From distance to meaning
History, Destruction and Reflection in the Work of Uwe Wittwer
Uwe Wittwer is one of those artists whose works particularly invite us to question and marvel. His paintings revolve around ruins, theatres of war, the colonial gaze and historical ruptures – not as an immediate reaction, but as the result of reflection. Ahead of his exhibition in our gallery*, we spoke to him about his journey from abstract to figurative painting, about family influences, dealing with destruction, and the question of why art unfolds its greatest impact precisely when viewed from a distance from history.
undconsorten: Dear Uwe, thank you very much for taking the time to speak with us today. How does one develop as an artist? How does one find one’s vocabulary and technique, and what has been your personal journey?
Uwe Wittwer: In the early 1980s, I was deeply rooted in non-figurative painting, influenced by American Expressionists such as de Kooning. At that time, I had a keen interest in abstract art, but over the years my work began to change. Among other things, my close connection to Ulrich Loock had a significant influence on me. His inaugural exhibition in 1986 as director of the Kunsthalle Bern, featuring Gerhard Richter, was in a sense a revelatory experience for me.
From 1989, when I came to London on a scholarship, I then embarked on new artistic paths. There I got to know artists such as David Hockney and Francis Bacon, through whose works I realised that one can also express a certain contemporary relevance within figurative art. That is why I actually regard everything created before 1989 as my early work. The works after 1989 became increasingly figurative and, in a mixture of provocation and first tentative steps into representational art, dealt with themes such as warships and ruins. My exhibition at the Kunsthalle Bern in 1991 was thus the starting point for me in reaching a wider public. At the same time, there were fascinating parallels with artists of the same age, such as Luc Tuymans, who were grappling with the same question: what can painting still achieve today?
&co: Did these figurative motifs arise from your conscious mind, your subconscious, or are there biographical influences?
UW: The motifs are the result of a long creative process in which I constantly try to find new perspectives. However, there are also biographical influences. My father’s story plays an important role. He fled Berlin with a Swiss passport, carrying within him the experiences of the war, which had also prevented him from pursuing the artistic career he had originally aspired to. These experiences and the associated sense of speechlessness influenced me greatly, particularly the themes of destruction and memory, which recur time and again in my art. My work is strongly shaped by these biographical elements, but it is less about depicting personal memories and more about engaging with universal themes that affect many people.
On the advice of a psychoanalyst friend and inspired by Wim Wenders’ *Wings of Desire* (1988), I then travelled to Berlin with my father, and that was fantastic – a real turning point.
&co: What was your impression of his father?
UW: Like a young hothead (laughs). It was a very formative experience, because although we’d had some tension before, this trip was a fresh start for both of us. In Berlin, he showed me lots of things I didn’t know about; we got in touch with his family on both sides of the Wall, which was still standing back then, and I began to see him from a different perspective. This trip was a very important experience not just for me, but for him too; it changed our relationship and influenced my artistic work.
&co: So were those, in a way, the ruins as seen through your father’s eyes that you subsequently began to paint?
UW: I’m not sure. As a child, I couldn’t even imagine that it had been the total obliteration of entire buildings and, in a sense, the whole city. In that respect, it was very much about looking more closely, about coming to terms with human destruction itself, even beyond Berlin. After all, the ruin is also an ambiguous motif in art history.
&co: How does it affect you to see such ruins today in Syria or Ukraine, given your early engagement with the subject?
UW: Grappling with destruction remains a central theme in my art, but I have developed a certain distance from it. Processing photographs that are too closely linked to a major event, such as 9/11, usually doesn’t work.
I try not only to process events emotionally, but also to view them analytically. Art is not just about creating an image that appeals to the emotions, but also about encouraging the viewer to engage critically with the themes depicted. History offers an enormous source of inspiration, but it must be viewed with a certain distance.
&co: Is it only over time – sometimes spanning generations – that a process of coming to terms with events takes place amongst a sufficiently large number of people, which is what makes it artistically interesting in the first place?
UW: Yes, that applies to many historical events. There are exceptions, however. One example is Laurie Anderson’s work “Night in Baghdad”, created following the bombing of Baghdad during the Second Gulf War, which CNN anchor Peter Arnett described in his live report at the time with the words “It’s like the 4th of July, it’s like a Christmas tree” – two cornerstones of American festivity mentioned in the same breath as this horror story. Through her art, Anderson was able to express the emotional reaction to this event in a way that remains relevant even years later. So it is not just a question of the time, but also of the reflection that the artist herself associates with the event.
&co: Do you see yourself as a political artist?
UW: No, I don’t see myself as a political artist in the traditional sense. My art isn’t intended to convey political messages. It’s more of a reflection on history, human experience and the universal themes that affect us all. I am politically engaged, but that is not the main focus of my work. For me, art is a means of addressing deeper, existential questions. A visual work intended for the long term must be conceived with a perspective that goes beyond the news of the day.
&co: Does the interplay between intellect and emotion also manifest itself in your choice of subject matter, technical execution and use of colour?
UW: Dialectics is a central component of my work and of this exhibition too. The colours are often muted and ‘subdued’, which creates a certain tension. I want the paintings to appeal to both the intellect and the emotions, because the two are interdependent.
