Art has been running through my veins since my birth. It’s just taken me a while to discover that.

 

I was born and grew up in Rottluff, East Germany, the small town where Karl Schmidt-Rottluff, the well-known expressionist painter and printmaker, lived and created his art. My great-aunty regularly saw him painting in the fields. And my own great-uncle was a local artist and glass painter around the same time.

 

I loved anything creative and expressive as a kid: chalk painting in the street, decorating cakes, or crafting unique gifts for family and friends. When I was eight, I drew a rose, deep red, in full bloom. It’s still pinned to my parents’ kitchen cork board. But the business of being a teenager and the demands of secondary education pushed creativity to the sidelines. I was still fascinated by art, but now more as an observer. I admired the work of modern artists of the 20th century – the boldness of Picasso’s shapes, or Dali’s blues and golden yellows. I kept my ‘fingers in the paint’ by taking a few after-school art classes or fiddling with watercolours or landscapes on art holidays. Later, during work trips, I sought out original masterpieces in Washington, or New York, or Milan.