Ulrike Theusner

Emanuel von Baeyer: The first stage of the majority of your recent works is drypoint. While some might malign drypoint as the "easiest" of the intaglio techniques, do you find that jumping straight into creation (rather than arduous preparation) helps to give a sense of immediacy or velocity to your prints?

Ulrike Theusner: Yes, definitely. The immediate and sketchy nature of drypoint is part of the expression that I also want to achieve in other techniques, such as pastel drawings. Spontaneous gestures are the most direct way to express feelings. Since printmaking is no longer just used as a means of reproducing works of art, but is applied for purely artistic reasons, I use the special aura of the drypoint – the deep grooves that can create velvety lines and surfaces, as well as delicate lines that would be almost impossible to draw so finely – to enhance the expressiveness of the motif. It is a technique that only works with certain motifs though, so even with this spontaneous working method, there is always a sketch or an adaptation of the motif in another technique beforehand. 

But, in many of your works (especially your most recent), drypoint is only the first technique employed to build up a print: you sensitively wipe away ink to create a 3D effect or you vivaciously hand-colour your works with ink, pastel, or watercolour. How do you decide a work needs these extra layers of "finish" or "refinement"?

I often make the first prints as pure prints and decide afterwards whether to colour some of them. Sometimes it's only the artist prints outside the edition, but sometimes it's all of them. Colour can increase expressiveness, but it depends very much on the motif and message. Sometimes it can even be a hinderance, and it's better to leave the graphic uncoloured because it doesn't need the extra dimension.  

Would you describe yourself, then, as a restless artist, a restless person?

Yes, I think most artists are restless. While you're still working on one thing, the next idea is already forming in your head, waiting to be realized. I always work on several things at once and always carry a sketchbook with me when I travel to jot down new ideas. Sometimes it's just texts, quotes, or observations that later find their way into a picture. I can't imagine artistic creation without constant attention.

My antennae are always up, which is both exhausting and stimulating. Artistic work becomes absolutely necessary, otherwise I would burst.

To me, you artistic output doesn’t really have the chaos of an outburst, though. You always manage to marshal all these fragments you collect into such cohesive forms. I find myself reading stories in any series of prints you make: with recurring characters, motifs, and techniques. In "Gasping Society", I see a story of drunkenness, debauchery, and Europessimism; in "Sweet Bird of Youth", I see a sobre confrontation between generations. Do you plan these narratives into a series, or do they emerge during creation?

They definitely arise during the process. It starts with one or two image ideas from which a series develops. It is only while I am working that I become aware of the theme, so that I can put it into words and find a title, because there is always a connecting theme that recurs in all the works and is closely linked to my own personal experience. For example, it may be an internal conflict that is currently taking place, an issue that is seeking expression and needs to be addressed. The “Gasping Society” series, for example, deals with the basic theme of a lack of connection to oneself and to others, isolation and external control, and the search for one's own inner values. The themes change just as life circumstances change. At the moment, the theme of memory is playing a role again and I’m sure it will find its way into my visual worlds.  

Are you inspired by actual stories, by fiction, by literature? And if so, do you have any book recommendations?

Yes, it is often the basic themes of individual books or films that inspire me. This was the case with my last exhibition, Passengers of the Night, in Berlin. I was inspired by the film of the same name by Mikhaël Hers, especially the poetic closing monologue. It is often poetry that inspires me, or the basic feeling that arises from reading a book, sometimes also the colors and moods that arise, as in John dos Passos's Manhattan Transfer or Jack Kerouac's On the Road. I am currently reading [Joseph von] Eichendorff's Aus dem Leben eines Taugenichts [Memoirs of a Good-for-Nothing]. These are often works about outsiders and marginal figures who move away from the prescribed norms and question social values. They are searching for their place and meaning in the world and are ready to break new ground. Sometimes they succeed, sometimes they perish. Art can inspire us to see everything from a different perspective and encourage us to find the courage to leave the beaten track and walk the narrow path, thereby making the world a better place with new ideas. This is certainly an idealistic thought, but where would humanity be without idealism?

Even though you have this rich, literary foundation under the surface of your art, I am always struck by how modern, how new your work feels - whether that's in the "meme"-tinged humour of "Weird Feelings" or the affronting presence of an iPhone in Venus II. The viewer of your art is always pulled between the presentness of now and the alluring fairy tale of the past. Do you feel yourself pulled in this way too? How do you stop yourself from getting lost either in the past or the present?

I think I quite like losing myself in daydreams about the past or speculating about the future. In doing so I sometimes forget the moment and haven't yet found a way to make myself more aware of the present. For me, art is always a reflection on experiences and the past, so I like to combine the old style – for example, of book illustration around 1900 – with modern elements, such as selfie poses in front of the iPhone. Art can be a form of escapism. Ideally, it connects with the spirit of the times, but only to a certain extent – like the German painter Neo Rauch once said: “those who marry themselves too closely to the spirit of the times will also be discarded with it.”

That said, stylistically at least, your work reminds me so strongly of earlier German graphic artists like Max Slevogt, Lovis Corinth, Josef Hegenbarth, or Hans Meidd (an artist whom you have probably never heard of!). They were all (in part) book illustrators, who used their art to tell their stories. So what's your story?

Yes, I like the gestural style of Corinth and Slevogt, it's really juicy! Every now and then I also do illustrations, like for the Bavarian State Opera or the Stuttgart State Opera – for whom I am currently designing poster motifs and other things, like silk scarves, labels for wine bottles, a card game, etc. The theatre allows me a very free approach to the choice of motifs. I find I can't do commissioned work because I can only illustrate what really moves and interests me. It's like a kind of protective mechanism that kicks in when a work doesn't feel authentic because there is no urgency to create that image. This way, I have a guarantee that all images spring from a genuine inner interest and not from the need to fulfil a specific commission. Some artists can do both very well but unfortunately, I cannot. For me, authenticity and technical skill are the two most important factors that make a good work of art. There must be no discrepancy between ability and desire, and the works must arise from a genuine inner interest. This is the case with the famous artists of the past, including those you mentioned above, which is why they still inspire me and many others today.