Alongside my choice of motifs, which is often historically inspired, the history of painting is therefore an equally important theme and antithesis for me. I have been creating works that reference art history for a very long time. In the 1990s, I lived in Paris and was very interested in Nicolas Poussin, who was incredibly significant for the history of painting and yet always remained something of a mystery to me. Do I like Poussin? No! But his influence still preoccupies me to this day.
&co: Since you mentioned David Hockney earlier: how do you view today’s digital possibilities, such as working with iPads, in your artistic practice?
UW: Particularly in the late 90s, I felt a strong need to contrast painting with something else in my work. So I experimented with inkjet works, that is, digital printing techniques. Compared to painting, where every brushstroke represents an emotional expression, working on a computer is more technical and analytical – and I like that contrast. Nowadays, I use software like Photoshop for image composition and initial sketches. It’s a very analytical way of working that helps me develop ideas before I translate them into physical paintings.
&co: So what impact does the current rapid development in artificial intelligence have on a painter?
UW: (Laughs) Ah, I don’t know yet. Of course, today I’d say, “What painting can do, AI can’t.” But it’ll probably be able to do it in a few years’ time too; you never know. There’s still that moment where I’m actually still certain that we, as human individuals, are still one step ahead – that is, where we can add something extra that AI can’t.
&co: Is this a moment similar to when photography rendered pictorial representation somewhat obsolete?
UW: Perhaps, yes. Perhaps AI is pushing painting in a new, as yet uncertain direction.
In many of my works, I engage extensively with the medium of photography and how it emerged as a new medium in the 19th century. One of the photographic archives I have studied in depth is the Pitt Rivers Photographic Collection, which now belongs to the University of Oxford. This blunt “the world belongs to me” attitude, which speaks from the largely shamelessly plundered material and the collected photographs of this colonialist and conqueror, always makes me shudder a little. Another source for my reference work, similar in some respects, consists of photographs from the Basel Mission. Works from this context are also part of this exhibition.
&co: Do you aestheticise such problematic attitudes in your work?
UW: I think that’s a really central, important question... I can’t answer it either. I know there’s a tension there. Painting is always an act of aesthetics. This balancing act – one must be aware that painting always reveals beauty, even within the context of colonial themes, which at times resemble war motifs – it transforms into beauty, per se. I have to live with this tension between beauty and horror at the same time. And we all live with this tension.
&co: As well as painting, you’ve also worked extensively with glass. That’s a completely different medium. What attracted you to it – and how does this work fit into your overall body of work?
UW: The owners of the Mayer’sche Hofkunstanstalt approached me after an exhibition in Munich and invited me to spend a week experimenting in their workshops. A few years later, I took this up again and developed it further in a lengthy process, as the work is extremely demanding in terms of craftsmanship.
I was particularly interested in working with glass because of its similarity to watercolour. It’s also about layering, transparency and working with light with great precision. At the same time, glass is extremely unforgiving: every layer is fired, and decisions cannot simply be corrected. This demands a different kind of concentration and responsibility during the process.
But what is almost as important to me is this: glasswork is never a solitary pursuit. It only works through close collaboration with specialist craftspeople. This collaborative working on equal terms, this constant balancing of artistic intention and technical feasibility, differs greatly from painting, where I stand alone before the canvas.
In that sense, glass is not a departure from my work, but rather an extension and a source of personal enrichment – a different way of addressing similar questions, but under completely different conditions.
&co: How many steps are involved in creating a work of art like this?
UW: I usually apply four, at most five layers. Each layer is then fired in the kiln overnight. When I decide that the glass is ready, it goes into the hardening process. It is fired again and then shock-cooled. This changes the glass structure, causing it to crumble, much like a car windscreen, and it then becomes very hard and fixed.
There is a great fascination in this very tactile process and the fragility of the medium.
&co: Working with negatives also plays an important role in your work. What interests you about this approach?
UW: For me, working with negatives operates on several levels. On the one hand, it is a return to early photography, where the negative still had a visible, independent existence. Today, this technical intermediate step has practically disappeared, yet it holds enormous dialectical potential in conceptual terms.
In watercolour, I always work ‘into the shadows’ anyway; technically, that’s just the way it is with the white of the paper. But for me, this way of thinking in negatives also has a substantive dimension: it’s about perception, afterimages, and what remains when you don’t show something directly.
I am interested in this moment of inversion – similar to an afterimage, when you look into the sun for a long time and then close your eyes. You see something that is no longer actually there, but which nevertheless remains present. This moment of reversal is of great significance in my work.
&co: What’s it like for you to be exhibiting in a company’s offices now? Has that brought any new aspects to the experience for you?
UW: It’s definitely different from a gallery’s ‘white cube’ or a museum. In an office or corporate setting, people aren’t just there for the art, but primarily to work. The art here plays a different role – it’s meant to brighten or enrich the atmosphere, but also to engage with people, even if they only notice it in passing.
But when it comes to the selection or hanging itself, it doesn’t really make much difference.
&co: That fits perfectly – you blend in whilst challenging us to look closely and question things. We’re already really looking forward to this exciting source of inspiration in our workspaces.
Dear Uwe, thank you very much for the interview!
*The opening of “Der Rat”, featuring works that explore these themes in greater depth, will take place on 11 June 2026 at 7 pm at undconsorten (Kurfürstendamm 194, 10707 Berlin).
For an overview of selected past exhibitions, visit the artist’s website here.
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