Journal

The hands are folded, the gaze is fixed — and it is not meeting anyone in the room. The foreground figure of Le 55 sits with his chin on clasped fingers, a crown of swirling curls above an introspective face, while a second figure in translucent yellow lingers at his shoulder, almost like a projection, a memory, or a reflection. A cocktail glass with a slice of citrus stands at the lower right. The setting is social; the picture is not. Who is truly being seen? The painting was inspired by direct observations at Le 55, the legendary beach club near Saint-Tropez — an environment built around visibility, effortless elegance and social performance. What interested Claus Bertermann was not the famous club itself, and not the individuals in it, but the contradiction that unfolds there: people gathered together, yet emotionally distant; apparent indifference next to the universal desire to be seen. The two figures occupy the same social space and remain psychologically separate. The painting tells no story. It asks a simple question instead: in environments built around visibility, who is truly being seen? Painted with a roller, drawn with an oil stick For his figurative works, Claus Bertermann deliberately changes his physical process. The acrylic ground is applied not with brushes but with a paint roller — a tool that forces broader arm movements and reduces fine control. The result is a raw, uneven field that keeps the momentum of the body visible inside the surface: the luminous green ground of Le 55 still carries the direction of every pass. The figures are then drawn directly with oil stick — intuitively, and independently of the painted ground. The lines do not follow the surface underneath; they cut through it. The face of the foreground figure breaks into angular planes of saturated blues, greens, violets, oranges and reds, held together by bold contour lines. This separation between rough painterly field and assertive drawing is where the painting gets its tension: structure on one side, vulnerability on the other. Built forward, not scraped back Collectors who know the abstract series will recognise the difference immediately. In the abstracts, layers are applied and scraped back again — the image emerges like sediment, by removal. Le 55 is built the opposite way: forward only. Coarse acrylic first, decisive oil stick contours on top. Nothing is taken back; every move stays — including the small cocktail glass that references the social setting without ever becoming illustrative. Made by a real person — not AI Like every work in the studio, Le 55 is an original, one-of-a-kind painting, made by hand by a real person, not AI. The roller marks in the green ground, the breaks in the oil stick line, the small irregularities of the surface — all of it is intentional, and all of it is the record of a human body moving in front of the canvas. Le 55, 2026. Acrylic and oil stick on canvas, 130 × 180 cm (height × width). Signed on the front and the back. Part of the figurative works. → View Le 55 in the gallery

The whole two-metre canvas holds a single moment of letting go. A head has sunk onto folded arms, the eyes are closed, the face rests in glowing orange against the dark of the hair. An oversized hand in magenta, its fingertips dipped in yellow, lies heavy in the foreground. Behind the figure, the room keeps its rhythm — horizontal stripes of blue and green, even and indifferent. The figure has left that rhythm entirely. Present in the room, drifted out of it. A condition, not a narrative What does she dream of? The painting refuses to say. A curled, rose-like form in pink and yellow rises against the stripes at the right — it stays deliberately unresolved, like the dream itself. Daydreaming is not a story with a before and after; it presents a condition — the moment attention lets go of its surroundings and turns inward, somewhere no one can follow. The dark field along the lower edge and the violet corner give that inwardness its weight. Painted with a roller, drawn with an oil stick For his figurative works, Claus Bertermann deliberately changes his physical process. The acrylic ground is applied not with brushes but with a paint roller — a tool that forces broader arm movements and reduces fine control. In Daydreaming the striped ground makes that discipline visible: band after band of blue and green, laid in broad passes, still carrying the momentum of the body. The figure is then drawn directly with oil stick — intuitively, and independently of the painted ground. The lines do not follow the surface underneath; they cut through it: restless scribbles of green over the arms, dense reds in the hair, the heavy contour of the resting hand. This separation between rough painterly field and assertive drawing is where the painting gets its tension — the even stripes of the room against the unruly lines of the dream. Built forward, not scraped back Collectors who know the abstract series will recognise the difference immediately. In the abstracts, layers are applied and scraped back again — the image emerges like sediment, by removal. Daydreaming is built the opposite way: forward only. Coarse acrylic first, decisive oil stick contours on top. Nothing is taken back; every move stays. Made by a real person — not AI Like every work in the studio, Daydreaming is an original, one-of-a-kind painting, made by hand by a real person, not AI. The roller passes in the stripes, the breaks in the oil stick line, the small irregularities of the surface — all of it is intentional, and all of it is the record of a human body moving in front of a two-metre canvas. Daydreaming, 2026. Acrylic and oil stick on canvas, 200 × 200 cm (height × width). Signed on the front and the back. Part of the figurative works. → View Daydreaming in the gallery

Blitz Liebe — Lightning Love — catches two people in the exact instant the bolt lands. Cheek pressed to cheek, four eyes thrown wide open, they stare out of the canvas with the slightly alarmed euphoria of having fallen in love far too quickly and having no intention of slowing down. A single butterfly makes its escape toward the upper corner — the last cliché to leave the building, as if even the proverbial butterflies in the stomach knew to get out before the voltage rose any higher. A condition, not a narrative Who struck whom first? Whose hand is resting on whose shoulder? The painting flatly refuses to clarify, and that is precisely the point — Blitz Liebe never bothers with the paperwork. It leaves the viewer suspended in the giddy, faintly absurd suspense of the coup de foudre: thrilling, irreversible, and just a little ridiculous — which is, of course, exactly how it feels. No before, no after; a condition, rendered as a beautiful electrical fault. Painted with a roller, drawn with an oil pastel For his figurative works, Claus Bertermann deliberately changes his physical process. The acrylic ground is applied not with brushes but with a roller or an extra-wide brush — tools that force broader arm movements and reduce fine control. In Blitz Liebe this produces a raw, electric field: a vibrating acid-green that carries visible momentum and bodily rhythm before a single face appears. The figures are then drawn directly with oil pastel — intuitively, and independently of the painted ground. The lines do not conform to the surface beneath them; they cut across it, looping the wide orange-rimmed eyes, the grinning mouths and the restless, white-outlined fingers into existence. Brilliant electric pinks, intense yellows and deep blues erupt across the faces. This separation between rough painterly field and assertive drawing establishes the tension the whole picture runs on: structure against impulse — the very mismatch that powers love at first sight. Built forward, not scraped back Collectors who know the abstract series will recognise the difference immediately. In the abstracts, layers are applied and scraped back again — the image emerges like sediment, by removal. Blitz Liebe is built the opposite way: forward only. Coarse acrylic application followed by decisive oil-pastel contours — no second-guessing, no undo. Exactly like the moment it depicts. Made by a real person — not AI Like every work in the studio, Blitz Liebe is an original, one-of-a-kind painting, made by hand by a real person, not AI. The marks of the roller in the acid-green ground, the breaks in the oil-pastel line, the small irregularities of the surface — all of it is intentional, and all of it is the record of a human body moving in front of the canvas. Blitz Liebe, 2026. Acrylic and oil pastel on canvas, 160 × 160 cm (height × width). Signed on the front and the back. Part of the figurative works. → View Blitz Liebe in the gallery

