Culture – Numéro Berlin

FIGHT ISSUE VOL. B – Glen Martin Taylor

Anna Klusmeier — Fri, 28 Nov 2025 13:51:45 +0000

All My Pieces

A rusted barbed wire holds a frail piece of porcelain. Worn-out cutlery guards freshly cut edges. We feel a kinship with a toothed tea cup. Glen Martin Taylor’s reimagined tableware hands a bare human heart to the hungry spectators. The kintsugi-inspired, cute-meets cruel artworks call out to our god-shaped holes. At the bottom of them, there’s Glen, transmuting pain. We got the timing mixed up, so I arrived at the digital space of our interview an hour late, apologetic. Glen doesn’t mind: “Waiting is good with me. I’m always creative when I’m waiting.” As in play, the minutes pass but time stops for us as we toss about bits of the sacred and the profane, talk about the art of love and baking bread.
Ohio-based, self-taught artist, originally a painter and, rofessionally, carpenter, he turned to ceramics ten years ago. Despite clay’s traditional meditative perks, he got quickly bored at the pottery wheel. “I was still going through that hard time in my life, and I also knew about kintsugi, which is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery.” Another post-epiphany discovery came with a box of his grandmother’s dishes. “Nobody in the family wanted them, so I began to break them. And, again, just everything opened up. I realized there were no rules. I could make anything I wanted,” he says. It was paradoxically perfect. Glen’s hurt, connected to a difficult childhood with a fundamental Christian dad and his mother’s mental health issues, found a catharsis in the act of breaking and reconstructing china. “There’s a family, generational healing going on when I’m working with that,” he explains.
Despite his use of hammers, nails and knives, Glen’s fight is exclusive to the canvas of his soul. “I’m a pacifist. I don’t fight other human beings, but I think what I have been fighting is what’s inside of me,” he says, “It’s hard to be a human being, and it’s frustrating. It can lead to some anger, and you fight it.” Glen opened the battlefield of his heart, examining what lurks in the shadows. Years in, the landscape has changed. “I’m a little nervous about giving up the fighting when it comes to my artwork, but I’m learning to find that there’s a lot of other emotions that I can put into my artwork now, as far as peace and self, love and healing and being healed,” he shares. Fighting can become an unlikely ally on the path of pain, and the final one to say farewell
to, often with hesitation. “I’m letting go, and I think we can let go of it eventually. I do think there’s a peacefulness that seems to be the last quest. The last dragon to slay is the fighting of our own self.” Glen’s weapon of choice is radical love – the only force to disarm the violence and grow out of the ashes.

The Shoes Remained

And It Cuts

What Holds You, Keeps You Safe

“We can love everybody else, but the last person we end up loving is ourselves. It took me a long time to realize that.” Even if temporary, the peace is worth it. Many of Glen’s artworks refer to love. One straightforwardly states: “Love is the only answer.” “I don’t think there’s anything more important. I don’t know what else there is besides that.” Overwhelmed with the unnecessary complexities of the everyday, Glen decided to reorder his focus. “I have come to that place where I am just letting go of all those other things that don’t matter because I reached a point of: What are the rules? What the fuck matters in this life?” Reexamining the components, like an alchemist at work, he realized that love is the truest element, whatever love is to each of us.

“As an artist, my job is to express whatever I’m feeling,” Glen states. “I have friends right now that live in Beirut. I have friends who are from Ukraine. I have friends here in the United States.” As he tends to himself against the world’s terror, his purpose is to share the love: “My work is turning more and more to: Can we just love each other? Can we mend? Can we hold each other’s pain? What can we give to each other? And, in the end, it’s some version of love.” This mission directed him to a special kind of mending project when a Ukrainian follower offered to send Glen broken pottery from Ukraine. “Last October 5th, there was a little village called Hroza. Hroza had about 300 villagers, and about 60 of the villagers were at a little cafe having a memorial service, a wake, for one of their soldiers. Somebody let the Russians know, and a Russian missile hit that cafe and killed all 60 people in the cafe, as well as the children in there. I got pottery from that cafe,” he shares. Glen felt the weight of missiles of hatred in each tiny piece of the tragic legacy.

“It’s really overwhelming. You never get numb to humans and their inhumanity to other humans, how cruel human beings can be. You never get used to that.” Taking it all in is perhaps Glen’s most important tribute to the villagers of Hroza, transcending the physical realm of art. There are exhibitions in the planning, with the final one in Kyiv. Glen values this communal distribution of love and understanding. Sharing his heart’s contents with over 175k followers on Instagram, Glen built a community on the reciprocity of healing. Whenever the art touches others and lets them know they’re not alone in their fight, it gives Glen an emotional closure. “As a grown-up, you’re not supposed to be vulnerable. You’re supposed to keep all your feelings inside. You’re not supposed to show any emotions. What’s your deepest fear? Oh, no, don’t tell anybody.

I reached a breaking point where I was like, fuck it. I don’t know what the rules are. I’m gonna go ahead and tell you all the things I’m afraid of. I’m gonna tell you what I’m hurting about,” Glen shares, “I found everybody else on this whole planet is feeling the same stuff. They’re just afraid to say it out loud.” Why are we here? What’s the meaning of our lives? Glen also found himself asking those questions. The answer, or rather a way of living with the questions, came partially from Daoism and Buddhism. Though he values the core goodness of religion, Glen is not one to follow the institutions. “I have problems with organized religion. Religion is founded by human beings and, in a lot of ways, the Christian Church was founded by white men who wanted things their way,” he says. He also reflects on it visually in a sculpture, Toy Clown Monkey on a Barbwire Cross, and incorporates rosaries and crochet crucifixes into his artefacts. “I do admire faith, and I have my own faith. Ultimately, whatever I do, I think the essence of it all begins with some nature of love, but then it gets screwed up with greed and a lot of other stuff and thinking that they’re the one right religion. That’s the scary part. My father thought his religion was the only right one. That’s pretty egocentric to think yours is the only right religion.”

Glen accepts drifting in spiritual uncertainty and confusion, grounding himself in a daily wish to be a good human being, who now knows less than ever before. “Maybe that’s the answer – that we don’t have answers,” he says. “And you find out, over time and with more grey hair, that whatever you think you’re certain about, you probably can’t be certain about.”
He chooses to return to the simpler form of himself, nurturing the inner child within. “I’ve read that there are some Buddhist monasteries where the wisest scholars of Buddhism go at the end of their lives, and they go, and they just play.” Surrendering the traditional knowledge, they immerse in the joy of the present. “Life was pretty nice when you were five years old because you didn’t know anything,” Glen admits.

