A melody for a song; the plot for THE novel that will eclipse everything read so far; the vision for a portrait or “just” the invitation to a grandson’s first-day-of-school party: “It’s all in the cosmos!” our friend Ronnie Wood once said a long time ago.
And yeah, he should know, I thought even back then. Songwriter, guitarist for the Rolling Stones, and for a long time now, a damn good painter, too.
Sebastian Krüger and Ronnie Wood / private By human standards, the vastness of the universe is infinite, and so is the wealth of inspiration and ideas it holds. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why it can be so incredibly difficult to choose the right one from among all those visions and inner images and bring it to life in the real world. There is a great risk of losing oneself in the process.
„For each beginning bears a special magic that nurtures living and bestows protection.“ Hermann Hesse, „Steps“, 1941
So what could be more magical than constantly starting over, remaining an “absolute beginner,” and using the sense of adventure toward distant galaxies as fuel for ever more new ideas and visions?
Andrea Faustmann, „Lost“
Lost in space when there’s no song, no painting, no book—or, as in this case, no blog—to guide the journey. Creative flights of fancy often lead to crash landings and deep frustration. Excuses to avoid admitting failure often include: “Unfavorable life circumstances” such as “no time,” “no support,” “creative block,” “fear of success,” “fear of failure,” and whatever other excuses there may be. And yes, all of this is deeply human, because as humans we are wired to the pleasure principle. Food, a roof or helmet over our heads to protect us from danger, and the prospect of reproducing are among our so-called primary needs. The universe is cold, and exposing oneself to the hostile atmosphere of unknown territory requires courage, endurance, and the best possible equipment.
Sebastian Krüger, privat
And that is exactly what I and my agency stand for—ensuring the very best equipment for artistic expeditions, whether as an artist (a general note regarding my blog: the generic masculine form refers to everyone, truly everyone, regardless of how they wish to be addressed), an art collector, a gallery owner, or someone with an interest in art.
I make sure that no one gets lost. That no idea, no vision, has to spin endlessly like satellite debris in the boundless expanse of the creative universe. Down-to-earth practicality meets a planetary worldview.
With this little story, I’d like to show how that can work:
Wild at Heart
Just under a quarter of a century ago, we were living in a dilapidated building we’d just bought, right in the middle of the wilderness. We had absolutely no idea how—or even if—we’d manage to handle the situation, or whether the whole thing would end in a massive disaster. No working bathrooms; no kitchen—I cooked over a campfire or stood at the grill until fall—; only the studio and a makeshift office were set up, because we had to earn the money we urgently needed to keep from starving and to make the mortgage payments on the house.
Private archive
Then the phone rang. A landline. At least that was something. Until it was installed, we had to make do with a satellite phone that was as heavy as a cast-iron pot and produced so much background noise that local calls sounded like we were communicating with aliens.
On the other end was a woman who introduced herself as a colleague (I had worked for many years as a journalist, including for WDR Cologne) and told me about her young brother-in-law from Canada, whose lifelong dream was to do an internship with his great role model, the painter Sebastian Krüger. Good idea. Sure, why not. But of all times, now?!?!
She raved about her young brother-in-law in the highest terms: He was talented, polite, well-mannered, and wouldn’t stand out at all in our chaos. He was used to forests and wilderness, and so on. No matter what counterarguments I raised regarding his accommodation, she never tired of repeating that the flight was practically already booked and that his professor at the art school in Canada had written him a letter of recommendation that couldn’t have been better. Couldn’t we just…?
I gave up and resigned myself—as so often in those days—to my fate.
Dave—that was the name of the young employee from the Canadian outback—had arrived with his sister-in-law and brother and was put up in a sparsely furnished guest room with a bed and a desk. He said his goodbyes; his family assured him that if any difficulties arose, they would come and pick him up immediately, and Dave—17 years old and indeed very polite and extremely likable—went to bed. In the expectation that after breakfast the next morning, he would take his place at the master’s side next to the easel in the studio. But the master, since he worked mostly at night, was a late riser, and so I had the task of keeping Dave occupied until he had risen. There was more than enough work, but not of the kind Dave had hoped for. And so five days passed. In the afternoon, after Dave had been sketching for a few hours and had also dutifully helped me with some small tasks around the house, he took his place next to the master in the studio. The master gave him a few tips and some homework, then sent him back out the studio door. Dave had given up. His mood mirrored the outside temperatures, and with each passing day his face grew longer than the shadow cast by our ramshackle shack. I suspected he was homesick for the Canadian wilderness, but I was way off the mark. Hesitantly, he admitted what was weighing on him. He had imagined a tightly scheduled workday—just like it was customary at his art school: 1st period sketching, 2nd period painting and drawing techniques, 3rd period anatomy, then lunch break, in the afternoon corrections and continuing the artwork he’d started, and so on and so forth.
Poor boy. What now? After a brief moment’s thought, I decided to make the merits of an artist’s existence—as the masters practiced it back then—appealing to him: Spending time until just before the lunch break—which was taken as a late breakfast—either in bed or alternately working independently at the desk, going for a walk, then gently knocking on the studio door, asking what’s on the agenda for today, standing with me at the grill in the early evening, and winding down the evening with beer, schnapps, and movies. Night’s rest between 3 and 4 a.m.
He was disappointed. Until I suggested throwing a proper welcome party so our friends could give him a chance to get to know German customs better.
He liked that idea. The party was a complete success. For him, because he made friends and realized that being an artist had more to offer than just working at a desk and in the studio.
And for us, because we were happy that, in our spontaneously assumed role as host parents, we were able to put on a pretty good show despite the most adverse circumstances.
Private archive After three weeks, Dave’s family picked him up. Tired. Hangover-stricken. Happy that he’d managed to make progress in his artistic development.
Back in Canada, he wrote about how much he’d enjoyed his time with us and that he’d received high praise from his classmates and professor for the work he’d done during that period.
After that, things went quiet.
We got internet, and one day—a few years later—an email from Dave. From Amsterdam. Where he was now living as a freelance artist and had gotten married. And all of that, he wrote, he owed to us. We certainly had nothing to do with the marriage. But obviously, he found the inspiration and encouragement for his life as an artist with us, and that is exactly what defines me and my work.
Encouraging people to overcome crises, solve problems, and reach for the stars.
Fostering openness to inspiration and breaking new ground.
With a solution-oriented approach and by leveraging available resources, I address the specific needs and requirements of my clients individually.
The days of drinking schnapps and partying are long gone. The ramshackle shack has long since become a presentable estate. Yet the freedom of those days has remained with us as a permanent guest.