The laboratories building artificial intelligence have started saying something remarkable about their own work: most of the routine making — the writing, the coding, the producing — is increasingly done by machines. Execution is becoming cheap. What the machines do not supply is the part that decides whether a thing is right: judgment. The scarcer good was never the ability to produce. It was always the ability to choose. A painting is a stack of decisions A two-metre canvas does not record talent. It records roughly a thousand decisions — which colour goes down first, where a layer is allowed to survive, when a passage that took three days gets scraped away because the picture is better without it. After more than 1,000 large-format abstract and figurative works created and sold over the last decade, I can say this plainly: the paint is the cheap part. The judgment about the paint is the work. Training the eye is slower than training a model I trained as an architect before I painted, and spent two decades building companies in between. Architecture teaches a particular discipline: every decision is load-bearing, and you live with what you decide. Running a business teaches the same lesson at a different price: judgment is the only thing you cannot delegate. An AI model can be trained in months. An eye — a sense for when a surface is finished, when a line carries weight, when a picture stops needing you — is trained over decades, mostly through being wrong. That asymmetry is the point. What takes decades to build does not become abundant just because everything else did. Tools that remove control sharpen judgment In the studio I often choose tools that reduce my precision rather than increase it — a paint roller instead of brushes, an oil stick drawing a silhouette in one pass. Less control over the stroke forces more judgment about the whole: where to stop, what to keep, what survives. This is the opposite of how machines improve, which is by tightening control over every variable. A painting gets better the other way — by deciding well under conditions you refuse to fully control. Made by a real person — not AI Every work in this studio is an original, one-of-a-kind painting, made by hand by a real person, not AI. As generated images become effortless and infinite, that sentence changes meaning: it no longer just describes a method, it names what you are actually acquiring — condensed human judgment, a record of one person deciding, in front of a canvas, thousands of times, what is right. Execution can be automated. Deciding what is worth executing cannot. A selection of works is in the abstract series and the figurative works.

She is fully in the room — and somehow not in it at all. The seated figure in Elsewhere holds the canvas with her whole weight: wrapped in black, legs folded close, one hand resting on her knee. But her gaze has dropped away, turned toward something outside the frame, somewhere the viewer cannot follow. The painting tells no story. It presents a condition — the quiet displacement of being physically present while one's attention lives elsewhere. A condition, not a narrative Cool mint greens, teal and pale ivory carry the space around her; the warm, earthy tones of her skin and the ground beneath her are the only heat in the picture. Anatomy is deliberately simplified, slightly distorted — emotional weight matters more here than correctness. Nothing in the composition explains who she is or what she waits for. That is the point: Elsewhere is less a portrait than a state of being made visible. Painted with a roller, drawn with an oil stick For his figurative works, Claus Bertermann deliberately changes his physical process. The acrylic ground is applied not with brushes but with a paint roller — a tool that forces broader arm movements and reduces fine control. The result is a raw, uneven field that keeps the momentum of the body visible inside the surface. The figure's silhouette is then drawn directly with oil stick — intuitively, and independently of the painted ground. The lines do not follow the surface underneath; they cut through it. This separation between rough painterly field and assertive drawing is where the painting gets its tension: structure on one side, vulnerability on the other. Built forward, not scraped back Collectors who know the abstract series will recognise the difference immediately. In the abstracts, layers are applied and scraped back again — the image emerges like sediment, by removal. Elsewhere is built the opposite way: forward only. Coarse acrylic first, decisive oil stick contours on top. Nothing is taken back; every move stays. Made by a real person — not AI Like every work in the studio, Elsewhere is an original, one-of-a-kind painting, made by hand by a real person, not AI. The marks of the roller, the breaks in the oil stick line, the small irregularities of the surface — all of it is intentional, and all of it is the record of a human body moving in front of a two-metre canvas. Elsewhere, 2026. Acrylic and oil stick on canvas, 200 × 180 cm (height × width). Signed on the front and the back. Part of the figurative works. → View Elsewhere in the gallery

Grit and Grace XXL is a square oil on canvas, 160 by 160 centimetres, executed in 2023. It is currently offered at Sotheby's as Lot 25 of the Modern & Contemporary Discoveries sale — a curated online auction placing emerging and mid-career painters alongside established names in the modernist tradition. The work belongs to the Abstract Series. Large-format paintings built in layers of oil, the surface worked and reworked until what remains is structural rather than decorative. The title names two forces that run through the process: the resistance of the material, and the resolution that occasionally emerges from it. At 160 by 160 centimetres, the canvas is designed to hold a room. It is signed lower right, and again on the reverse with the title and date. A certificate of authenticity signed by the artist accompanies the work. Claus Bertermann is a trained architect working as a painter in Oviedo, Spain. More than 1,000 large-format works have been sold. His paintings have appeared at auction at Sotheby's, Christie's, Van Ham, Artcurial, Tajan, and Dorotheum, with prices ranging from USD 6,500 to 20,700. In 2026, six works are on view at Palazzo Bembo, Venice, as part of Personal Structures. Confluences — the European Cultural Centre's biennial exhibition running through November alongside the Venice Biennale. The Sotheby's listing carries a pre-sale estimate of EUR 6,000 to 8,000. View Lot 25 at Sotheby's — Modern & Contemporary Discoveries 2026

The Palazzo Bembo sits directly on the Grand Canal — not behind it, not near it, on it. Stone floor, high ceilings, the sound of water audible if the room goes quiet enough. It is one of the oldest exhibition venues in Venice, and since 2011, during every edition of the Venice Biennale, the European Cultural Centre has filled it with contemporary art from across the world. This year, Claus Bertermann is among them. Personal Structures. Confluences opened on May 9, 2026, and runs through November 22. It is the eighth biennial edition of an exhibition that has always operated on its own terms — independent, international, refusing easy categorisation. This year, 175 artists from more than forty countries are represented across three ECC venues in Venice. The work spans painting, sculpture, photography, installation, and forms that resist a single word. The thread running through it is the theme: Confluences. What happens where things meet. Six works are on view, among them 03NR#CB, made in 2024. It belongs to the Abstract Series — oil on canvas, built in layers, scraped back, layered again. The process is slow and physical. What survives is what the canvas chose to keep. The piece is large. It needs room to be seen correctly, and the Palazzo Bembo gives it that. The list of artists in the exhibition includes Keith Haring, ORLAN, and Hirohiko Araki. Media partners include ArtReview and Ocula. Admission is free. The exhibition is open daily from 10:00 to 18:00, closed on Tuesdays. For collectors and curators travelling to Venice this season: Palazzo Bembo, Campo San Luca, San Marco 3609. Information and the full list of participating artists: personalstructures.com