Nowadays, Glen lets himself play – not in an adult and sophisticated way, but with the innocence stemming from happy moments in childhood. “I remember there was a rainstorm, and I was allowed to go out behind our garage and play in the mud. I made little mud houses and a little mud castle out of sticks and mud. My childhood was painful, but those moments were cathartic and healing and wonderful and creative,” Glen says. His infectious smile suggests that this play is both silly and serious. It’s a decision to push away the ego notion of success and money. “For me, play means no rules because when children play, they don’t have rules. They just play. They don’t have expectations. I assume every time I start a piece of artwork, it will end up probably in the trash can.” Sometimes, it makes him laugh. Sometimes, it does end up in the bin, which he doesn’t mind. “When you lose that child’s play, that’s when men start creating wars, because they’ve lost the fucking joy of being alive, and they lose their humanity when they become a grown-up,” he states.

Growing up is not an idle game but a never-ending survival camp exposing the inner child to dangerous metaphysical poisons. It’s on us to care for them gently. “Being a grown-up, you accumulate all this heavy crap on you,” Glen admits, “Now that I’m at a point in my life where I’ve really cleaned out a lot of that, I’m allowing so much more love to come my way – not only just love for myself, but also love for other people.”

For Glen, art has been a medium to start the cleanse, a process through which he is learning to rewire previous harmful mental pathways. “I haven’t convinced myself I deserve this much happiness. When you’ve lived in unhappiness for long enough, it becomes familiar. You need to convince yourself that you deserve happiness.” It’s never obvious to the individual that neither the painful childhood nor the abusive relationship was deserved. “I still have moments where I’m like, do I really deserve this much happiness? Yes, I do. I’m allowing that to come in because I’ve made space now by letting all the crappy stuff out. I’ve made space to allow
myself to be happy, finally.” As this positive development expands, Glen wants to show it to everyone else. “I don’t think there’s anything
off-limits as far as what I want to feel. I have expressed some very deep stuff,” he says. The key is the format. Glen’s often palm-size pieces with short, haiku-like statements communicate well with his diverse audience that otherwise could shy away from official art spaces. “A lot of modern art is kind of stuffy and arrogant. I don’t want to reach just a small, tiny art audience. I want to reach other human beings,” Glen says. His art’s purpose is to connect with other human beings, not just art critics.

Recently, Glen found new routes of connection to his family’s past. This time, it’s not about the intricate relations at the dinner table, but the fabric of history of his female ancestors. Glen shows me a wall filled with human-size warrior dresses, vaguely inspired by antique Chinese armor, made from ceramic tiles, leather, and textiles held together by a tangerine wire. Even through FaceTime, they’re breathtaking. It’s a celebration of Glen’s female forebears, extending a few generations down the family tree. The dresses emanate tender strength passed down with the feminine: his grandmother was a beloved woman with 11 children who got up every morning at 5 am to bake bread; his great-grandmother had six children, and her husband died when she was about 40. She carried on, just like many others post-war, raising the next generation on her own. “She did it all with love and tenderness, but incredible strength, when you think about it,” Glen says.

“I especially think that nowadays, we really need to try to appreciate the strength of women. We could certainly use more of that tender strength,” Glen admits. The warrior dresses project honors the past female figures and the modern women in Glen’s life – his daughters and granddaughters.

It’s natural to mythologize artists and even easier with 24/7 access to their curated media feeds. In between the ceramics, Glen allows visitors glimpses of his private life, sharing snapshots of youth, travels and food. “I’m also Glen, and I’m a grandpa, and I’m a father, and I’m a friend. I am a lot of other things. In some ways, showing a little insight into baking bread, a pizza, or something like that is just a way of saying: I’m just Glen. I’m a person.”

With the aid of corroded metal and engraved words, Glen puts the pieces of himself into place. As every part is in flux, the rituals repeat daily. By removing a piece, he peeks inside, and if the inside peeks back – so be it. “The Austrian writer, Rilke, said: Feel everything. I’m paraphrasing, but go ahead and feel all of it. And nothing’s final.” Living with ourselves and others in this ordained madness that we enter with our first breath is tricky. The funny part is that understanding its basic mechanisms requires years of graft, burning away presumptions, and maneuvering away from self-set traps to arrive, scorched, at humanity.

“About five years ago, my older sister got cancer, and it was terminal. She had had a very difficult life, and it wore her out. She wasn’t into fighting the cancer, she was letting go. In one of our last conversations, she told me: ‘All I ever wanted was to be loved.’ She had been married four times. As I carry that, I realize that it’s true for 8 billion people on the planet. We all just want to be loved.”
The allure of Glen’s art is quite simple, actually. Those are everyday objects, a cup, a plate, a knife, that Glen the person poured bits of his soul on, and since our souls are made from the same matter, we see ourselves in them. At first, we might not recognize the image as it’s not what we see in a mirror. This is us from beneath the silver layer, stripped back. The image might be distorted, rusted, and a little strange, but what matters is that it’s true. Love it. Love yourself.

The Strongest Warrior Dress Is Made of Tin

What Cuts You, Heals You

The Shoes Remained

“VISION MEANS TRUSTING THE UNKNOWN”— A CONVERSATION WITH HANNAH HERZSPRUNGBY ANN-KATHRIN RIEDL

Anna Klusmeier — Tue, 25 Nov 2025 17:24:43 +0000

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There are actors who perform — and then there are those who transform. Hannah Herzsprung belongs to the latter. Known for her intensity, precision, and quiet strength, she approaches every role with the instinct of an artist and the discipline of a craftswoman. In conversation, Herzsprung reflects on what it means to think visionary: to look beyond the visible, to trust the unknown, and to seek authenticity in an industry that often rewards illusion. Here, she speaks about fear and freedom, creativity and control, and how vision — both personal and collective — continues to shape her path.

Ann-Kathrin Riedl: What does it mean to you personally to think visionary?

Hannah Herzsprung: To think visionary means looking beyond the present – having the courage to see things before they become visible. It’s deeply connected to trust: in yourself, but
also in the unknown. Being visionary means not waiting for certainty but stepping into uncertainty and creating something new there.

AR: What is your personal vision as an actress, and how has it evolved over the years?

HH: In the beginning, I wanted to tell stories,
to touch people and evoke emotion. Today, it’s more about finding
truth – not only in the character, but also in how a film is made. I
want to be part of projects that take risks, that search for depth rather than effects. My vision was perhaps more romantic in the past; now it’s more conscious and focused.

