How long have you been practicing art therapy at the Tannerhof – and how did the studio come to be?
I came to art therapy because the art world annoyed me. After finishing my art studies, I spent a few years dealing intensively with the commercial side of art, the marketing. But what I was really interested in—exploring and living out creative processes themselves—was falling by the wayside. Art therapy was really taking off in the 90s, so I got into it, and I’ve never regretted it.
My artistic work continues to develop in parallel, so I am lucky enough to integrate art and therapy into my life – it is a very creative process.
I have been introducing creative, therapeutic approaches at Tannerhof since the 1990s. The studio originally served a very different purpose: it was a junk room, a party shed, and even earlier an open-air shelter for lung patients who came here to boost their immune systems, wrapped in blankets while fresh air poured in through the open windows. The space sat empty for a long time until I was given the opportunity to convert it into a studio—complete with running water, a toilet, and, most importantly, a wood-burning stove. Because in winter, it is essential that the people who come here feel cared for. The little fire I light an hour before a session doesn't just provide warmth; it creates an atmosphere that instantly welcomes people: "Oh, how lovely." It's as if it sparks a creative flame within them, too.
The little fire I light an hour before the session in winter not only creates warmth – it also ignites a creative spark in people.
What are the philosophical principles that shape your art therapy?
Creativity is a universal resource that we all carry within us – even Stone Age people painted. For me, it is primarily about self-expression and resource orientation. I work with what is there, not with what is missing. This means: we focus on uncovering what people already carry within themselves. That is powerful – that people feel what belongs to them and, in the end, hold something in their hands that they created themselves. A picture is more than a feeling – it is a testament that you can see and touch.
Neon colors are very popular at the moment. To me, that is an expression of the overstimulation of our society.
That's why I don't interpret anything at first; instead, I ask questions: "What came up while you were painting? How did you begin, what was your process, and how are you feeling now?" I deliberately avoid value judgments and instead draw attention to self-critical language, such as "I can't do this" or "I'm no professional." Every image is a resource. That is a fundamental principle of art therapy. Every image holds a message that represents a resource—showing how a person can address a problem creatively.
What is an art therapy session with you like?
Every session begins with a simple question: "Are you here for an artistic pursuit—do you want to learn something, express something—or is there an issue in your life you'd like to explore through this medium?" That way, we clarify the focus together. Time is limited—90 minutes—which is quite a generous amount of time, but people need a moment to warm up to the medium. While they paint, I offer gentle prompts, but without directing them. Sometimes I'll pause and ask: "Is this finished already?"—and often the answer is: "No, there's more to come!" Or I'll help with mixing colors, for instance when someone has already mixed half a bucket of pink without ever being happy with the shade. The colors people choose are fascinating in their own right: neon shades are very popular at the moment. To put it bluntly, I see that as an expression of how overstimulated our society has become. The contrasts have to be turned up so high for anyone to even notice them anymore. And that sometimes makes me a little sad, because there are such wonderful earth pigments, yet they're completely overlooked.
What happens to the pictures in the end?
Most people take their pictures with them – and are happy later when they hang them up at home. Others destroy them, for example, if someone has gotten rid of a tremendous amount of anger – that is the beauty of painting, that you can put that feeling onto paper without hurting anyone. Sometimes the desire then arises to burn or tear up the picture. This need is consciously acknowledged, and if it comes to that, it happens. If pictures are forgotten or left behind, I dispose of them after a while.
How do you deal with people who are afraid of the blank page?
I encourage them to simply dive in—with their eyes closed. "Take the brush, dip it into the paint, breathe in, and as you breathe out—bam, onto the paper." And then you open your eyes and see what happened. It's a first step that takes courage. Especially for people with a strong need for control, it's a truly liberating experience.
In what life situations is art therapy particularly helpful?
Art therapy resonates with people in vastly different walks of life: those who are grieving and processing a profound loss, those with pent-up anger who need an outlet for their rage, or people with depression who want to reconnect with their emotions. I also regularly work with people experiencing burnout—painting is an integral part of our burnout program here. And then there are simply those who love to paint—who come with no particular agenda, just to discover their creative side or get back in touch with it.
And you know what the best part is? People lose all sense of time. Suddenly they say: "Over already? But I feel like I just got started!"—a sure sign of how deeply painting draws you into a state of flow. It's deeply restorative and gives people back something that often gets lost in everyday life: the experience of being truly in the here and now.
Is there something you always encourage your participants to do?
Yes: 'Embrace happy accidents.' That's a principle I emphasize again and again. Many people say: "That was just pure coincidence, I didn't even mean to do that!" But I tell them: "No—that's your subconscious showing itself. Welcome those messages; they don't need to be put into words right away. Just let them out so you can see them." More often than not, the things that slip out carry an incredible amount of power.
Accept the gifts of chance.
Painting is different from writing—it is more direct, freer, and less controlled. In school, we learn to form letters and build sentences. But here, it’s not about technique or grammar. It’s about spontaneous self-expression. And that is the most important thing.