The Covered Walkway There is a word that recurs in every language that has touched the art world. In Danish, it is galleri. In Spanish, galería. In German, Galerie. All of them trace back to the Latin galeria — a covered walkway, a passage, a sheltered route between one place and another. The gallery, etymologically, was never just a destination. It was a corridor. That feels accurate. A good gallery partnership is not a transaction. It is an opening of passage — between an artist's studio in one part of Europe and an audience in another. Claus Bertermann is based in Oviedo, in Asturias, on the northern coast of Spain. Galleri Nijenkamp is based in Odense, Denmark. Between them: the width of a continent, two coastlines facing different seas, and a shared dedication to the power of contemporary painting. Starting today, bertermann.art is listing Galleri Nijenkamp as a strategic gallery partner. This collaboration is built on a specific, deliberate focus. While the studio in Oviedo remains the origin for all of Claus Bertermann's output, Galleri Nijenkamp will represent the artist’s abstract body of work. This partnership celebrates the abstract paintings — works built through accumulation and erasure, where layer upon layer of oil is applied only for the palette knife to reveal what was buried beneath. By focusing on this specific discipline, Galleri Nijenkamp provides a dedicated home for the works that require a particular kind of dialogue: large-format pieces for collectors who are ready to live with art that doesn't explain itself. If you are visiting from Denmark: welcome. You will find two distinct paths here. The abstract works, which define our partnership with Galleri Nijenkamp, and the figurative works, which move differently — with roller-applied grounds and oil crayon silhouettes that float free of their backgrounds. Both belong to the same artistic vision, but it is the abstraction that finds its curated passage through the halls in Odense. The goal is to build, over time, a network of a few select galleries across Europe that represent such a genuine alignment. This is the first step. More to follow. Gallery Partners → bertermann.art/galleries

When Carl Linnaeus named the genus *Geranium* in 1753, he was not thinking of the red balcony bloom most of us now picture. He was thinking of a crane. The Greek word *géranos* described the bird's long, angular beak, and Linnaeus saw the same shape in the plant's seed pod — narrow, pointed, patient. Two and a half centuries later, the flower has outgrown the comparison. The bird has disappeared into the name. That is the kind of detail that usually starts a painting for me. Not a feeling — a thing. A word with a history folded into it, a door that opens onto something older than the subject. *Geranium* is a 130 × 130 cm oil on canvas, finished in my Oviedo studio in the spring of 2026. The square format matters: 130 × 130 removes the easy orientation of portrait or landscape and forces the image to hold its own centre. Spring, in this part of Asturias, arrives as a kind of pressure — the hills go from grey to an almost aggressive green inside a single week, the jasmine starts before you are ready for it, the light changes angle. The painting began with that pressure rather than with a composition. The first ground went on wet, with the overwide brushes I use for the initial fields — a yellow that is almost acid against a deep magenta, laid in broad, sweeping motions. Over that, red, cobalt, a violet so dark it reads as black at the edges. Each layer had to dry just enough to take the next without dissolving it entirely, but not so much that the palette knife would merely scratch the surface. That timing is the whole craft of sedimentary painting: the window in which the layer below is still present but no longer sovereign. The diagonal green that now cuts across the canvas was the fifth or sixth decision, not the first. It is the sweep that makes the painting readable — the movement that says *spring* without illustrating a leaf. Once it was in, I scraped. The palette knife took back the red in the upper centre, opened a yellow window where there had been magenta, and exposed the earliest ground at the lower right. What survives on the surface is not what was applied last; it is what was chosen to remain. I keep returning to the same sentence when I explain this work to visitors: *what is scraped away is as important as what is added*. An abstract painting built this way is not a picture of something — it is the sediment of a sequence of decisions, some of them irreversible. The viewer does not see the choices in order; they see their result. That is closer to how memory actually works than any figurative painting I could make. The title came afterwards. I had been reading about Linnaeus and the crane the week before, and the diagonal green in the finished canvas looked, from the side, like the beak he had in mind — not a flower, a bird. The name fitted the painting in the way the Greek word fits the plant: by a relation most people no longer see, but which is quietly there. *Geranium* is available directly from the studio. Full details below. ## Artwork Details - Title: Geranium - Year: 2026 - Medium: Oil on canvas - Size: 130 × 130 cm - Signed: yes, front lower right - Price: on request - Enquiries: https://bertermann.art

There is a word in Asturian Spanish — Quintana — that you will see painted on stone walls and carved into wooden gateposts if you drive through the villages of Asturias and Galicia. It names farmhouses, valleys, streets. It sounds old because it is old. And like most old words, it carries more inside it than its surface suggests. A Quintana, at its most basic, is the open space in front of a rural house — the threshold between the private world of a family and the shared life of a village. The place where neighbors gathered, where harvests were sorted, where the social fabric of a community was woven, season by season. If you have ever stood in one of those spaces — surrounded by hórreos, by stone walls covered in lichen, by the particular green of Asturian rain — you understand why it became the center of everything. But the etymology goes further. The word derives from the Latin quinta — the fifth. Because the tenant who worked the land was once obliged to surrender the fifth part of every harvest to the landowner. One-fifth. Every season. Not as a gift, but as a condition of being allowed to stay. That is the theme I was thinking about when I started this painting. --- The Technique: Sediment as Method My large-format abstract works are built on a principle I think of as sedimentary painting. I work in successive layers — oil on oil — each one applied with commitment and then partially removed before the next arrives. I use extra-wide brushes for the broad, rhythmic gestures that establish the structure of a composition. I use palette knives for the harder decisions: the cuts, the corrections, the moments where something underneath needs to come back to the surface. The scraping is the most critical act. When I drag a palette knife across a layer of paint that is not yet fully dry, I am making an irreversible choice. What I remove is gone. What remains is what the canvas keeps. Over time, these accumulated decisions — apply, develop, remove, reveal — create something that resembles geology. Layers of color that exist simultaneously, each one influencing the ones above it and the ones below. I often say: I don't paint what I see. I excavate what was already there. This excavation — the accumulated result of physical decisions made and reversed over weeks — is what makes each painting irreducibly singular. It is hand-made in the most direct sense: applied, removed, and transformed by a human hand, layer by layer, until the painting reaches a point of resolution it chose for itself. --- Quintana: What the Painting Holds In "Quintana," the lowest layers are the warmest. Reds, oranges, and yellows — the colors of fire, of Asturian autumn, of the earth before it cools. These were laid down first, with urgency, without plan. They are the foundation, though you would not know it from looking at the finished surface. Above them came the cooler tones: the turquoise, the silver-grey, the blue that moves like weather across the upper part of the canvas. These layers were applied with the extra-wide brush — long, sweeping movements that required the full engagement of the body, not just the wrist. At 200 centimeters of height, you do not paint a canvas like this from the elbow. You paint it from the shoulder, from the spine, from whatever is driving you that day. The silver ribbons that twist through the center of the composition came last — or nearly last. They were created in a single session of continuous movement, each stroke building on the momentum of the one before. Then, partially scraped. What you see now is what survived. The fire is still there. It is visible in the gaps, in the places where the cool surface has been removed and what was buried reasserts itself. The debt, you could say, is still being paid. --- On Painting in Asturias I have lived and worked in Oviedo for some years now, and the landscape here has entered my work in ways I did not entirely anticipate. Asturias is a place of extraordinary density — geological, historical, agricultural. The green is almost aggressively present. The stone is very old. The rain is patient. My mother is Spanish, and the culture of this region is part of what I carry. The Quintanas I pass on country roads, the hórreos in village squares, the particular quality of the light after a long rain — these things are not illustrations in my work. They are pressures. They push on the painting from the inside. "Quintana" is not a landscape. But it is a painting that could only have been made here. --- Artwork Details Title: Quintana Year: 2026 Dimensions: 200 × 120 cm Medium: Oil on Canvas Status: Available for private acquisition For acquisition inquiries, please visit bertermann.art or contact the studio directly. --- Currently at Auction Two of my large-format abstract works are currently up for auction at Setdart Auction House in Barcelona. Live bidding takes place on 16 April 2026 — both works estimated at 5,500–6,000 €. "OSFH#CB" (2025), 150 × 130 cm, Oil on Canvas — Lot 57 → https://www.setdart.com/subasta/displayimage/pintura-siglo-xxi/pid=351491621/newlang=english.html "44B9#CB" (2024), 150 × 150 cm, Oil on Canvas — Lot 16 → https://www.setdart.com/subasta/displayimage/pintura-siglo-xxi/pid=351491620.html Setdart is one of Spain's leading auction houses, based in Barcelona. Registration and bidding at www.setdart.com.

