Silvia: How do you feel you want to introduce yourself?
Anika: THE STARTING POINT FOR ME and all my actions is that I’m a spring-born and that means that I believe in the beginning, in the heart of a first light, in growth and blossoming. I believe in change and for change-making, I truly believe in passion, collaboration; in participation. With these comes sensitivity as well as [curiosity] and emotional empathy. I also believe that we act very reality-related, surely political as well as honest, maybe even true, when we work out of an inner drive, when we put inner worlds into art, when we understand that inclusivity is good for everyone. I come from a place of deep sensitivity for emotional perception, sensation, and imagination, as well as pain, abuse, and mistrust. Bringing that together might be a personal life goal. Using that to be part of a world with more justice and healing is my work goal for sure.
S: What I think is very interesting about you and your work, is that you manage to combine the person you are and who you feel you are, with your artistic practice, without hiding.
So now I would ask you spontaneously, what is the main driving force behind the primary research you do in your artistic practice? And, what motivated you to pursue an artistic career?
A: The words “pursuing an artistic career” I [am cautious about], because I never felt like I wanted to be an artist for the sake of pursuing an artistic career. It was not really a choice, because I started making art when I couldn’t do anything else to survive. It sounds dramatic, and maybe it was. I started making art intensively when I was suicidal, in psychiatry. And since then, it’s all I can do. It is my way of transforming my feelings and absorbing myself in a non-harmful but beautiful and freeing way. As I did years of art therapy, I evolved from a patient to working at the atelier of my art therapist. On my way, I created many different artistic formats and projects, which has led me to the realization that as an artist I could develop other ways of working therapeutically with art than I could do as an art therapist. That’s where I am now. I guess the approach that I learned in art therapy is still shaping my
work, and it’s different from what you learn in academic arts, I guess. I’m still, like, aggressively process-orientated. I find that making art is the most effective way to pursue my therapeutic and activist goals. Practically, that also means that it is still the only thing I can do without getting sick. This is a different starting point from wanting to pursue an artistic career, right?
S: This is very touching, and so I would like to go even deeper by asking you, how is it for you to deal with these issues from an artistic point of view on an emotional level?
Also, what was the transition between doing art for yourself, to survive, and then doing so for an audience?
A: Psychological processing and art share a deep connection for me. Art was always essential for me, to process my experiences. However, there was a point when I realised that sharing my stories and feelings meant not only working on a personal level but also making the experiences of others visible. As my own experiences are rooted in structural issues within a hegemonic patriarchal society, they are not solely personal: there is a broader societal context behind them. Making these issues visible is thus not just a form of self-therapy but serves a purpose within an activistic context and aligns with justice-related work. Presenting these perspectives is not only destigmatizing the realities of marginalized [people]—it also entails crafting new narratives, which inherently question the prevailing societal structures. This, I believe, is a part of inclusive change-making processes.
S: Do you find it challenging to effectively destigmatize the perception of mental health issues among the public, or do you believe you are making progress in achieving this goal?
A: I have noticed that when my work is exhibited, it receives considerable recognition. Visitors discuss their thoughts and personal experiences with me. I often hear, “Oh, I’ve never heard of this disease,” or “I’ve never thought about it, even though I’ve heard of it.” Many realize not only that it is a reality for many people, but also that it is something similar for themselves. Sometimes I reach out to people who share the experience, which is always an intense and healing encounter. But what I find quite difficult is that I am still part of a system that causes health injustices, as well as other structural injustices that lead to mental problems. I believe in the power of the arts and dedicate my life to this work. It is ironic, anyway, that because of an unhealthy and precarious system, the work itself threatens my health. Surviving in the industry as a non-commercialist or art activist is not only contingent on courage and commitment but also on privilege.
S: I’m now intrigued by your perspective: why do you believe that individuals who undergo what is commonly termed “mental illness” rarely choose careers within the realm of the arts? Do you think this might be due to a lack of recognition of their artistic talents or simply a lack of interest? From your point of view, why isn’t this a more common path?
