Nobody tells you about the spreadsheet.

When people imagine an artist preparing for a solo exhibition, they probably picture something cinematic. A sun-drenched studio. A painter stepping back from a large canvas, head tilted, brush held loosely, considering. Maybe a glass of wine. Definitely good light.

What they do not picture is a woman staring at a Numbers spreadsheet on a Saturday morning trying to remember whether Fliegende Freiheit is 20 x 50 or 50 x 20, and whether that actually matters for the price, and whether CHF 400 is right, and where exactly she put the file with the photos.

This is also the job.

And this is what it looks like: for example, a folder named “crow original size” containing six images, one of which is selected, 1.32 TB of available disk space, and a running list of works organized by series—Crows, Studies, Faces—each with dimensions, medium, and price. Mixed media. Mixed media. Mixed media. Always mixed media—which is an accurate description, but somehow never quite captures what actually emerged on the canvas.

The paintings themselves are relatively straightforward. You paint them. They dry. You apply a coat of spray varnish—first outside, because you don’t want to breathe in the spray mist—and then you bring them back inside, let them cure, and apply with a brush this time another coat of varnish. This part follows a certain routine.

What lacks rhythm is the writing. The exhibition text. The artist’s statement. The captions, which must say something true about a picture of a crow without being either pretentious or so modest that they say nothing at all. You know exactly what the picture is about when you paint it. To put that into a sentence that a stranger can understand—that is a completely different skill, and no one warned you that you would need it.

Then there’s social media. That’s not something to be overlooked. It seems the exhibition has to exist online first before it can be seen in person—teasers, behind-the-scenes glimpses, countdown posts. So you’re preparing the exhibition while also reporting on the preparations.

The work table reveals the true story—a box of finished assemblages, a finished portrait, ready for transport, and the cat, who has taken stock of the situation and decided to stay completely out of it.

By the way, the exhibition is called “Three Worlds – Always New.” The exhibition opens on May 5 at 6:00 p.m. at Denkbar in St. Gallen (more on this under Event), and from the outside it will look like this: pictures on the walls, a painter explaining what she’s doing, and people asking questions about the creative process and the meaning behind the work.

I hope to see many of you there — come find me, the paintings, my assemblages and browse some of my artjournals.