Royalty in the Garden of Devotion A Whimsical Power Dynamic In the heart of every dog lover’s home, there is a silent understanding: we are not the masters; we are the devoted subjects. My latest large-scale work, "FLOWER SHOWER" (130 x 180 cm), captures this exact sentiment with a touch of irony and a lot of color. Set against a swirling storm of neon blossoms, a regal French Bulldog sits enthroned, receiving the ultimate tribute from a bowing human figure. The Artistic Process: Movement and Texture Creating a piece of this magnitude requires a physically engaged process. To achieve the deep, atmospheric blue and violet background, I moved away from traditional brushes and used a paint roller. This technique allows for broad, rhythmic arm movements that reflect the energy of the "flower storm" itself. The figures and the vibrant flora were then drawn directly onto this textured ground using oil crayons. This separation between the raw, roller-painted acrylic and the intuitive, waxy lines of the crayon creates a unique signature style—a tension between structural chaos and figurative vulnerability that defines my current work in the contemporary European art scene. The Mystery: What is the Frenchie Thinking? I often get asked about the narrative behind the gaze. Is the Frenchie acknowledging the human’s devotion with noble, silent grace? Or is he simply a pragmatic sovereign, wondering when the next treat will arrive? This playful ambiguity is what makes the bond between humans and their four-legged masters so divine. From the Retiro to the Studio Whether you are strolling through the historic Retiro Park in Madrid or exploring the hidden art districts of Berlin or Paris, the sight of a proud Frenchie is universal. "FLOWER SHOWER" bridges the gap between the everyday walk in the park and the grand traditions of royal portraiture. It is a celebration of presence, loyalty, and the colorful joy that pets bring into our "internal landscapes." Why This Piece Matters for Collectors Executed in 2026, this one-of-a-kind original represents a mature example of my exploration into modern figurative painting. The contrast between the industrial application of the acrylic and the fragile, human touch of the oil crayon makes it a visually compelling statement for any modern collection. It is a work that doesn't just hang on a wall; it commands the room with its vibrant energy and relatable soul.

The Prince of Wits in Neon and Shadow The Mystery Behind the Gaze It is one of the greatest ironies in literary history: Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, the man who gave the world the first modern novel and the immortal figure of Don Quixote, left behind no confirmed contemporary portrait. We know his words, his wit, and his "aquiline face," but his true likeness remains a ghost in the annals of the Spanish Golden Age. As an artist, this mystery isn't a hurdle—it’s an invitation. In my latest work, CERVANTES, I set out not to replicate a historical myth, but to capture the vibrant, restless, and deeply human spirit of the man himself. A Symphony of Color and Legacy In this 130x110 cm piece, I moved away from the somber, darkened palettes typically associated with 17th-century Spanish masters like Velázquez or El Greco. Instead, I chose to bathe Cervantes in a "Flower Shower" of neon greens, electric blues, and fiery magentas. Why? Because Cervantes’ mind was anything but gray. He was a soldier, a slave, a tax collector, and a dreamer. His life was a kaleidoscope of high stakes and deep reflections. The bold colors represent the timelessness of his irony—humor that remains as sharp today as it was in 1605. The Composition: The Thinker and the Soldier The portrait focuses on the contemplative weight of the author. With his hand to his chin, we see the "Prince of Wits" in a moment of creation—perhaps at the exact second the idea for a mad knight attacking windmills first flickered into existence. The expressive, almost frantic brushstrokes around his ruff and doublet suggest a man who was always ahead of his time, a spirit that couldn't be contained by the rigid social structures of Imperial Spain. What Would Cervantes Say? I often ask myself during the painting process: What would the subject think of his subordinate? If Cervantes stood before this canvas today, I believe he would meet it with his signature satirical smile. He was a man who understood the power of perspective. In this portrait, he isn't just a statue in a plaza in Alcalá de Henares; he is alive, questioning the viewer, and reminding us that reality is often just a matter of imagination. A Connection Across Time This painting is more than a tribute; it is a dialogue. By bringing CERVANTES into a modern figurative style, I aim to bridge the gap between the historic Barrio de las Letras in Madrid and the contemporary art scene. Whether this piece hangs in a sunlit loft or a formal gallery, it commands the room, demanding that we look at history through a more vivid lens. Why Cervantes Now? In an age of digital noise, the story of Cervantes is a reminder of the power of the individual voice. He wrote Don Quixote to "cleanse the world," and through this portrait, I hope to bring a bit of that cleansing, vibrant energy to the viewer. It is a celebration of the "Prince of Wits"—bold, unapologetic, and forever young.

Almost\n\nAcrylic and oil crayon on canvas 180 × 200 cm 2026 Sometimes what matters most is not what happens — but what almost happens. Almost holds that suspended moment. A figure lies within the space. Not dramatic. Not narrative. Neither fully present nor withdrawn. The body exists, but it is not fully resolved. It feels as if something is about to shift — but remains still. Process This work belongs to my figurative practice, which I approach differently from my abstract paintings. The background is created with acrylic applied using a paint roller. The movement of the arm becomes broader, less controlled, more physical. Large gestures replace detail. The figure is then drawn with oil crayon. The line does not obediently follow the painted surface beneath it. It cuts across it. It asserts itself. Unlike my abstract works, I do not scrape away layers here. Nothing is removed. The decisions remain visible. Scale At 180 × 200 cm, "Almost" has a physical presence that cannot be translated through images alone. The figure is not something you look at from a distance — it confronts you. The scale demands space. It demands quiet. It invites a slower kind of attention. Why “Almost”? Because the work is not about completion. It is about proximity. Almost movement. Almost touch. Almost certainty. Almost.