A: Yes, there is a challenge of exposing one’s vulnerability in general. But if you think deeply, art is the most suitable way for it, as it offers the tools to encode emotions through metaphors and symbolism. Many artworks hide deeper meanings behind rich symbolism. Still, working with the inner, for some, might mean outing oneself in a way, and not everyone is comfortable with that or in a position to be able to do so. So it’s not just about “bravery”, it’s also about having the necessary (mental) resources and a kind of secure situation to engage the public in this kind of work. But not working as an artist—not showing
the work— does not necessarily mean that you don’t do the art. I guess, the real reason for what you’re addressing is an unjust, ableistic system full of barriers for people with diagnoses or experiences with severe mental illnesses and/or other marginalizations. We will mostly remain on the margins of the art world, just as we remain at the margins of society.
There is a name for this substantial group of those artists: “Outsider Artists”. Outsider art is a complex topic in itself. I have been studying the discrimination as well as the inclusive potential coming with the rising recognition of outsider art, which comes with the whole discourse about mental health becoming more socially accepted. However, there is still a tendency to see mental problems only as problems to be solved, rather than as part of the human experience. I would like politics, society, and the healthcare system to adopt a more sociological perspective, recognizing that systems can produce these illnesses.
S: Your most recent project, “f44(0),” explores memory loss in various contexts, such as childhood, randomness, and dissociative amnesia due to traumatic stress. It was showcased both at the 48h Neukölln Art Festival and at the Kulturfabrik Moabit in Berlin last summer as part of the exhibition “Molding into the Fabric.” I wanted to ask, why is this topic very important for you and does it relate to the destigmatization of mental illnesses?
A: It’s connected because everything I do is guided by this approach of creating contexts in which people can experience a kind of psychopathological manifestation of what we all know. I hope that within this context, they can relate to their spectrum of personal experiences and understand that it goes beyond the boundaries between illness and normality, between what is considered normal and “what is” not. We can talk and research extensively about mental health and its expert specifics, but we need art to create experiences that change our views. In the interactive installation “f44(0)” I worked with Marco Borowski, so it is a collaboration of artists with and without experiences of severe trauma. The goal was to illustrate two types of memory loss and two categories of memories that can be lost. One projection showed frequencies from Marco’s personal video archive, which contained random analog recordings of his entire life, which would have been forgotten had they not been accidentally preserved on video; contrasted with an experimental video, which translates the inner process of fragmentation and loss of memories that, conversely, were too intrusive to be retained altogether and thus split off from consciousness. Projected onto a slat curtain, the video projection was fragmented into two levels. Visitors could then move the slats of the curtain to sort through these two types of lost memories. By interacting with the material, viewers were able to explore the principle of memory loss in both contexts, dissociative and everyday life, in a playful-experimental way. In general, I am artistically very interested in the concepts of fragmentation and dissolution, as these are very interesting artistic concepts—but they can take on substantial meaning when we place them in the context of the psyche. I can use these artistic concepts, abstraction, to make the processes and mechanisms underlying these pathological things understandable.
S: Now that we are going deeper, I would like to talk about something more intense, if you feel like it! Since you had experiences in psychiatric hospitals, both as a patient and working there artistically, I wanted to ask you, as there is often a reluctance to know and a tendency to turn a blind eye to things that are not considered ‘sexy,’ what really happens inside a psychiatric hospital? How was it there for you?
A: Regarding my experiences with psychiatry, it’s quite interesting because I’ve been on both sides, as a patient, as well as working there. However, I want to clarify that the experiences depend on where you’ve been. Some people go to private hospitals, but less privileged ones won’t. I was in a regular psychiatric hospital, but in the children and adolescent section, and later worked on two different stations at another regular psychiatry. To me personally, I just needed to have a place, where I was protected from the outside, from society and my environment as well as myself. Even though there is a problematic background of the practice of separating the “mentally ill people” from society, sometimes it can be beneficial for them, I guess. In some cases, it’s more about how society can be more dangerous for them, than the other way around. So I felt lucky and privileged about my own experience, which can be very different depending on the circumstances of the hospital and in general the psychiatric infrastructure, but also I had some very problematic, discriminative, and hurtful experiences in the psychiatric system. I will never forget the feelings I had toward the other people present. Sometimes I still think about them: What must have happened to them? Will they also have managed to get out of the psychiatric circle? To be honest, I don’t know what there would be for them outside of there. I wonder, what happens when psychiatry becomes your only reality? You can be sure that too many people are very much outside of society, and therefore out of your sight, invisible on too many levels. On the other hand, some people have lives that are considered normal from the outside but still face existential difficulties. The line between normal and out of normality is more blurred than you think.
