293 I 2 I 7

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Titel: 293 I 2 I 7

Größe: 180cm x 140cm (gerahmt 182cm x 142cm)

Technik: Airbrush auf Acryl auf Leinwand

Entstehungsjahr: 2026

Der Preis gilt für das Werk inklusive Echtheitszertifikat sowie Rahmen und innerdeutschen Versand.

Falls gewünscht kann das Werk vorab (nach vorheriger Absprache) in Berlin-Moabit betrachtet sowie abgeholt werden.

Small animals are jumping around on the morning suns reflection of this lake. There are hundreds of them, some moving and some sunbathing. They belong together and you can clearly see that. They see me, recognize me, move into the opposite direction of mine, like a shepherd and his sheeps. 

Small animals on the lake are looking like waterdrops on a cloudy early autumn morning. They look half awkward, half mechanical jumping around with their feet forming a perfect square. They jump into all sorts of directions to find tiny bits of what they call food. There are small animals on the ground in front of me. I sit on the bench of an inner city park, looking at tiny rocks that are almost sandy. The closer I look, the more animals I see: ants carrying stuff, flies that hectically seem to look for something, wasps with their last autumn breath before they die and won’t return until spring. 

Some kids play with the small-animals-tiny-rock-mixture, building pyramids on cloud five. There are small animals strolling around in this holdable light of shiny clouds and I am one of them. I move, I move things and I breathe. I look at other small animals, I feel close to some of them. I rest and I am hungry until I am not hungry anymore. Everything I am goes back to this planet, my shit and my pee, the stuff I build that gets torn down again and eventually myself. Small animal on the dishes I forgot to wash. They eat what I cooked: leftovers of chicken and peas and potatoes with gravy, wine and even some vanilla ice cream. What a time to be alive. Dry plants drinking water for the first time in twenty days. The water disappears within seconds into the soil and in some ways into the leaves. I deeply observe the leaves, trying to get some reaction out of the leaves. There is a small animal walking on the leaves. Me make things move that don´t move. We are the movemakers, the dreamers of movement. Everything moves, just in all kinds of paces. The pace of this small animal is not the plants pace, is not my pace, is not the lights pace. I sit still on the bed in my appartment, watching things move. Trees are shining and dancing around in an afternoon sun. 

There is one tree with leaves that have the same colour as the inside of an unripe avocado on the upperside and like a Rothko green on the downside. People are walking by in harmony, and they are mostly in groups, crawling to their destinations or their lovers. They do what they must do, what is inside them and what nature told them. 

Grey clouds, many shades over us in this endless view of the sky. Here and there are some small bits of blue, paired with more dirty greys and strong wind, the one where you walk almost effortlessly in one specific direction. The air tastes very alive, the light and its contrasts almost makes my heart melt. Runners with dogs are passing the scene. There is static noise, could be an ocean or the highway. What does it matter. 

I sit by the river. All kinds of plants are surrounding me, someone is watering them. It is a place very well taken care of. I see: rosehips, nettles, fern, trefoils and many other flowers that decide to blossom in early autumn. The sun casts shadows that are the perfect length for the wind to create a shadowplay with the leaves. Bumblebees are all around doing what keeps the circulation running. 

I see more and more…