With Nice Try, I close a chapter that has been quietly unfolding over the past months: a figurative painting about perception, control, and the illusion of advantage. At first glance, the scene feels familiar — two figures face each other across a poker table. Cards are scattered, glasses half-empty, a Bitcoin lies casually among the stakes. Architecture rises behind them in fractured perspective, suggesting both grandeur and instability. But as with most games, the real tension lives beneath the surface. Look closer. One player hides an Ace of Hearts under his sleeve — a classic gesture of deception. Yet another Ace of Hearts already rests on the table. This single detail collapses the entire strategy. The cheater cannot play his final card without exposing himself. What seemed like a winning position becomes a dead end. And suddenly the narrative flips. Who has really lost? Who has already won? The title Nice Try deliberately leaves that question unresolved. It may refer to the player who thought he was ahead. Or to the one who engineered the trap. Or perhaps to both — caught inside a system where every move is already priced in. The Bitcoin functions as a quiet conceptual pivot: used here ironically as a “proof of stake,” despite Bitcoin operating on proof of work. It’s a small contradiction that mirrors the larger theme of misplaced trust — in systems, in signals, in appearances. Visually, the painting balances expressive line work with hard color fields, combining architectural structure with raw gesture. Oil crayon cuts through acrylic layers, creating a surface that feels both immediate and calculated. The surrounding white border (approximately 10 cm / 4 inches) allows the work to be stretched on museum-grade frames up to 5 cm thick without the need for an external frame — a practical detail that also reinforces the painting’s autonomous presence. Nice Try is not about gambling. It’s about asymmetry of information. About thinking you’re ahead while the outcome has already shifted. About playing inside rules that someone else quietly rewrote. The painting belongs to my current figurative cycle, which explores contemporary power structures through intimate, almost theatrical scenes — moments where personal psychology meets global systems. As always, the work is sold unframed and without stretcher bars, allowing collectors full freedom in presentation. Sometimes the most interesting stories begin exactly where confidence ends. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

Dear all, It is about time to clarify an important fact about my professional status: I AM AN INDEPENDENT ARTIST. NO AGENT, NO MANAGEMENT, AND NO DEALER ACTS ON MY BEHALF WORLDWIDE. My artistic practice is fully independent. I have no exclusive representation anywhere. I work with selected partner galleries on a non-exclusive, regional basis — Galleri Nijenkamp (Odense, Denmark) is a confirmed partner — but no third party speaks for me or my work. From time to time, information may circulate suggesting third-party representation of my work. I would like to clarify that any such claims do not reflect my current professional status. All works presented on my official website bertermann.art are offered directly by me, the artist. My website bertermann.art is the only official platform where I publish current projects, new works, and verified information about my practice. Collectors, galleries, and art professionals are warmly invited to contact me directly. This marks a deliberate step toward autonomy, transparency, and direct relationships — both creatively and professionally. I want to thank you all for your continued support, Claus Bertermann

Virgen Extra is now officially finished. The large-format figurative painting (200 × 150 cm), created in acrylic and oil crayon on canvas, marks a new chapter in my ongoing exploration of contemporary human behavior, symbolism, and quiet absurdity. At the center stands a distinguished gentleman caught in a strangely refined moment: drinking extra virgin olive oil. Not as a joke. Not as spectacle. As adaptation. In times when reality feels increasingly difficult to process, one simply changes the recipe. A Figurative Metaphor for Our Present. Virgen Extra reflects a world where gestures become substitutes for meaning, and elegance masks unease. The vibrant palette contrasts with the psychological tension of the scene — bold color fields collide with graphic line work, while the figure oscillates between composure and collapse. Hands, face, and body are fragmented and reassembled through layered marks, suggesting overstimulation, information overload, and emotional dislocation. Flowers hover like decorative distractions. The act itself — consuming olive oil — becomes a metaphor for forced nourishment in an environment that no longer feels digestible. This painting continues my figurative language: expressive, ironic, and deliberately uncomfortable. Not loud. Just persistent. Artwork Details: Title: Virgen Extra Year: 2026 Medium: Acrylic & oil crayon on canvas Dimensions: 200 × 150 cm Status: Available The painting is now offered also through 1stDibs under Claus Bertermann. For further works, studio updates, and upcoming releases, visit my official website: 👉 https://bertermann.art Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

I’m currently working on a new large-scale figurative painting titled "Virgen Extra". The scene is simple: a distinguished gentleman drinks olive oil Virgen Extra straight from the bottle. The painting operates as a metaphor for our present moment: a world that feels increasingly detached from logic, proportion, and consequence. When reality starts behaving irrationally, sometimes the only reasonable response is to do something equally irrational — with dignity. “Virgen Extra” continues my recent focus on figurative work, where characters appear caught between gesture and collapse, clarity and overload. Influenced by German Expressionism and Art Brut, I use bold color fields, fragmented outlines, and raw painterly marks to build emotional pressure inside the composition. The figure is both absurd and composed — a quiet observer participating in the chaos. While my abstract paintings explore rhythm, structure, and spatial balance, my figurative works introduce narrative tension and psychological presence. Here, color isn’t decorative; it’s structural. It carries weight, irony, and contradiction. This piece is still in progress, but already signals the direction of a broader figurative series currently developing in my studio. After recent works such as The Winner Takes It All – The Bitcoin Hand, this painting marks another step toward merging social commentary with large-scale contemporary painting. More figurative works in this language will follow. Sometimes art doesn’t need to explain the world. Sometimes it just mirrors it — bottle included. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann. Oviedo, studio

The Last Song "The Last Song" is a new large-scale figurative painting by Claus Bertermann, measuring 200 × 450 cm, executed in acrylic, pencil and oil pastel on canvas. The work takes its point of departure from Leonardo da Vinci’s "The Last Supper", not as a religious image, but as a cultural archetype: a final gathering, a charged table, a moment suspended between connection and collapse. In Claus Bertermann’s interpretation, the biblical narrative dissolves into a contemporary scene populated by fragmented figures, overlapping gestures, and intensified color. Rather than depicting a single protagonist, "The Last Song" focuses on the collective. Each figure appears present yet disconnected, engaged in parallel states of attention. Hands reach, signals overlap, and communication becomes ambiguous. The table remains a place of encounter, but also of dissonance. Color plays a structural role throughout the painting. Neon-like hues and layered surfaces create tension between depth and flatness, movement and stasis. The composition is dense and theatrical, yet deliberately unstable, reflecting a moment in which meaning is no longer shared but negotiated in fragments. "The Last Song" marks a continuation of Claus Bertermann’s figurative practice, which functions as a deliberate counterpoint to his abstract work. While his abstract paintings explore rhythm, balance, and spatial clarity, his figurative works introduce narrative pressure, emotional immediacy, and physical gesture. Both practices inform each other and remain essential to his artistic process. This painting does not offer resolution. Instead, it captures the final moment before a transition — when something familiar ends, and the next state has not yet revealed itself. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

I am pleased to announce that my work is now represented on 1stDibs, a leading international online marketplace for exceptional design and fine art. Founded in 2000, 1stDibs has built its reputation on connecting collectors, interior designers, architects, and design professionals with carefully vetted sellers and makers of high-quality objects. The platform is known for its curated selection of vintage, antique, and contemporary furniture, home décor, fine art, jewelry, and fashion, with a strong focus on unique works and design-led contexts. Within this framework, my presence on 1stDibs is focused on contemporary fine art, presented in dialogue with architecture, interior design, and spatial concepts. I am currently showing a curated selection of my abstract paintings, emphasizing large-scale formats, material presence, and a strong sense of balance and structure. These works are conceived as unique, one-of-a-kind pieces and are intended for collectors and design professionals seeking contemporary painting with architectural relevance. My website bertermann.art remains the primary platform where I present the full scope of my artistic practice, including both abstract and figurative works, studio projects, and contextual information about my work. The representation on 1stDibs complements this by providing an additional, highly focused environment for international visibility and placement within design-oriented collections and interiors. Being represented on 1stDibs marks another step in the continued development and international positioning of my work. Further paintings will be added gradually, always within a clearly curated and coherent framework. Updates on new works, projects, and publications will continue to be shared here on bertermann.art. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