S: I would like to connect your personal story to your artistic practice, starting by asking: do you have a clear idea at the beginning? Are you obsessed with any idea before you start working on a new project?
A: I have two different approaches. One that is more process-oriented: in the beginning, there is nothing, just a need to express something (even when uncertain about what)—then I work with the mediums I am more genuine with, which feel more like a voice than an instrument. These processes unfold intriguingly, commencing in an abstract and emotional realm, evolving gradually into clearer, more organized expressions, eventually revealing the underlying subject matter behind the initial emotion. This approach has given rise to complete concepts, stemming from bodily and intuitive explorations. On the other hand, I also do a lot of research into the psyche, trauma, and neuropsychological mechanisms. But in the end, my research is artistic: Turning this knowledge into art is the way I understand things with my whole being and not only with my brain.
S: As I mentioned earlier, it’s truly intriguing how you explore diverse facets of artistic research. Since your artistic expression spans from performance to installation, to visual art, I’d like to ask you, how do you experience performing, and what drives your instinct to engage in it?
A: Do you know when you sometimes need to scream, run, throw yourself into the sea, or dig into the earth? These cases require your bodily existence, the connection between your presence and your surroundings. So when I need the existence of myself, my body, and my being for artistic transformation, I perform. I would not say that I am a performer by character, or because I particularly like this way of expressing myself. I don’t perform until I feel the need. But when a subject requires this particular transformation, I have an irresistible urge to undertake it.
S: Emotional performances can be incredibly powerful. In a short time, they can touch the deepest chords of our being and convey a message or story in a deep engaging way. But this is especially true for the performers. So how do you feel during, after, and before performing?
A: There was a time when I was rereading my old diaries, which dated back to periods of intense experiences of violence. I felt like I gained a lot from reading my thoughts back then, but it always led me into retraumatizing situations and was very painful. Then I asked myself, What would happen if I put all this into a scene? Could turning it into an artistic act make me regain control over this increasingly traumatizing situation? And then I did. Thinking about that, putting yourself on a stage, fully aware that this is a typical retraumatization scenario, is quite dangerous. By reading that diary aloud, I could have potentially experienced dissociation, retraumatization, perhaps bursting into tears, or any other reaction. My therapist didn’‘t agree with me doing that. But I had this need. I really wanted to bring therapy to the stage. And that turned out to be a very powerful act. I mean, I had a very intense reaction from my body and my being, it wasn’t comfortable, but I didn’t retraumatize. It was a little strange because I got off the stage and I was so free. I felt so strong, I had
my moment of transformation, you know, it was kind of like, it sounds weird, but this kind of show feels like an exorcism, kind of like, you know, I’m there and I’m letting it out. But it wasn’t just me having this therapeutic moment on stage, I was also facing the audience with
such an intense emotional reaction.
S: In the end, this was not only self-therapy, but therapy for others too, group therapy. And you managed to perfectly touch all the people in the room, creating such a deep connection that you then helped all those people. It seems to me that the only way to survive for you was to create art, so you didn’t really choose to be an artist. It just happened. So I was wondering, now that you know this, would you have done something else if not for being an artist?
A: In the end, I just need to do what I do, regardless of whether it’s labeled as art, therapy, or activism. I already engage in various projects, including writing, curating, speaking and art projects that have a strong cultural, political or educational component. However, all of these projects come from the same source, my artistic heart, and are therefore connected to art. Ultimately, I believe there is a unique potential in art that I don’t see in other fields, and I wouldn’t want to miss out on that! So, I can’t envision another reality for myself. Besides, as you’ve pointed out, I became an artist because, in the end, it was art that saved me from my condition. Therefore, sometimes I fear that if, for some reason, I couldn’t create art anymore due, for example, to financial constraints or other limitations, I would wonder how I should stay healthy.
S: Thank you, Anika. It has been really great talking with you about so many things, exploring your journey, and your priorities in your artistic practice, and getting a glimpse of what’s going on in your mind.