AR: Throughout your career, you’ve worked with many creative people — who has impressed you most with their vision, and why?

HH: I’ve been lucky to work with directors
who have a very clear, sometimes uncompromising vision – Chris Kraus, for example, who combines incredible precision with poetic
openness. Or Lena Stahl, who works with a rare combination of
intuition, humanity, and exactness. I admire people who dare to stay
true to their vision, even when it becomes uncomfortable.

AR: What distinguishes a film that simply entertains from one that carries a greater vision?

HH: A film with vision wants to move something — not just entertain. You can often feel it when reading the script, in the attitude between the lines. And sometimes you only
realize it on set, when everyone suddenly burns for something bigger than their own ego.

AR: How do you balance your own vision with that of the director? At what point do you adapt — and at what point do you step away?

HH: For me, acting is collaboration. I try to
understand the director’s vision and fill it with my own truth. It’s like a dance —leading and being led. When something feels off, I try to resolve it through dialogue. The point where I can no longer follow is much clearer to me now than it used to be. Boundaries are necessary to remain authentic.

AR: Genius and madness often go hand in hand — how do you experience that tension?

HH: Creativity often arises where control is
released. Madness, in the artistic sense, isn’t purely destructive — it’s an opening, a connection to something primal. The important thing is to know your way back. Genius without grounding easily gets lost.

AR: What do you see as the greatest obstacles — or, conversely, the most fertile ground — for true creativity?

HH: Freedom, trust, and silence. I need
moments without pressure or judgment. The greatest obstacle is fear — of failure, of expectations. When you let go of fear, something real can emerge.

AR: Was there ever an inner resistance you had to overcome to reach the core of your creativity?

HH: Yes, again and again. I tend to want to
control everything. But in acting, control has no place. I had to learn
to let go — and that remains an ongoing process. Creativity is born from surrender, not control.

AR: How has society’s general willingness to take creative risks changed, in your eyes?

HH: I feel that our time is obsessed with speed
and efficiency. But visions need patience, courage, and the will to
endure dry spells. Many shy away from risk — maybe because we’ve forgotten how to accept uncertainty as part of the journey.

AR: Do you share that perspective — and what might be the reason behind it?

HH: I think true vision still exists, just often
not where we expect it. Many work quietly, away from the spotlight. Perhaps we need more spaces where genuine vision can be heard, not just marketed.

AR: To please the audience or to challenge them — where do you see the bigger responsibility for artists?

HH: To challenge, definitely. Art should not comfort; it should provoke thought. It should ask questions, not provide answers.

AR: What is your vision for the film industry’s contribution to society?

HH: Film can create empathy. When we see
stories that connect us to other perspectives, it changes our way of
thinking. In times of polarization, that’s more important than ever.

AR: Eight years after the Harvey Weinstein scandal shook the industry — what has changed?

HH: A lot, especially in awareness. But structures evolve more slowly than attitudes. It still takes courage to
name injustices — and solidarity to make hose changes last.

AR: Does this collective vision still carry power, or what would it take to reignite it?

HH: True listening. And more spaces where
women are not just visible but actively shaping — on every level of film production.

AR: Which aspect of the Chanel vision speaks to you most?

HH: Chanel stands for strength through
elegance. For independence and timelessness. I find that inspiring — a vision that doesn’t define femininity, but celebrates it.

AR: What do you think makes the house’s vision so strong?

HH: Because it goes beyond fashion. It’s an
attitude — a way of life.

AR: You once said that we should know almost nothing about a good actress — to preserve the mystique. Why?

HH: I like it when the character takes the
spotlight, not the person behind her. Mystery is precious — especially in a time when everything is shared. I keep it alive so my characters can
live truthfully.

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Celebrating the launch of “Vanille Caviar”: In Conversation with bdk

Anna Klusmeier — Tue, 25 Nov 2025 14:10:45 +0000

Last month, for the launch of their new scent “Vanille Caviar”, Paris-based perfume house bdk and friends of the brand came together for a celebratory dinner in the Feuerle Collection in Berlin. Numéro Berlin sat down with Founder David Benedek to talk about the concept behind Vanilla Caviar and which new chapters might await bdk; in Berlin and beyond.

Numéro Berlin: Time for a conclusion: How do you feel about the initial reaction to the launch of Vanille Caviar?

David Benedek: It’s true that when it comes to fragrances, some are designed to appeal to a broad audience while others are more niche and therefore more disruptive. That’s exactly what’s happening with Vanille Caviar. Overall, the fragrance has been very well received, but we’ve also seen some more polarized reactions. Some clients absolutely love it and have become true fans, while others are more surprised by its interpretation of the vanilla bean, which is quite salty, dark, leathery, and not sweet at all. It’s a scent that can divide opinions, as many consumers tend to expect vanilla to be sweeter and more gourmand.

That said, we’re very happy with the result ! It brings a unique signature and complements the other creations in the Collection Matières beautifully.

Vanille Caviar is officially described as “an exploration of the mysterious power of black.” To what extent is a fragrance at BDK always tied to a visual concept or imagery?

At BDK Parfums, fragrance is always closely tied to a visual concept or imagery. Vanille Caviar, for example, is an exploration of the mysterious power of black, not as a shadow, but as a source of light, a concept Soulages calls outrenoir (Outrenoir [‘beyond black’] is not just black, but a medium through which light is reflected, transformed, and perceived” (Soulages, 1997)).

Each creation at BDK Parfums stems from a dialogue between diverse artistic inspirations—painting, design, music—and a sensitivity inherited from arts. Every raw material has a color, every scent a texture, giving fragrance a pictorial, almost tactile dimension. For us, perfume is a world of encounters where art, creativity, and culture intertwine, constantly opening new perspectives.

How did you translate the character of Vanille Caviar into an aesthetic experience during the dinner?

To translate the character of Vanille Caviar into an aesthetic experience during the dinner, we wanted to create a space that reflected the depth, contrast, and unexpected elements of the fragrance. The venue itself, the Feuerle Collection, offered a perfect canvas with its raw, architectural spaces and the dialogue between ancient art and contemporary works.

We enhanced the artistic dimension by collaborating with Idan Gilony, an artist known for his innovative approach to light and material, whose work allowed us to bring a modern, immersive perspective to the experience. The dinner was designed not only as a tasting but as a multisensory journey. We included light installations and the Sound Room, creating an experience in darkness where light emerged through sound, complemented by rays of light from the exhibition that followed the experience.

