Creating with my hands
Shaping something with my hands holds a special magic for me. A thought appears like a seed – and begins to grow through doing. I dive in, forget time and space and follow the moment, step by step, shaving by shaving. And in the end I stand there and marvel at what has come into being. Not planned. Not perfect. But alive.
I love the imperfect. The crooked. The supposedly flawed. The knot in the board that cannot be hidden. The grain that goes its own ways. That is precisely where true beauty lies for me, for that is where the material tells its story. That is why I so love creating with my hands.
Craftsmanship was laid in my cradle. My great-grandfather founded a timber construction business, a carpentry. My father already worked there at fourteen and stayed loyal to it until his retirement. To this day he stands by with his knowledge whenever it is needed – a knowledge that is not written in books but lives in the hands.
I was often allowed to go with him: into the workshop, onto the building site, among wood shavings, the smell of glue and tools that had lain in the hands of generations before me. I remember the shriek of the saw, the warm smell of freshly cut wood, sawdust dancing in the light like gold dust.
Later I trained as an electromechanic and, at 25, as a cabinetmaker. Two paths that complement each other. Two languages of creating – one precise and invisible like electricity, the other warm and tangible like wood.
Today I work mainly on the planning side. As a self-employed site manager I lead projects, hold threads together and accompany processes. That makes sense, not least because it leaves me room for my children. Yet working with my hands remains my deep source, from which I draw again and again.
I sense that the energetic balance in many crafts has been thrown off. So much effort, so little appreciation. The system often pushes towards self-exploitation. But I also see: we can break this spiral.
I wish for a future in which craftsmanship regains the place it deserves: an honourable, a living, a creative one. In which a building cleaner, a plumber, a master builder are not smiled at but honoured – for work that makes the living space of all of us possible in the first place. In which we feel again how much dignity lies in handmade work. Every house we sleep in, every table we eat at, came into being through hands.
I also wish that we craftswomen and craftsmen become aware again of how much strength lies within us. That we stand upright like a well-built roof truss – and no longer go along where it makes us small.
Perhaps craftsmanship will become more visible in my life again. Perhaps it will remain my inner anchor, my creative flow. Either way: creating with my hands is part of me, just as the growth rings are part of the tree. And it will always be there.
Genuine. Honest. And full of life.