Silvia: How do you feel you want to introduce yourself?
Anika: THE STARTING POINT FOR ME and all my actions is that I’m a spring-born and that means that I believe in the beginning, in the heart of a first light, in growth and blossoming. I believe in change and for change-making, I truly believe in passion, collaboration; in participation. With these comes sensitivity as well as [curiosity] and emotional empathy. I also believe that we act very reality-related, surely political as well as honest, maybe even true, when we work out of an inner drive, when we put inner worlds into art, when we understand that inclusivity is good for everyone. I come from a place of deep sensitivity for emotional perception, sensation, and imagination, as well as pain, abuse, and mistrust. Bringing that together might be a personal life goal. Using that to be part of a world with more justice and healing is my work goal for sure.
S: What I think is very interesting about you and your work, is that you manage to combine the person you are and who you feel you are, with your artistic practice, without hiding.
So now I would ask you spontaneously, what is the main driving force behind the primary research you do in your artistic practice? And, what motivated you to pursue an artistic career?
A: The words “pursuing an artistic career” I [am cautious about], because I never felt like I wanted to be an artist for the sake of pursuing an artistic career. It was not really a choice, because I started making art when I couldn’t do anything else to survive. It sounds dramatic, and maybe it was. I started making art intensively when I was suicidal, in psychiatry. And since then, it’s all I can do. It is my way of transforming my feelings and absorbing myself in a non-harmful but beautiful and freeing way. As I did years of art therapy, I evolved from a patient to working at the atelier of my art therapist. On my way, I created many different artistic formats and projects, which has led me to the realization that as an artist I could develop other ways of working therapeutically with art than I could do as an art therapist. That’s where I am now. I guess the approach that I learned in art therapy is still shaping my
work, and it’s different from what you learn in academic arts, I guess. I’m still, like, aggressively process-orientated. I find that making art is the most effective way to pursue my therapeutic and activist goals. Practically, that also means that it is still the only thing I can do without getting sick. This is a different starting point from wanting to pursue an artistic career, right?
S: This is very touching, and so I would like to go even deeper by asking you, how is it for you to deal with these issues from an artistic point of view on an emotional level?
Also, what was the transition between doing art for yourself, to survive, and then doing so for an audience?
A: Psychological processing and art share a deep connection for me. Art was always essential for me, to process my experiences. However, there was a point when I realised that sharing my stories and feelings meant not only working on a personal level but also making the experiences of others visible. As my own experiences are rooted in structural issues within a hegemonic patriarchal society, they are not solely personal: there is a broader societal context behind them. Making these issues visible is thus not just a form of self-therapy but serves a purpose within an activistic context and aligns with justice-related work. Presenting these perspectives is not only destigmatizing the realities of marginalized [people]—it also entails crafting new narratives, which inherently question the prevailing societal structures. This, I believe, is a part of inclusive change-making processes.
S: Do you find it challenging to effectively destigmatize the perception of mental health issues among the public, or do you believe you are making progress in achieving this goal?
A: I have noticed that when my work is exhibited, it receives considerable recognition. Visitors discuss their thoughts and personal experiences with me. I often hear, “Oh, I’ve never heard of this disease,” or “I’ve never thought about it, even though I’ve heard of it.” Many realize not only that it is a reality for many people, but also that it is something similar for themselves. Sometimes I reach out to people who share the experience, which is always an intense and healing encounter. But what I find quite difficult is that I am still part of a system that causes health injustices, as well as other structural injustices that lead to mental problems. I believe in the power of the arts and dedicate my life to this work. It is ironic, anyway, that because of an unhealthy and precarious system, the work itself threatens my health. Surviving in the industry as a non-commercialist or art activist is not only contingent on courage and commitment but also on privilege.
S: I’m now intrigued by your perspective: why do you believe that individuals who undergo what is commonly termed “mental illness” rarely choose careers within the realm of the arts? Do you think this might be due to a lack of recognition of their artistic talents or simply a lack of interest? From your point of view, why isn’t this a more common path?