On the table itself, we recreated elements of the fragrance in a very contemporary and urban way: vanilla pods and orchids were placed thoughtfully across the dining table, translating the raw and sophisticated notes of Vanille Caviar. Every detail — from the space to the lighting, the sound, and the materials — was intended to echo the perfume’s powerful, dark, and modern character, turning the dinner into a true artistic extension of the fragrance.

Why was it important for you to host a BDK dinner here in Berlin? And how did you decide on the Feuerle Collection as the location?

For me, it was important to host the dinner in Berlin because we have many German clients, a market that truly loves niche perfumery. I wanted this launch to be celebrated in a symbolic and meaningful place that really reflects our DNA. The Feuerle Collection is a space full of history, raw, architectural, and yet deeply artistic. In this museum, Asian art is presented within a brutalist environment (inside the bunker, they bring together ancient Chinese furniture and scholar’s objects, Southeast Asian Khmer sculpture, and bold contemporary artworks, all in dialogue with one another and the architecture.), and that’s very much what BDK Parfums is about: how, from an urban and raw setting, arts can emerge and inspire the creation of perfumes.

There was a strong artistic resonance between this place and our identity, and that’s what drew me to it. It felt like the perfect setting to express who we are and the story behind Vanille Caviar.

Apart from the Collection Matières, to which Vanille Caviar belongs, you also offer scents within the Collection Parisienne, inspired by Paris. If you were to create a fragrance based on Berlin, how would you translate your first impressions of the city into scent?

I think that’s quite a broad question. For me, the impression I had of Berlin in October would be very different from what I might feel in spring or summer. I would need to come back and spend more time to truly capture the essence of the city.

In general, when I’ve been inspired by places to create fragrances at BDK Parfums, it’s often locations I’ve visited multiple times and made my own. Berlin was only my second visit, and both times were very short stays. I would like to spend more time exploring the city.

What the city evokes for me is a certain brutality, vastness, and grandeur in space. If I were to imagine a fragrance inspired by Berlin, it would certainly be very powerful, with a wide sillage, using deep, noble, and mysterious ingredients with a touch of raw modernity. When I think of mysterious notes, it’s often woody, smoky, and leathery, with a slightly dark character that reflects Berlin’s lifestyle and cultural atmosphere.

2025 has been an exciting year for BDK. What have been your biggest takeaways so far? And are there any upcoming projects you’re particularly excited about?

For me, 2025 has been a year of rediscovery as a creator, allowing me to clarify and embrace the vision I want to develop over the next ten years. At BDK Parfums, I’ve finally found the right balance between the arts (sculpture, painting, literature, photography) and perfume as a real Parisian Creative Studio .

This year saw several very iconic launches, such as IMPADIA, with the opera dancer on the rooftops of Paris, his bouquet hiding his face. With Vanille Caviar, we created a launch in raw, striking spaces with art exhibitions, drawing inspiration from the black monochrome works of Soulages.

For me, 2025 has been a personal revelation in the aesthetic I want to bring to the House. It’s the message of this year, which will continue into a new collection launching in 2026 to celebrate BDK Parfums’ 10th anniversary. This collection will highlight a strong connection between olfactory raw materials and my personal history and passion for the world of fashion.

WEEKEND MUSIC PT. 72: IN CONVERSATION WITH BARAN KOK

Anna Klusmeier — Fri, 21 Nov 2025 16:48:49 +0000

We spoke with German rapper Baran Kok, who released his first track in 2024 and has already drawn lots of attention within the German rap scene. Inspired by artists like Kurdo and Haftbefehl, he set out to make a similar kind of rap – only that instead of rapping about women, he talks about men. In this interview, we talk about his background, his creative approach, and the reactions his music has provoked.

Numéro Berlin: So yeah, the Haftbefehl documentary is coming out today, did you hear about that?

Baran Kok: Yeah, of course.

NB: What kind of role did rap or German rap play for you back in the day? How did you get into it?

BK: A big one, for sure. I still remember when “So wie du bist” by MoTrip came out, that era really shaped me a lot. That was around 2015 or so. I remember my cousin showed it to me, and we would always argue about who’s better – Celo & Abdi or MoTrip – like, really dumb comparisons. They’re just super straight, you know? I basically grew up with that. But at some point, when I discovered female rap, mostly American female rap, not even German at first (I don’t think there was that much of it back then) that really took over. Especially Nicki Minaj, actually.

So I kind of followed it from a distance, but I was like, whatever. And then at some point, I was just like, no, fuck you.

NB: When did you realize that you wanted to fill that gap – the lack of gay German rap?

BK: I always wanted to make music anyway, but it just wasn’t really possible you know with Kurdish family, immigrant family, and it was always like: you have to work, you have to become a doctor, a lawyer. My dad would always say, whenever he saw an artist: “Oh, that’s just an artist”. And I also had this image of artists like they live somewhere random, they’re dirty, they don’t shower, they don’t make money. That’s how I used to see it too, until I realized that you can actually make money from music. And I was always online, like since I was twelve. Always on social media. And that’s where I started seeing people post their stuff…

NB: …and gain reach.

BK: Exactly, you see so much more that way. And I was like, oh my God, maybe it’s not that stupid after all.

NB: And then you started performing as Baran Kok, and that’s your real last name too, right?

BK: Yes, that’s right, my name is actually Baran Kok. I did think for a while that maybe I should come up with another name, but then I thought, if your last name is Kok, you have to use it. It would be stupid not to. Then I moved to Berlin and I thought, you just have to do it. If you don’t, someone else will. Get your act together, make connections, find some random studio. I had always written down a lot of ideas, but I never had any links to studios, producers, anything, and making music is insanely expensive. But then I asked the rapper Souly, and he said, “Yeah, of course, I’ll help you.” And that’s how we made Traurige Hure.

NB: So far in German rap, it’s mostly been female rappers like Ikkimel or Nura who’ve rapped about being gay. Do you feel like there’s a development right now, that more queer rap is emerging in Germany?

BK: Yes, for sure, and that’s really good.

I’m not really doing anything different from what the other guys do.

NB: You just talk about guys instead of girls.

BK: Exactly. And instead of fucking women, I fuck men. But apart from that, I’m doing the same thing they do. They go hard, I go hard. They fuck, I fuck. They have money, I have money.

NB: In AMG Kanake you reference Nike Kappe umgekehrt by Kurdo. Did Kurdo inspire or influence you in some way? Or why did you take those specific lyrics from that song and rework them in your own?

