When artists travel, they take their special view of the world along in their baggage. The painter Sebastian Heiner has traversed the globe a number of times with trips to Israel, Jordan and the Caucasus. On a number of occasions, he was able to combine his travels with prolonged work orientated stays in cities such as Bangkok, Beijing and Shanghai.
When preparing a painting I don’t ask myself how to begin. To pose the question presupposes some sort of inhibition. I must free myself of all rationalisations.
The world was never the same after the Great Food Reform. Everything’s changed radically. The earth’s cities glitter, blink and shine in bizarre, wild, dazzling, colours. Science took a Giant Leap one hundred years ago.
Riding the orange bikes under the plane trees is enchanting! A constant singing, whirring, shimmering, accompanies me. Are the vibrant sounds of the cicadas trying to seduce me?
I push aside the heavy, brown curtains. The glare of daylight blinds me. The air conditioner whirs loudly. I look at the block of flats opposite. Some residents have strung their colourful laundry out to dry on rusty iron bars.
Colours mix and gather on the canvas, celebrating a fabulous party! A deep black blotch forces me to stop. Is not it wiser to act calmly, without agitation?
A whisper, soft and insistent, talks to me, burying into my sub-conscious, my thought processes are confused, I see an unknown space in the sky, a narrow strip of light, I am flying in a dream, clouds float, driven by the wind, white mountains tower higher and higher.
Houses collapsing. Towers winding up into the sky. People run without orientation on the streets. Where am I? Daylight blinds me. I stand at the exit of a metro station and look at intersections, bridges, underpasses and overpasses, I see streets swimming in a sea of houses and have to turn away.
My inner clock fails to adjust. To perceive one‘s own mind and body, to eavesdrop on their internal workings, to explore the strange planet inside me, fills me with both anguish and hope.
A canvas stands ready and primed in the studio. How can I convey my ideas and feelings? How can I overcome this silence? An empty canvas is dangerous.