A: Yes, there is a challenge of exposing one’s vulnerability in general. But if you think deeply, art is the most suitable way for it, as it offers the tools to encode emotions through metaphors and symbolism. Many artworks hide deeper meanings behind rich symbolism. Still, working with the inner, for some, might mean outing oneself in a way, and not everyone is comfortable with that or in a position to be able to do so. So it’s not just about “bravery”, it’s also about having the necessary (mental) resources and a kind of secure situation to engage the public in this kind of work. But not working as an artist—not showing
the work— does not necessarily mean that you don’t do the art. I guess, the real reason for what you’re addressing is an unjust, ableistic system full of barriers for people with diagnoses or experiences with severe mental illnesses and/or other marginalizations. We will mostly remain on the margins of the art world, just as we remain at the margins of society.
There is a name for this substantial group of those artists: “Outsider Artists”. Outsider art is a complex topic in itself. I have been studying the discrimination as well as the inclusive potential coming with the rising recognition of outsider art, which comes with the whole discourse about mental health becoming more socially accepted. However, there is still a tendency to see mental problems only as problems to be solved, rather than as part of the human experience. I would like politics, society, and the healthcare system to adopt a more sociological perspective, recognizing that systems can produce these illnesses.
S: Your most recent project, “f44(0),” explores memory loss in various contexts, such as childhood, randomness, and dissociative amnesia due to traumatic stress. It was showcased both at the 48h Neukölln Art Festival and at the Kulturfabrik Moabit in Berlin last summer as part of the exhibition “Molding into the Fabric.” I wanted to ask, why is this topic very important for you and does it relate to the destigmatization of mental illnesses?
A: It’s connected because everything I do is guided by this approach of creating contexts in which people can experience a kind of psychopathological manifestation of what we all know. I hope that within this context, they can relate to their spectrum of personal experiences and understand that it goes beyond the boundaries between illness and normality, between what is considered normal and “what is” not. We can talk and research extensively about mental health and its expert specifics, but we need art to create experiences that change our views. In the interactive installation “f44(0)” I worked with Marco Borowski, so it is a collaboration of artists with and without experiences of severe trauma. The goal was to illustrate two types of memory loss and two categories of memories that can be lost. One projection showed frequencies from Marco’s personal video archive, which contained random analog recordings of his entire life, which would have been forgotten had they not been accidentally preserved on video; contrasted with an experimental video, which translates the inner process of fragmentation and loss of memories that, conversely, were too intrusive to be retained altogether and thus split off from consciousness. Projected onto a slat curtain, the video projection was fragmented into two levels. Visitors could then move the slats of the curtain to sort through these two types of lost memories. By interacting with the material, viewers were able to explore the principle of memory loss in both contexts, dissociative and everyday life, in a playful-experimental way. In general, I am artistically very interested in the concepts of fragmentation and dissolution, as these are very interesting artistic concepts—but they can take on substantial meaning when we place them in the context of the psyche. I can use these artistic concepts, abstraction, to make the processes and mechanisms underlying these pathological things understandable.
S: Now that we are going deeper, I would like to talk about something more intense, if you feel like it! Since you had experiences in psychiatric hospitals, both as a patient and working there artistically, I wanted to ask you, as there is often a reluctance to know and a tendency to turn a blind eye to things that are not considered ‘sexy,’ what really happens inside a psychiatric hospital? How was it there for you?
A: Regarding my experiences with psychiatry, it’s quite interesting because I’ve been on both sides, as a patient, as well as working there. However, I want to clarify that the experiences depend on where you’ve been. Some people go to private hospitals, but less privileged ones won’t. I was in a regular psychiatric hospital, but in the children and adolescent section, and later worked on two different stations at another regular psychiatry. To me personally, I just needed to have a place, where I was protected from the outside, from society and my environment as well as myself. Even though there is a problematic background of the practice of separating the “mentally ill people” from society, sometimes it can be beneficial for them, I guess. In some cases, it’s more about how society can be more dangerous for them, than the other way around. So I felt lucky and privileged about my own experience, which can be very different depending on the circumstances of the hospital and in general the psychiatric infrastructure, but also I had some very problematic, discriminative, and hurtful experiences in the psychiatric system. I will never forget the feelings I had toward the other people present. Sometimes I still think about them: What must have happened to them? Will they also have managed to get out of the psychiatric circle? To be honest, I don’t know what there would be for them outside of there. I wonder, what happens when psychiatry becomes your only reality? You can be sure that too many people are very much outside of society, and therefore out of your sight, invisible on too many levels. On the other hand, some people have lives that are considered normal from the outside but still face existential difficulties. The line between normal and out of normality is more blurred than you think.