A new monumental figurative painting is currently in development in my studio. Measuring 200 × 450 cm (78.7 × 177.2 inches), the work is conceived at a scale that directly addresses architecture and spatial context rather than conventional, front-facing viewing. The painting is still in progress and remains deliberately open at this stage. Figuration is present, but not fixed. The image is built through gradual construction, interruption, and revision, allowing the figure to emerge as part of a larger structural field rather than as a narrative focal point. At this scale, the painting is experienced physically as much as visually — through distance, movement, and shifting perception. Working on a monumental format alters the relationship between surface and decision-making. Gestures must hold over long spans, proportions must remain stable across height and width, and the figure must sustain tension without relying on anecdote or detail. The process is slow, layered, and materially driven, with each phase leaving traces that remain active within the final composition. The title and specific content of the work will be disclosed only once the painting has reached completion. For now, what can be shared is its presence as an evolving structure — a figurative work unfolding over time, shaped by scale, material resistance, and spatial logic. This blog is published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann, where current projects, works in progress, and authoritative updates on my practice are documented directly from the studio. Further updates on this monumental figurative painting will follow as the work advances. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

I am currently working on a new monumental figurative painting in my studio. With dimensions of 200 × 450 cm (78.7 × 177.2 inches), the work is conceived on an architectural scale and developed specifically for large spatial contexts rather than conventional gallery viewing distances. At this stage, both the title and the narrative content of the painting remain undisclosed. What I am sharing here is a first visual insight into the work in progress — a moment where color fields, spatial structure, and emerging figuration are still in active negotiation. The image documents an early phase, before the painting settles into its final form. Working at this scale requires a fundamentally different approach. Decisions are driven less by detail and more by rhythm, proportion, and spatial tension. The figurative elements are not treated as illustrative motifs, but as structural components within the overall composition, interacting directly with color, surface, and architectural logic. As with much of my recent figurative and abstract work, this painting develops through layering, interruption, and reduction. Areas are built up, partially removed, and redefined over time. Figuration emerges gradually from this process rather than being fixed from the beginning. What matters most at this point is maintaining openness and internal tension. Sharing an unfinished work is a deliberate choice. It allows a glimpse into how a painting constructs itself over time — before clarity replaces uncertainty. Further details, including the title and completed imagery, will be published once the work reaches its final state. For now, this image marks the beginning of a new large-scale figurative work. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

Acquired by a German collector in a mid–five-figure EUR transaction The Winner Takes It All – The Bitcoin Hand was conceived as a figurative painting about risk, conviction, and the quiet violence of decision-making in contemporary life. Set around a poker table, the scene stages a moment of tension that feels both intimate and systemic — a snapshot of power, chance, and consequence. The reference to Bitcoin is not literal, but symbolic. It stands for a broader mindset: speculation, belief, volatility, and the willingness to stake everything on an idea whose outcome cannot be fully controlled. Like a high-stakes hand of cards, the painting captures the psychological space between calculation and intuition — that precise moment when commitment becomes irreversible. On the poker table itself, two small but charged symbols appear: a fish, traditionally associated with losing and inexperience at the table, and a Bitcoin, standing for risk-taking, speculation, and the possibility of winning against conventional logic. Together, they quietly underline the asymmetry of the situation — not everyone at the table plays by the same rules or with the same awareness. Visually, the work balances strong color contrasts with deliberately fractured figures. The characters are present but not individualized; they function as roles rather than portraits. Their gestures, hands, and postures carry the narrative weight. The table becomes a stage, the cards a catalyst, and the surrounding architecture a compressed, almost claustrophobic frame that reinforces the pressure of the situation. At a scale of 160 × 310 cm, the painting is physically immersive. It was created to dominate space rather than decorate it — an image that asserts itself and asks the viewer to slow down, read the room, and reflect on their own relationship to risk and reward. The work was recently sold and now forms part of a private collection. Its sale marks another important milestone in my ongoing exploration of figurative painting as a counterpoint to abstraction — a space where narrative, symbolism, and psychological tension can unfold more directly. "Some hands are played carefully. Others are played to win everything." Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

Today marks the beginning of a new large-scale figurative project in my studio. The exact title and final form of this work are still intentionally undisclosed. What I can share, however, is the emotional territory it will explore: music, presence, and the conscious decision to enjoy life while it is still unfolding. This project is conceived in an XXL format — not only in terms of physical scale, but also in attitude. It is about immersion. About stepping fully into a moment without overexplaining it. Music plays a central role, not as an illustration, but as a rhythm, a structure, and a shared language that carries memory, joy, and urgency at the same time. Figurative painting allows me to approach these themes with directness. It is faster, more decisive, and less negotiable than abstraction. There is little distance between impulse and action. This immediacy feels essential for a project that revolves around enjoyment, intensity, and the awareness that time is finite. “Enjoying life while it lasts” is not meant nostalgically. It is not about escape. It is about attentiveness — about recognizing moments of connection, sound, movement, and presence as something worth holding onto, even briefly. Over the coming weeks, this project will take shape layer by layer. For now, it remains open, unresolved, and intentionally undefined. More will be shared once the work itself begins to speak. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

My work as an artist is rooted in a continuous exploration of material, form, and perception. On bertermann.art, I present my practice as a contemporary painter working between abstraction and figuration, informed by material research, painterly tradition, and personal artistic heritage. Each artwork is conceived as an independent object—one that exists beyond representation and invites a direct, physical encounter. Contemporary Abstract and Figurative Painting At the core of my practice are both abstract paintings and figurative works. While abstraction allows me to focus on structure, rhythm, and surface, figuration introduces the human presence—often reduced, fragmented, or emotionally charged rather than descriptive. My figurative paintings are strongly influenced by German Expressionism, particularly its emphasis on emotional intensity, distortion, and the expressive power of color and gesture. Rather than realism, I am interested in psychological presence and atmosphere, using the figure as a carrier of tension, vulnerability, and inner states. German Expressionist Roots and Painterly Tradition My artistic roots are closely connected to the legacy of German Expressionist painting, where form and color serve emotional truth rather than visual accuracy. This influence is reflected in my approach to composition, brushwork, and the balance between control and rawness. At the same time, my work remains firmly situated in a contemporary context. Historical references are not quotations, but foundations—elements that are reinterpreted through a modern, material-driven practice. Material, Scale, and Space Materiality plays a central role in my work. I approach paint as substance rather than surface—layering, scraping, and reworking until the image reaches a point of tension and resolution. Many of my works are large-scale paintings, developed in direct relationship to architectural space. Each is hand-painted — built physically, without digital production at any stage. In a visual culture increasingly saturated with generated imagery, this remains a defining quality: the painting is a human-made original, unique and irreplaceable. Light, texture, and spatial presence are essential considerations. My paintings are created to engage with their surroundings, whether in galleries, private collections, or architectural settings. Artistic Practice and Continuity My work is shaped by both contemporary discourse and artistic legacy. Questions of continuity, inheritance, and long-term practice are recurring themes. Painting, for me, is not a fixed statement, but an ongoing process of searching, refining, and responding. Through bertermann.art, I share insights into my studio practice, exhibitions, and current projects, offering a deeper look into my work as a contemporary artist working between abstraction, figuration, and expression. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