BK: For me, Kurdo was like the first well-known visibly Kanak rapper. Especially because his name is literally Kurdo. Of course, there were also people like Farid Bang and Haftbefehl, but when I was younger, I didn’t really understand who among them was Kurdish and who wasn’t. And a lot of the time at school, Turks and Kurds would always kind of tease or argue with each other. So I thought it was crazy that his name was Kurdo, and I’m sure he also gets hate for that. I just found it really powerful that he called himself that. That was one thing. But I also just really like his lyrics and his songs, especially tracks like Nike Kappe umgekehrt. And the way he always includes Kurdish words. He keeps it real, not too Germanized. It’s very Kanak, really Kanak-style.

I already had this idea that I wanted to make a song called AMG Kanake, because I think it describes something really well, like Traurige Hure. I like those kind of label-like names. That was also my first session with a friend of mine named Skoob102, he’s part of the rap crew 102 Boyz. We wrote the song together, and he was like, “Okay, what’s your theme today?” because I always need a theme when I write. And I said, “AMG Kanake.” Then we looked for some inspiration, and I was like, I need to get on this Kurdo vibe. I want to be as asozial as him, not even asozial in a bad way, just Kanak asozial – but I know how that comes across to Germans.

NB: Did Kurdo ever notice or reach out to you about it?

BK: No, I saw him before the song was released and didn’t introduce myself. I just said, hey, I need a picture with you, I love your music. But he found out now. He was on stream and talked about how I took a picture with him, and he said he was surprised that I looked so normal. But I get what he meant, you know, because in his culture it’s different. They don’t know better. They don’t have anyone like me in their circle, and maybe they need to change that, that’s on them too. But I understand where he’s coming from when he says that.

NB: You mean he expected you to show up with full makeup or something?

BK: Exactly, and for him that’s what visibly gay means. I still had a handbag, but I don’t think he saw it. I had put it down. I know my work.

NB: In your songs you often play with these kinds of terms, like you just mentioned with AMG Kanake, or in that one song where you say something like “I push him away, call me AfD.” Is that irony for you some kind of coping mechanism, a way to process things or give them an ironic twist?

BK: I don’t think it’s really a coping thing for me. I mean, I am a refugee kid, yeah, but it doesn’t come from that background. It’s just because it’s funny and it fits. And sometimes it just rhymes well. I think it’s also just this thing of in my head, if you hate me as a Kanak, then just fuck off, you know?

NB: I also wanted to ask about your “locally hated” tattoo. You often react to hate messages in your stories in a really playful way and turn them around. Is it really true that it doesn’t bother you at all, or is that partly just part of your media persona, like you don’t let it get to you publicly?

BK: No, it really doesn’t bother me. I don’t even get that much hate. There was a short phase when I did get a lot, about a year ago. A guy filmed me at a concert and posted it on TikTok, and all you could see was my “I Love Kok” T-shirt. No one knew what that was yet, and no one got it. The video got two million views and tons of hate, like six thousand comments or something. And then he posted another one because the first one did so well, and that got around 1.8 million views too. That was a real wave of hate, but even that didn’t bother me. What bothered me more was that it was offbeat on stage. I was thinking, everyone probably thinks I rap like that, but the sound technician had turned off the monitors, so I was hearing everything with a delay.

NB: Where does that strong self-confidence come from, that nothing really gets to you?

I just imagine them sitting at home typing that stuff. Like back in that phase a year ago, there were people who even wrote out an entire prayer in the comments, and I was just like man, relax, who has time for that?

NB: So over time you just get a bit tougher?

BK: Yeah, you become hardened. And I also think when you’ve been closeted for a long time – I was closeted for a long time – you get to know yourself really well, you know? It’s not like I’ve only known I’m gay for two years or something. And I also think you can’t release the kind of music I make if you’re not confident. Same with Ikkimel. You just couldn’t do it otherwise.

NB: We already touched on this briefly earlier, but basically you’re doing what all the other German rappers are doing, except that you’re not rapping about women, you’re rapping about men. Could you talk a bit more about why you think it provokes such strong reactions and pushes people’s buttons so much?

BK: I think it’s simply because people aren’t used to it. They’re not used to hearing gay men talk like that. But I think they always have, actually. It’s just that through social media, it’s reached a lot more people now. You’re just scrolling on your phone and a gay guy is talking about dick. You know what I mean? Especially because of the algorithm, videos get spread everywhere now. Everyone sees them. And before social media, if your environment wasn’t like that, you probably never came across it, or only rarely.

NB: And for a long time it wasn’t really present in mainstream rap either. So you think it’s not necessarily about homophobia, but more that people just haven’t been exposed to it yet?

BK: Of course not in every case but yes maybe in some cases There are a lot of people who message me saying, “I have nothing to do with that, but you’re dope.” And I’m like, okay, he just never had a reference point or comparison before. And there really aren’t many comparisons. I didn’t have one myself, except maybe Lil Nas X. But to me, Lil Nas X is already almost pop. You know, that raw, asozial Kurdo-Haftbefehl-style German rap, but gay – that didn’t exist for me. And when it did, it often came with some kind of educational message behind it, which is totally valid and important, especially for the community. I just don’t want to do it, and when I do it, I do it my way.

NB: So you’re not really trying to approach it with a specific intention or message?

BK: No. If it happens, fine, you know? It’s not like I’m saying I’m not gay or I’m not queer, that’s not my thing. I am all of that. But for me music is also just about having fun. It’s not going to solve homophobia. The fact that I’m on stage and performing is already enough of a political statement. I just want to hear a track, go off, and lose myself in it.

NB: In your songs you’re very explicit about hooking up, your sex life and all that. How much of that is based on reality and how much is fiction?

BK: No, most of it is real. Of course, everything is exaggerated a bit – it’s art – but a lot of it is true.

NB: Do you feel like the gay community is very sexualized? Or that there’s a kind of romanticization of unemotional sex? And if so, why do you think that is?

BK: I think it’s because it’s not that easy for gay teenagers to have normal sex, or to even find normal sex. Everyone at school has their first girlfriend at sixteen, or some even at fourteen. Then they have their first relationship, their first breakup, and there are topics like “he hooked up with my ex, that sucks.” That doesn’t really exist for gay people, unless you’re lucky enough to have come out at thirteen and your whole school is okay with it. How often does that happen? So you stay closeted for a long time. And at the end of the day, gay men are still men. That’s the thing. They behave like men.

NB: But you think that’s kind of a reaction to not being able to live freely for so long?

