Bio | 
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| 1952 | Born on Candlemas Day, in the village of Elten, bang on the border of Germany and the Netherlands. | 
| Fifties | Early endeavours in genre painting, stickman style. "The Blacksmith", "The Firefighter" etc. | 
| Sixties | Psychedelic period. Production of fantasy patterns in bright colours from the school paint box. | 
| Seventies | Highly productive phase while studying at Bochum University. Tight budget. Use of throwaway materials to draw and paint on, e.g. potato sacks or old rags. Art classes in Grimsby, England. | 
| Eighties | Financially more comfortable. Purchase of a large canvas. Waiting for the magnum opus. | 
| Nineties | Discarding of the large canvas in pristine condition. | 
| Noughties | Urban and Rural Sketching during travels in Spain und France. | 
| Since 2003 | Art classes in Ortrud Kabus's Open Studio at the Bochum Puppetry School. Drawings in pencil, crayons and pastels. Later in acrylics. Eventually oils. | 
| Artistic influences | Ortrud Kabus. The other students from the Open Studio. The seaside, water, the sky, the wind. | 
Exhibitions | 
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| Hausarztzentrum Kemnade, Bochum (September 2022 - March 2023) | |
| Zwei-Säulen-Café, Bochum (April - June 2025) | |
Art Criticism | 
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The canvas is the site where the forces of nature, as powerful physique, engage in a creative exchange with the painter's artistic will. In this process, the timelessness of the ephemeral clashes with a sudden abruptness of the gradual, which, however, is never at risk of lapsing into originality. Rather, the stroke of the brush strongly commits to the doctrine of the Aurea Mediocritas — thus creating a breeding ground for overwhelmingly dense metaphors of semantic diffusion. The artistic will thus "diffuses" into the inevitability of the arbitrary. Or maybe vice versa. Eugene Huntgeburth, Meditations on a stickman.  | 
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[...] much contemporary art is supported by an immense scaffolding of discourse without which it would simply collapse and be indistinguishable from rubbish. David Lodge, Deaf Sentence.  | 
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Art is an old language with a great many artificial affected styles, and sometimes the chief pleasure one gets out of knowing them is the mere sense of knowing. George Eliot, Middlemarch.  | 
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