When I stand in front of a canvas today, work in my studio, or plan a new project, I often feel the presence and inspiration of the person who shaped me as an artist: my grandfather, Guillermo Castañeda. Guillermo Castañeda was born in 1916 in La Coruña, Spain, where he took his first steps toward an artistic career, and later spent parts of his life in various regions of Europe. The artist, who lived and worked until 2003, left behind a small but significant body of work which—despite its limited visibility in the public sphere—carries a clear artistic voice and continues to attract the interest of collectors and connoisseurs today. His works occasionally appear at art auctions, where they are valued accordingly. The Art of a Life Between Tradition and Personal Vision Guillermo was artistically active at a time when figuration and traditional techniques were still strongly contending with the emerging currents of modernism. His paintings, drawings, and studies testify to his technical skill, his love of form and line, and a refined sensitivity to color and composition. Although only a small number of his works are documented in auction catalogues, they reveal a depth that goes far beyond the purely visual—they bear the traces of a life shaped by historical upheavals, personal experiences, and a continuous search for means of expression. A Personal Influence — More Than a Family Story For me, engaging with my grandfather’s work is not an academic exercise, but a deeply personal dialogue. His willingness to translate the challenges of his time into color and form continues to inspire me today. I often imagine him standing in his studio—perhaps in front of a wooden easel, a box of studies nearby, maybe music playing in the background—working through his pieces with the same sense of searching that I experience in my own practice. My own work as an artist is inseparably connected to this legacy. It feels as though I am continuing a dialogue with him—about technique, about color, and about the fundamental question of what art ultimately has to say. A Legacy That Continues While the biographies of well-known artists are often extensively documented, the life of an artist like Guillermo Castañeda frequently remains hidden. Precisely for this reason, it is important to me to give space on bertermann.art to this remarkable individual and his artistic work—not as a finished story, but as a living point of departure for further discoveries, both artistic and personal. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

Large-scale paintings interact directly with architecture. Their impact unfolds over time, through daily movement, changing light, and shifting viewpoints. For collectors and architects, scale is not a question of size alone, but of proportion and rhythm. A painting of this dimension must negotiate its presence carefully. It should neither overwhelm the space nor retreat into it. In residential and architectural settings, my paintings are conceived as spatial counterparts rather than decorative elements. They respond to wall proportions, sightlines, and the human body in motion. Successful integration occurs when the painting stabilizes a room — visually and atmospherically — without demanding constant attention. In this sense, large-scale painting becomes an architectural element in its own right: quiet, grounded, and durable over time. These works are hand-painted originals — made entirely without digital tools or generative processes. Their physical weight, material presence, and durability over time are inseparable from that fact. Further works and site-specific considerations can be found on bertermann.art. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

Scale is never a neutral decision. In painting, scale determines not only how a work is seen, but how it is experienced by the body. My engagement with large-scale painting is not driven by monumentality or effect. It begins with a simple question: How does a painting occupy space in relation to the human body? Scale as a Physical Encounter A large painting cannot be grasped at once. The eye must move. The body must adjust its distance. Perception becomes active rather than passive. Standing in front of a painting that exceeds one’s own physical dimensions creates a different relationship. The viewer is no longer observing an object; they are sharing space with it. This shift is fundamental to my work. Scale transforms painting from image into presence. Distance and Proximity Large-scale paintings demand movement. From a distance, structure and atmosphere dominate. Up close, the surface reveals material decisions: layers, erosion, pressure, hesitation. The work functions only if it holds together across these distances. Scale therefore becomes a test of coherence. If a painting collapses when approached, it fails. If it only works from close proximity, it becomes insular. The body mediates between these two conditions. The Body as Measure Rather than using architectural measurements alone, I think in bodily terms. Shoulder width, reach, height, peripheral vision — these are implicit references during the process. The painting is adjusted repeatedly until its internal rhythm aligns with the physical presence of a standing viewer. Not in a literal sense, but perceptually. This is especially relevant in private interiors and architectural contexts, where the painting becomes part of everyday movement rather than a fixed viewing situation. Scale and Restraint Working large does not imply excess. On the contrary, scale requires restraint. Every decision is amplified. Small gestures become dominant. Unnecessary elements cannot hide. This discipline sharpens the work. Large paintings tolerate fewer solutions, not more. They demand clarity and reduction. Scale exposes weakness, but it also intensifies precision. Beyond Representation At this scale, representation becomes secondary. The painting does not describe space — it asserts itself within it. What matters is not what the painting shows, but how it alters the room it inhabits. Light, proportion, and movement are subtly recalibrated by its presence. The human body becomes the reference point through which the painting is continuously reactivated. Scale as Responsibility Large-scale painting carries responsibility. It cannot be decorative. It must justify the space it occupies. When successful, the painting does not dominate the viewer. It holds them. Quietly, steadily, without insistence. In an era when images are increasingly generated without physical presence, large-scale painting asserts something irreducible: the record of a human body engaged in extended physical labor. Every mark is the result of a decision made by a hand, in a room, over time. This is not a style. It is simply what painting is. This journal entry continues an ongoing reflection on painting as a spatial and bodily experience. Further observations from the studio will follow here on bertermann.art. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

Time is one of the most underestimated materials in painting. It is invisible, yet it shapes every decision I make in the studio. Painting does not progress at a constant speed. It accelerates, stalls, retreats, and pauses. Slowness is not an obstacle to the process — it is a condition for clarity. Time as a Structural Element In my work, time is not merely something that passes while a painting is being made. It becomes a structural component of the image itself. Some paintings develop over weeks or months. Others resist completion for reasons that are not immediately visible. This duration is not the result of indecision, but of attention. The painting requires time in order to reveal what it needs — and what it does not. Rushing a painting produces resolution without depth. Allowing time introduces complexity without excess. Slowness as an Active Choice Slowness is often misunderstood as passivity. In reality, it is an active discipline. It means resisting the urge to finalize too early, to settle for solutions that feel convincing but remain superficial. In contemporary visual culture, speed dominates. Images are consumed instantly and forgotten just as quickly. Painting operates in direct opposition to this rhythm. In the studio, slowness creates distance — and distance sharpens judgment. Waiting as Part of the Process There are moments when the most important action is not to paint at all. Stepping away from the canvas allows the painting to exist independently from intention. When I return, I see it differently. This distance is crucial. It prevents projection. It reveals imbalance, redundancy, or premature certainty. Many decisive interventions occur only after a period of waiting. In this sense, waiting is not inactivity — it is observation without interference. The Moment of Decision Despite long periods of openness, every painting eventually reaches a point where a decision must be made. This moment cannot be calculated. It announces itself quietly. The final decisions are often small: a reduction, a subtle shift, a refusal to add. What matters is not the magnitude of the gesture, but its timing. Ending a painting too early closes it off. Ending it too late exhausts it. Knowing when to stop is not intuition alone — it is experience shaped by time. Time Visible on the Surface Even when not immediately apparent, time leaves visible traces. Layers settle differently. Edges soften or harden. Surfaces gain weight or transparency. The painting carries its own history. Viewers often sense this without being able to name it. A painting that has been allowed to develop over time feels grounded. It does not insist on attention — it holds it. Against Instant Resolution This journal exists in part to resist instant explanation. Painting is not a sequence of steps that can be summarized efficiently. It unfolds slowly, unevenly, and often against expectation. Time remains one of the few elements that cannot be simulated. The same is true of the hand. The decisions made slowly, revised repeatedly, and finally held in a surface — these are not procedures that can be delegated or generated. They accumulate in the painting and remain there as evidence of a human presence. A painting carries its duration inside it. That is part of what it is. In painting, it must be lived. This entry continues an ongoing reflection on painting as a time-based practice. Further observations from the studio will follow here on bertermann.art. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

