My grandparents were farmers, living not far away from us. For as long as I can remember, we often went to their place to help them on the fields. It was a strange kind of relationship, most of the time we just come to work, alongside migrant workers from Eastern Europe. My grandfather had to leave school at the age of thirteen because his father had died from the consequences of the war. I can't really imagine how it must be, having to take on so much responsibility so early, but we never talked about anything of this.

In their living room hung a copy of a painting by Van Gogh: La méridienne. Two field workers resting in the shade. I always felt this picture as a kind of silent altar.

When I got older the painting bothered me. It didn't fit the world I experienced with them. The scene felt softened, almost sentimentally idealized. Nothing in it reflected the harsh, grueling life they actually lived.

For me, the embroidery became more of an attempt to sketch the stage on which their lives unfolded, and the spirit that was left behind. Not with the claim that the ‚painting' is closer to their truth, I can't judge that, but it's closer to mine. It's kind of a reinterpretation.

This embroidery was part of the group exhibition ,Wo wir hinfallen' by Klasse Plavcac this vear at

Galerie Abtrat (Stuttgart)

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