S: I would like to connect your personal story to your artistic practice, starting by asking: do you have a clear idea at the beginning? Are you obsessed with any idea before you start working on a new project?
A: I have two different approaches. One that is more process-oriented: in the beginning, there is nothing, just a need to express something (even when uncertain about what)—then I work with the mediums I am more genuine with, which feel more like a voice than an instrument. These processes unfold intriguingly, commencing in an abstract and emotional realm, evolving gradually into clearer, more organized expressions, eventually revealing the underlying subject matter behind the initial emotion. This approach has given rise to complete concepts, stemming from bodily and intuitive explorations. On the other hand, I also do a lot of research into the psyche, trauma, and neuropsychological mechanisms. But in the end, my research is artistic: Turning this knowledge into art is the way I understand things with my whole being and not only with my brain.
S: As I mentioned earlier, it’s truly intriguing how you explore diverse facets of artistic research. Since your artistic expression spans from performance to installation, to visual art, I’d like to ask you, how do you experience performing, and what drives your instinct to engage in it?
A: Do you know when you sometimes need to scream, run, throw yourself into the sea, or dig into the earth? These cases require your bodily existence, the connection between your presence and your surroundings. So when I need the existence of myself, my body, and my being for artistic transformation, I perform. I would not say that I am a performer by character, or because I particularly like this way of expressing myself. I don’t perform until I feel the need. But when a subject requires this particular transformation, I have an irresistible urge to undertake it.
S: Emotional performances can be incredibly powerful. In a short time, they can touch the deepest chords of our being and convey a message or story in a deep engaging way. But this is especially true for the performers. So how do you feel during, after, and before performing?
A: There was a time when I was rereading my old diaries, which dated back to periods of intense experiences of violence. I felt like I gained a lot from reading my thoughts back then, but it always led me into retraumatizing situations and was very painful. Then I asked myself, What would happen if I put all this into a scene? Could turning it into an artistic act make me regain control over this increasingly traumatizing situation? And then I did. Thinking about that, putting yourself on a stage, fully aware that this is a typical retraumatization scenario, is quite dangerous. By reading that diary aloud, I could have potentially experienced dissociation, retraumatization, perhaps bursting into tears, or any other reaction. My therapist didn’‘t agree with me doing that. But I had this need. I really wanted to bring therapy to the stage. And that turned out to be a very powerful act. I mean, I had a very intense reaction from my body and my being, it wasn’t comfortable, but I didn’t retraumatize. It was a little strange because I got off the stage and I was so free. I felt so strong, I had
my moment of transformation, you know, it was kind of like, it sounds weird, but this kind of show feels like an exorcism, kind of like, you know, I’m there and I’m letting it out. But it wasn’t just me having this therapeutic moment on stage, I was also facing the audience with
such an intense emotional reaction.
S: In the end, this was not only self-therapy, but therapy for others too, group therapy. And you managed to perfectly touch all the people in the room, creating such a deep connection that you then helped all those people. It seems to me that the only way to survive for you was to create art, so you didn’t really choose to be an artist. It just happened. So I was wondering, now that you know this, would you have done something else if not for being an artist?
A: In the end, I just need to do what I do, regardless of whether it’s labeled as art, therapy, or activism. I already engage in various projects, including writing, curating, speaking and art projects that have a strong cultural, political or educational component. However, all of these projects come from the same source, my artistic heart, and are therefore connected to art. Ultimately, I believe there is a unique potential in art that I don’t see in other fields, and I wouldn’t want to miss out on that! So, I can’t envision another reality for myself. Besides, as you’ve pointed out, I became an artist because, in the end, it was art that saved me from my condition. Therefore, sometimes I fear that if, for some reason, I couldn’t create art anymore due, for example, to financial constraints or other limitations, I would wonder how I should stay healthy.
S: Thank you, Anika. It has been really great talking with you about so many things, exploring your journey, and your priorities in your artistic practice, and getting a glimpse of what’s going on in your mind.