BK: Yeah, I think it gets more intense because of that, and also through certain apps – we all know Grindr – it’s just become so normalized. But also because it’s only men, and nobody is really complaining.

NB: But you still have that song Traurige Hure – Sad Whore – and you even have it tattooed. Where does the “sad” part come from? Do you still sometimes struggle with that side of things?

BK: No, not really. I got into a relationship really quickly after moving to Berlin, that’s actually where the song comes from. But I also had this thing of wanting to live my life, you know, and so I ended it. And then we were in the studio, it was with Souly, and he was like, what’s the topic, and I said, I’m just sad. I was like I could totally be a whore right now because I’m single again, but I’m sad, I don’t get it. So I came up with “Sad Whore”. It just clicked.

NB: So you were basically just sad and not a whore yet, haha.

BK: Yeah, exactly, just sad, not a whore yet. I didn’t date for a long time, honestly like a year and a half. I wasn’t going on dates. I thought it was horrible, and I still do. I hate dating. I don’t mind meeting new people, I actually like that. But the effort behind it, I’m not gonna chase you, man. You know what I mean? Because we all know what dating in Berlin is like. It’s awful. I just don’t have the energy for it.

NB: And we’re already at the last question. In one of your songs you say, “Germany – they wish for Apache, I wish for an AMG Kanake.” You’re referring to what the audience wants from German rap, and with Apache you’re pointing to mainstream German rap, right?

BK: Yeah, what I mean is that for Germans, Apache is a “good immigrant.” That’s how I see it. I love him, though. It was never meant as a diss. I didn’t mention him because he’s taking over German rap or anything, but because Germans see him as one of the good ones. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be as big as he is.

NB: So, an immigrant, but still conforming.

BK: Exactly. His music isn’t explicit, he can make radio songs, he looks a bit exotic – that’s what they think. For me, he’s the symbol of that “one of the good ones” type. I’ve often heard comments like that in private, too. As an immigrant, you get used to being judged on whether you’re a good immigrant. And he’s the kind of person they can play on the radio. But I knew that’s not what I want.

NB: And what do you want then?

BK: An AMG Kanake.

NB: For yourself or for German rap in general?

BK: For myself.

NB: Thank you, Baran Kok!

TO WATCH: “ALL THAT’S LEFT OF YOU” BY CHERIEN DABIS

Anna Klusmeier — Wed, 19 Nov 2025 15:11:01 +0000

What happens when faith in the good disappears? All That’s Left of You by Cherien Dabis answers this with a family story that shows how fragile hope can become when it is repeatedly tested over decades. The story begins in the West Bank in 1988. Noor, a young protester, is seriously injured. This single moment forces his mother, Hanan, to confront a past that has been silenced for too long. A past that explains how their family ended up at a point where pain and resistance define their lives.

Her narrative takes us back to 1948, to Jaffa. Noor’s grandfather, Sharif, refuses to leave his home and the orange grove, even as the world around him crumbles. War, displacement, and imprisonment tear the family apart; his son Salim grows up far from home, living a life shaped by longing for a place he never truly knew, yet that means everything to him.

The story shows how trauma is passed down and how resistance grows quieter or louder depending on the generation carrying it. It reveals how the choices of those who came before continue to live on in the bodies of those who follow, and how families strive not to pass their fractures forward, even when the world around them leaves little room for healing.

And in the quiet moments of reflection, the parents ask themselves, have we made a mistake?

“IMAGINE” at Kunstraum Heilig Geist: Make it simple but significant

Anna Klusmeier — Fri, 14 Nov 2025 18:27:12 +0000

Yves Scherer’s new exhibition “IMAGINE” at Kunstraum Heilig Geist at the UNESCO World Heritage Site Zollverein in Essen presents his sculptural universe at its most tender and introspective. Moving between digital longing and quiet physical presence, his works unfold with a subtle emotional charge that resists spectacle. In this conversation with Stavroula Coulianidis, published as excerpts from “Yves Scherer Sculpture” (Verlag der Buchhandlung Walther und Franz König, 2025), Scherer reflects on the evolution of his practice. He traces a path from early post-internet figuration to a more restrained, almost devotional approach to form. What emerges is an artist deeply invested in sincerity, softness, and the interior life of objects. “IMAGINE” becomes not just an exhibition, but a lens through which this shift feels both inevitable and quietly transformative.

Yves Scherer, Imagine, 2025, Kunstraum Heilig Geist am UNESCO-Welterbe Zollverein, Photo by James Rodemann, Courtesy of the artist

Stravoula Coulianidis: Since this is a book on sculpture, I think it would make sense to talk about your thoughts on sculpture as a medium, and how it differs from other mediums—say painting?

Yves Scherer: To me the most fundamental difference between painting
and sculpture is that sculpture shares our physical reality so to say, while I think painting creates and exists in a pictorial space. Every sculpture has to compete with a chair or a lamp as just another real-world object, for painting I think that is different. Even though the history of painting over the past hundred years could be retold in parts as a long move away from thinking of paintings as illusionary space by putting an increasing emphasis on its object hood, our relationship to paintings is still similar to one we have with our phones or a TV—it’s less about what they are on a physical level, but about what they contain. D.H. Lawrence famously said about Cézanne, that he made us aware that matter really exists, outside of human perception. That is how I feel about sculpture, even a blind person can see it so to speak. And while paintings have a dedicated space in the world—they hang on the walls, sculpture, at least the kind that I’m engaged in, does not have a space in the world. In some way one could argue that they take our space. That they are quite literally there instead of us.

SC: Do you see yourself as a sculptor?

YS: I have always understood myself as mainly an artist, and within that as a sculptor only if I’m put on the spot. At the same time I do think that sculpture has always had a special position in my work, it’s the medium that I feel most comfortable in and the most connected to. I sometimes wonder about the reasons for that—today I think that one
reason could be that I don’t have a traditional art education and sculpture from early on always felt more welcoming and less charged and judgmental than drawing and painting. Painting has this very specific history and knowledge, it’s art with a capital A. And even after all this time there still is this relationship with skill and talent. I really
never had any artistic skill or talent to speak of, and in sculpture that was easier to hide.

SC: The book covers sculptures from 2013 to 2025. Are the earliest works in the book your first sculptures or was there something that came before?