Figurative painting plays a crucial role in my overall practice as a contemporary painter. Not because it resembles my abstract work — but precisely because it does not. My figurative paintings exist as a deliberate counterpoint to my abstract paintings. They allow me to step outside my established routines and visual systems. This shift is not stylistic; it is mental. Working figuratively clears my head and reopens perception. Doing Everything Differently on Purpose In my abstract painting practice, intuition, layering, and surface development dominate. In my figurative works, I consciously reverse these principles. The paintings are conceived as two-dimensional images. I avoid atmospheric depth and painterly illusion. Instead of brushes, I work with paint rollers and oil pastel sticks. These tools reduce nuance and increase directness. They leave little room for refinement — and that is precisely their strength. Decisions become immediate and visible. This change in technique interrupts habitual thinking and prevents repetition across bodies of work. Rough Backgrounds and Free Silhouettes The backgrounds in my figurative paintings are painted quickly and roughly. They are not refined spaces and do not function as environments in a classical sense. Their purpose is not to support the figures. The figures themselves are applied as silhouette-like forms, independent from the background. They do not follow its color logic, texture, or movement. There is no attempt to integrate figure and ground harmoniously. The silhouettes remain free from the background — visually and conceptually. This separation creates tension and clarity at the same time. The figure becomes a sign rather than a representation. Forcing Space into the Image While the figures remain flat, I introduce architectural elements drawn in perspective. These elements — walls, spatial lines, constructed structures — enforce a sense of depth onto the image. This is not subtle illusionism. It is an intentional imposition of three-dimensionality onto a fundamentally flat composition. The result is a controlled contradiction: flat silhouettes coexist with forced spatial logic. The painting oscillates between surface and depth, refusing a single reading. A Different Mode of Concentration Figurative painting requires a different kind of focus. It is faster, more decisive, less negotiable. There is no prolonged searching. The image is constructed through clear assertions rather than gradual emergence. This decisiveness is essential for me as an artist. After extended periods of abstract painting — where uncertainty, revision, and duration dominate — the figurative works function as a reset. They simplify my thinking without becoming simplistic. One Practice, Two Necessities My figurative and abstract paintings are not separate identities. They are two complementary modes of working that inform each other. Figurative painting allows me to break patterns. Abstract painting allows me to rebuild them. This journal on bertermann.art documents both practices as they evolve — directly from the studio, without mediation. New entries follow regularly. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

Painting technique is often misunderstood as a set of skills that can be learned, perfected, and repeated. For me, technique is something else entirely. It is not a formula, and it is never fixed. It is a relationship — between material, time, and resistance. In my studio, technique is not about mastering paint. It is about listening to it. Technique as a Living Process I do not begin a painting with a predefined method. Maybe, the ONLY decision I take, is which color I will use as first color. Thereafter, everything else occurs as a chain reaction. There is no checklist, no sequence that guarantees a result. Each canvas establishes its own conditions: size, absorbency, tension, scale. The technique emerges from these conditions rather than being imposed on them. Sometimes paint behaves exactly as expected. More often, it does not. That moment — when the material resists — is where technique becomes meaningful. Instead of correcting resistance, I tend to follow it. Layering, Removal, and Patience Much of my abstract work is built through layers that are partially destroyed. Paint is applied, allowed to settle, and then removed again — wiped away, scraped, diluted, or interrupted. What remains is never accidental, but it is also never fully controlled. This process introduces time into the surface. Not as narrative, but as depth. A finished painting carries traces of decisions that are no longer visible in a literal sense, yet still present in the structure of the surface. Technique, in this context, becomes a form of memory. Brushwork and Distance I am often asked about brushwork — whether it is gestural or restrained. The answer depends on distance. Up close, the surface reveals physical actions: pressure, hesitation, speed. From a distance, those actions dissolve into atmosphere. Technique must function on both levels. If it only works up close, the painting collapses. If it only works from afar, it becomes decorative. A painting of this scale demands a technique that holds together physically and spatially. Control Is Not the Goal Control is useful, but it is not the objective. Too much control results in surfaces that feel closed, finished too early, resolved without tension. I am more interested in a state where the painting remains slightly open — not unfinished, but alive. Technique serves that openness. It allows uncertainty to exist without becoming chaos. In that sense, technique is less about what the hand does, and more about when it stops. Technique as Experience Over time, technique becomes embodied. Decisions happen faster, but not necessarily easier. Experience does not remove doubt; it sharpens it. The more paintings I make, the more I trust hesitation as part of the process. Technique is not something I bring into the studio each day. It is something that forms while I am there. What forms there — in the accumulation of decisions, corrections, and physical encounters with the surface — exists nowhere else. It is not transferable, not reproducible, not generatable. Each painting is the record of a human hand in a specific moment in time. A hand-made original, in the most literal sense. This journal entry is part of an ongoing reflection on painting as practice — not as outcome, but as sustained attention. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.

Claus Bertermann’s work is rooted in the experience of landscape — not as depiction, but as memory, atmosphere, and physical presence. His paintings do not describe places; they evoke them. Working primarily in large formats, Bertermann explores the tension between control and intuition. Each painting evolves through layers: paint is applied, removed, reworked. What remains is not an image, but a state. Painting at Architectural Scale Many of Claus Bertermann’s works exceed two or even three meters in width. This scale is intentional. A painting of this size does not behave like an object — it becomes an environment. The viewer is not standing in front of the painting; the painting stands in front of the viewer. This relationship between artwork and architecture plays a central role in Bertermann’s practice. His paintings are conceived with spatial context in mind — private collections, galleries, and large residential interiors. Color as Emotional Structure Color in Bertermann’s work is never decorative. Muted greens, deep blues, earth tones, and occasional warm accents create a restrained but emotionally charged palette. Rather than defining form, color defines distance, temperature, and time. Some paintings feel like early morning light; others resemble the fading intensity of sunset over water. Process Over Motif There is no fixed motif in Claus Bertermann’s paintings. The process itself becomes the subject. Brushwork, erosion, layering, and pauses are all visible. The painting documents its own making — not as gesture, but as accumulated decisions. This approach places Bertermann’s work firmly within contemporary abstract painting, while maintaining a strong emotional accessibility. A Journal, Not a Portfolio This journal on bertermann.art is intended as an ongoing record — thoughts, works in progress, reflections on painting, exhibitions, and the spaces his works inhabit. It is not a marketing channel. It is a working notebook made public. New entries will appear regularly. Published on bertermann.art, the official website of artist Claus Bertermann.