Uncovered - Migraine in Stone

I never thought I could get so excited about hitting stone.

Too loud.

Too firm.

Too aggressive.

Too much.

It all began with this 12k piece of pyrophyllite (soapstone).

A room full of people repeatedly tapping on stone – and me, tapping on stone. It's loud, dusty, and exhausting. Actually, exactly the kind of place you wouldn't want to be as someone living with migraine. And yet, something happened right there.

I'd known for some time that I wanted to work more sculpturally. That flat surfaces were no longer enough for me. But stone always seemed to me the complete opposite of what my body needed. And then suddenly I was standing in this workshop, and the rhythmic movements, the physical work, the exertion felt good.

I'm not good at managing my energy. For me, it's often all or nothing. And with the stone, it's all or nothing. I sweat. I get blisters on my hands. I completely exhaust myself. And that's wonderful.

For years, strenuous exercise has triggered my migrain. Yet I used to love it. I studied sports science, played volleyball, danced – that feeling of pushing my body to its limits. Working with stones allows me to recapture some of that.

With a hammer, chisel and files, the idea is slowly taking shape.

Sometimes the work actually triggers an attack. Yes. But right now it's worth it to me. The stone simply fits what I want to express artistically.

First, it is worked hard: chipped, reduced in size, shaped by will and strength. The stone resists – and it is my task to coax from it a form that suits it. And me. And my pain. Eventually, this strength transforms into something else. Into grinding. Into polishing. Into a calm caressing of the hands over the increasingly smooth surface.

My first sculpture was simply there, all of a sudden. I had an idea in my head, which I started with. But then I put the sketch aside and followed the stone. The stone reminded me of what I always try to make visible in my art: what you don't see when you have a migraine. The inner self. The pain. The effort. The exhaustion.

From the twelve-kilogram stone, I coaxed out a great emptiness. Round. Smooth. Beautiful. Almost tangible. An airy opening. But a migraine is not an airy emptiness.

Then came the metal rods. They pierce the stone, disrupt its form, create tension. They represent the chaotic, the rigid, the shooting nature of migraine pain – something that cannot be controlled.

Destruction is part of the process. Just as trust is.

As I began drilling the holes, the atmosphere in the workshop changed. You could almost call it sadness that swept through the room. As if I were destroying something perfect. There were even some who tried to convince me to leave it alone. I understood that. But that was precisely my point.

Migraine is not perfect.

It is not smooth.

It is not round.

It creates sadness, pain, and frustration.

And then there's something else that makes this work special for me. On my first day in the workshop, I was shown the most important tools. Among them, I recognized some of my father's hammers – mallets used to work stone. My father was a passionate mineral collector, interested in geology. He spent time in quarries and worked with precisely these tools.

Freigelegt (stone sculpture | Pyrophilit | 12kg)

Today I'm using them to treat my migraine.

Sometimes it feels like things are coming full circle here that I didn't know were open.

Click here to see "Uncovered" in my portfolio.