YS: I see my very first sculptures as these rabbit traps that I made when I was a literature student in Berlin, around 2010/11. I was having some personal difficulties, and following the advice of a fatherly friend I tried to turn my spiritual fate around by catching some city rabbits. The
background here is that my Chinese zodiac sign is that of a rabbit, and the year of the rabbit was coming up, so I wanted to get ahead of it. To make a long story short I never caught a rabbit, but somehow building these traps made me interested in leaving my writing ambitions behind, and to focus on making things in the real world instead. Step by step I took a studio and got more professionalized, and then had my first solo-exhibition titled Evolution and Comfort in London early 2013. For this show I made a transparent water tank sculpture/object out of 40mm
thick plexiglass. It was a sort of vertical aquarium that was filled with water and leaned against the wall, installed in a long space with only a photograph of my then girlfriend on Skype a few meters behind it on the wall.

SC: Yes I have seen a picture of this installation, and remem- ber you showing the work in New York in a different context later on. What does it mean to you?

YS: My good friend Markus Selg pointed out that the sculpture must be a stand in for the computer screen, since my girlfriend and me were living in a long distance relationship between Berlin and London at the time. It was so surprising to me that I could not see this basic truth
in the composition even though I had been working on this installation for months. Making art is often just a funny way of pulling one’s subconscious inside out and then presenting in a gallery space, which I think is actually quite a cleansing process. It’s the reason that I feel like as an artist one is quite in tune with one’s inner life. One can just externalize it in some way, and then move on. But on a conceptual level the work was probably influenced by the formaldehyde tanks of Damien Hirst and release of the first iPhone during that time.

Yves Scherer, Imagine, 2025, Kunstraum Heilig Geist am UNESCO-Welterbe Zollverein, Photo by James Rodemann, Courtesy of the artist

SC: What came after this exhibition?

YS: I became interested in figurative sculpture and started exploring different ways of making them. I think the first figurative work that I made was right after this show in London and in some way was the other side of that screen I discussed—in that it shows the person in front of it. The work was a self-portrait made of a down jacket that is
stuck in an empty desktop computer tower, the object people used to have in offices and homes below the desk before Laptops. The jacket is arranged or draped to look like there is an actual person in the jacket, so that the mental picture that is created is of someone actually living in the computer, or being stuck in a computer. Art doesn’t translate too well into language, so it sounds silly here. But as a sculpture I think it was formally quite interesting and successful. I later scanned this work and had it cast it in plaster, which totally changed the character of it. I showed the plaster cast on a little rabbit fur for my degree show in 2014.

SC: Was it at this time that the celebrity figures came into your sculptural practice as well?

YS: It was in that same period, exactly. I had moved from Berlin to London in 2012 for my Masters at the Royal College of Art, and the workshops there allowed me to try some new and more elaborate fabrication methods than I had used before. The first work I made there was a life-sized Emma Watson sculpture CNC-milled out of one solid block of Swiss pear wood. It took weeks to first program and then mill it, and I left it just like it came out of the machine. The only thing I added to the figure was this silver hedgehog necklace, because I had read online somewhere that it was her favorite animal. Since there was no other finishing or sanding, one can still see the way the robot was programed, the tracks it was running along and where it couldn’t quite get to etc. I find that quite beautiful.

SC: Where did this work come from? What was the world like for you in 2014?

YS: On a personal level, going back to what I said above, it came at at time when I was living in a long distance relationship, maybe feeling a bit lonely and spending a lot of time on my computer. On a societal scale I think the internet was still somehow new, especially social media, and there was this broader cultural shift towards life spent online, and the alienation that comes from it. It was also the time of the “dark web” with Silk Road and new online forums such as 4chan. There was a series of hacks targetingcelebrity phones which resulted in leaked private imagery— what you would call “nudes” today, and a lot of them
were fake. Living in London and being a Harry Potter fan, I was particularly interested in the attention that Emma Watson got online. I found it interesting to create a work that picked up on this contemporary moment, to reflect on this new character of the internet loner, but to address it within the traditional medium of figurative sculpture. I thought of Pinocchio and how one can now create a companion out of nothing by 3d printing or in my case milling it out wood. In an art historical sense it also aligned with this burgeoning movement in young art that came to be labeled as “Post-Internet” art, where people were interested in somehow bringing digital matter into physical space, or at least bridging the two worlds via objects in the real world beyond just phones and screens.

Yves Scherer, Imagine, 2025, Kunstraum Heilig Geist am UNESCO-Welterbe Zollverein, Photo by James Rodemann, Courtesy of the artist

SC: Wasn’t there an online backlash from your Emma Watson works?

YS: Yes I presented a group of these sculptures with an Emma Watsons face but with fantasy bodies in my first major gallery show at Guido W. Baudach in Berlin 2014. The figures were in the nude with short hair, crossed legs and only their hands covering their breasts. The show got
some positive press coverage, which I think then came to the attention of a feminist Facebook group and some young London artists in specific. They took offense in the work and accused me of objectifying the female figure. I was called a misogynist, had magazines call me for comments and then fairs, exhibitions and sales canceled because of it. I would almost say that I was canceled before that was even a thing yet.

SC: How did you respond to this?

YS: I focused more on myself I think, and maybe lost a bit of my youthful energy at the same time. Shortly after my exhibition at Guido’s I moved to New York and did my first exhibition here at the Swiss Institute in 2015. The show was framed as a fictitious Honey Moon between a mermaid Emma Watson and me, and followed by an exhibition in Mexico in 2016 for which I created this stalker persona
obsessed with Kristen Stewart and Twilight. As a result of my move to New York maybe, and some other changes in my personal life, this fan fiction and celebrity part of my work slowly lost some of its relevance and interest to me. I tried to make work that was more personal and maybe more universal in subject matter at the same time. In 2017 I made an exhibition titled Single which had a picture of myself in the nude as an invite, and mainly consisted of ready-made sculptures of myself, sort of domesticobjects-assemblages. After that I did a show series called Primal in 2018 that presented very simplified, almost
pre-historic wooden figures. I combined these with a lifesized wooden Legolas sculpture, which I made after leaked nude images of Orlando Bloom appeared online. So the the celebrity aspect never fully went away, I just started to juxtapose it with other elements.

SC: Yes one can see a shift in focus towards the male figure in this period, I’m thinking about the Legolas you mentioned, but also the pink Vincent figure and the self-portrait titled Boy.

YS: Totally. In 2019 I did a show called Boys for which I made a plaster self-portrait of myself as a little boy based on a family video. In some way this was in response to the cultural climate of #metoo at the time, but it then also led me to the explore other elements of my past and the cultural archetypes that I grew up with. It led me to make the country boy plucking flowers next, and then the Snowman with the hearts as well as some of the new animal sculptures. Most recently I started combining all these figures into larger groups, which is something that keeps me busy and really excited today.

