

Experiences and Inspirations

Time for Myself and Family

What’s on your list?

The idea of writing a To-Want list instead of a traditional To-Do list actually comes from Judith Peters’ Blogtoberfest – and I have to say, I had a lot of fun thinking about all the things I still want to experience and achieve by the end of the year.

I’m curious to see how many of my plans I can tick off. Over the next few months, I’ll be checking them off right here.

How about you? Do you have a list of things you want to accomplish before the year ends? Maybe you’ll find some common ground with mine? Feel free to leave a comment and tell me about your own goals for the final weeks of 2024. I’d love to hear your ideas!

- by unknown

A new year lies ahead of us with all its possibilities. For me, it feels like a blank canvas that I can fill with color and creativity and on which I can live out all my feelings and thoughts.
I often set myself goals that I want to achieve. Not this year! I'm going to keep it simple. Instead of setting goals, I'm going to be guided by the concept of simplicity. It will be the overarching theme of this year.

2023 was exhausting for me. Right now, my body is telling me to rest. So I listen to it. I'm going to allow myself ease, serenity, and breaks when I need them - without a guilty conscience. And then I will focus on the areas that bring me joy.

Bye-bye Never-ever-getting-done-List

By reducing the pressure, freeing myself from negativity and stopping chasing after my never-ever-getting-done list, I create space for clarity and focus on what is truly important to me.

What are my priorities? What values do I stand for and what contributes to my satisfaction? I allow myself to be aware of this - consciously. My creativity will open doors to new perspectives and possibilities.

That's exactly what simplicity means to me, and that makes it my perfect theme for 2024.

Letting go of Pressure and Negativity

Constant pressure can lead to chronic stress and increase the risk of mental health conditions such as depression, anxiety, and burnout. That's what happened to me last year. Although my first brush with depression was many years ago, I was fine for a long time. But in 2023, I struggled with depression again and again.

This not only affected my mental health, but also my immune system. Any cold, no matter how minor, would catch up with me and stay with me. My energy levels fluctuated between empty and burnt out.

This couldn't go on. This year it's important for me to keep things manageable. Everything should be doable and enjoyable.

Creativity as a Guide

Art and creativity have always been an outlet for me. Even as a little girl, it was how I expressed myself. And then, as now, on days when I am creative, I feel fulfilled. These days have meaning, I even sleep better.

But art is not a hobby for me. For my work to be authentic and relevant, not only to myself but to others, I have to put a lot of myself into it. That takes courage - to show myself, to take praise and criticism, but most of all, the courage to face myself.

If I can muster that courage, I can grow in my art and learn to deal with self-doubt, fears, but also flights of fancy. As I wrote in my introduction: The occupation with art helps me to connect with the world, to classify experiences, to arrive – an act of search as well as an act of understanding.

The 6-Point Plan: Simplicity in Everyday Life

But how do I integrate simplicity into my daily life? It doesn't necessarily mean doing without. It's more about focusing on the essentials and letting go of unnecessary baggage. I have made a conscious decision to do this. I want my life to be less complicated and I want to actively embrace its abundance. These 6 steps will help me do that:

1. Morning routine without distractions:
   I start my day calmly with a little routine. First, I drink a glass of lemon water. It boosts my immune system and wakes me up. Then I practise yoga for half an hour. It makes me feel so much better.
   Positive effect: focus on my own needs, stress-free start to the day.
2. Digital detox in the evening:
   An hour before I go to bed, I switch off all digital devices. I read a little more, listen to some music and then go to bed.
   Positive effect: improved quality of sleep, mental relaxation.
3. Weekly block of time for self-reflection:
   Once a week, I take time to reflect on the past few days and think about the days ahead.
   Positive impact: clarifying my own goals, strengthening my personal focus.
4. Less multitasking:
   I no longer try to do several tasks at the same time. That drains too much of my energy.
   Positive impact: more efficient work, less stress, higher quality of work.
5. Breaks close to nature:
   Short breaks outdoors, walks in the forest, sitting in a meadow for 5 minutes, gazing into the treetops.
   Positive effects: refreshed energy, increased creativity, emotional relief.
6. Priority list instead of overload:
   Instead of an overloaded to-do list, I create a realistic list of priorities for the day.
   Positive effect: better time management, less feeling of being overwhelmed.

Finding Balance 

Of course, I don't intend to drift along all year. A healthy amount of challenge and stress can be stimulating. Creativity doesn't just happen. It is challenged or sparked by inspiration. So it's important to find the right balance.

Yes, I set clear priorities and reduce unimportant commitments. I pay more attention to my own needs. After all, I was the one who asked too much of myself last year, not anyone else.

But it's just as important that I don't shy away from challenging myself - and having fun doing it. Trying new things is so exciting, and wonderful things can come out of it. But if they don't, it's not a failure, it's just part of the process.

Happy New Year

How are you doing with all that? Are you taking on new challenges this year or, like me, are you taking things a little easier this year? Have you given your year a theme?

Anyway, I'm glad you're reading my blog and I'm so grateful for the continued support and encouragement. I hope 2024 brings you lots of light, love and creativity. Thank you for being here.