SC: The first time I saw a group like this was in Los Angeles earlier this year for your exhibition Another Day in Paradise. There was a very large Aluminium sculpture that I had seen before in Mexico, which is the first work one encounters in this book. Could you explain to me where something like this sits within the trajectory you just this? Would you say this is a reflection on masculinity also, maybe in response to the cultural climate that you just described?

YS: The work you mention is titled Day and Night and I made the first iteration of it in 2021 for an exhibition in Mexico titled Eternity. In some way it is a reflection on masculinity which has been an interest of mine from the beginning and I guess heightened with the climate you describe. But I think this specific work comes without any feeling of guilt. I see it as an exploration of the relationship between softness and strength, much beyond the current moment I hope. What I see in the work is an oversized dandelion flower that props up a muscular Greek or Roman hero figure which is missing a leg. The flower is draped
around the torso so that it becomes the missing leg that the figure is precariously leaning on. I see the two elements as forming this fragile unit, but at the same time I could imagine them walking away together like this, him using the flower as a sort of crotch. I find it very poetic and nice how they together manage to defy the gravitational pull, which
is sort of the cleansing force of any standing sculpture.

Yves Scherer, Imagine, 2025, Kunstraum Heilig Geist am UNESCO-Welterbe Zollverein, Photo by James Rodemann, Courtesy of the artist

SC: Flowers seem to be a recurring motif within your sculptural practice over the last few years. There is a flower on the cover of this book. What is the significance of flowers for you?

YS: It differs. In the case of this work we just spoke about, the flower represents things like beauty or poetry or art in my mind, without wanting to load too much onto the work by saying this. I mean that it stands for what contrasts with the physical strength of the figure, but still supports it if that makes sense. In some other works the flower is personified I would say, even the next work where there are two flowers growing out of a concrete block. To me they become almost like figures, I see them as a couple that is flirting with each other in some way.
It’s this little moment of tenderness in a slightly hostile environment that I like about it. And then in some later works like in Laetitia, the flower to me represents a person outside of the arrangement. For this
figure the large flower is turned towards the woman and then child as if it was given to them.

SC: This moment of tenderness and this feeling of intimacy for me really is at the core of your work, it’s what makes something feel like an Yves Scherer work to me.

YS: I’m glad to hear that. Damien Hirst speaks about having to make a fly piece after making a spot painting, just to balance the sort of good with the bad, the pretty with the ugly. I never had it like that. I like to make things that make you feel good, things that give you a deep and
hopefully warm feeling. In driving school you learn that if you look at the tree you will hit it, I think that is a good strategy for life also. If you want to be a happy person, think happy thoughts. The world moves by positive action not negative thought, so I really try to be engaged in the former 248

SC: Would you say that is the purpose of art?

YS: I would need to think more about that. When it comes to the purpose of art, I often think about this quote by Gerhard Richter, who said that “art brushes the dust of the everyday”, which I find very beautiful and right. It can touch on the silly as well as the essential parts of the human experience, but in a way that is pure and complete. What I mean is that the world is always perfect within a work of art, not in a moral sense, but more in the way that a given moment can also be perfect. It’s like cleaning up your house, which gives you that one moment of enlightenment when things are all in place. Or that one first
breath of clean air when you step out in the morning, or looking at your kid when it sleeps or moves in a cute way. Art is exactly like this moment, but it never ends. It’s eternally perfect.

SC: Eternally perfect is how some people may describe Switzerland. You sometimes say that your work is not about fantasy but about presenting an idealized reality, which makes me think of your upbringing. How did growing up in Switzerland influence your work? And how does it contrast with your experience in New York?

YS: I think it was Andy Warhol who said “Switzerland is great, it’s finished”. Which I think is a very interesting observation. My one friend always says about New York— it will be great once it’s finished. Which obviously it will never be. I’m not sure if this really captures anything at
all, but it’s easier to do things in New York. Someone once wrote about my work that “Nothing glamorous ever came from Switzerland,” which I think is an interesting observation. In Switzerland the ultimate achievement and thing another person could say about you, is that you are normal. It’s the absolute peak of Swiss-ness and the real ingredient if you want to belong—is not to stand out. As a young person I think this can feel limiting and disempowering. But the older I get the more I value the understatement and also the social cohesion in some way. There is a true sense of quality and people care about doing the
right thing and about doing things right. I appreciate that today.

SC: Do you see this in your sculptures as well?

YS: What I can see is that my work used to be much more loud and American while I was in Europe and much more Swiss since now that I’m in New York. Today I’m interested in making figures that are centered within themselves, not looking for attention or reliant on an audience or other people. The best I can hope for is to imbue them with a kind spirit, to put a little fire in their hearts. I read something the other day about monasteries, and how some of them are spectacularly modest. I really like that expression and idea, it’s something I strive towards. Maybe it’s my protestant upbringing but I do find true joy and beauty in restraint. I think the spirit lives in simple things. As Carl
Jung famously said, “if you are looking for god and haven‘t found him yet, you are not looking low enough.”

SC: Thinking about high and low here, there are some sculptures in this book that look almost as if they were made with some discarded things that you found around the studio— some of them with a ready-made character, or then these very simple almost archaic figures from your Primal show cycle, but then on the other side you have these highly produced shiny stainless steel and bronze works. How do you square this?

YS: In my mind the genuine opportunity of art is to speak about the things which don’t change over time. Art doesn’t get better with time, it’s not like technology where there is some kind of development and a strong notion of progress. I don’t think art gets better or worse. If I think about a person in a cave, they would carve a figure out of a piece
of rock or bone that might look quite similar to my onyx works. And in spirit and function it is probably pretty close to what I described with the Emma Watson work above—as in the first human carving themselves a friend or thinking about someone they saw in the forest. What I mean here is even though the Emma Watson work is extremely specific, and it took 2000 years of recorded cultural history to get to a place where all these references are in places, and where the technology exist to make it in such a realistic manner by a machine, to me it is no different than a piece of driftwood that barely resembles a figure at all. I’m interested in the whole spectrum of figuration, and think that especially the combination of these different forms, expressions and materials are thrilling to me. While there is a technological graveyard
for a lot of things that came in between, I would say that the earliest human artistic expression can still be as valid and meaningful as anything great made today. Art is like a perpetuum mobile that gives endless energy once it’s created, without ever losing any. Forever.

Yves Scherer, Imagine, 2025, Kunstraum Heilig Geist am UNESCO-Welterbe Zollverein, Photo by James Rodemann, Courtesy of the artist