eleven11artcore

—In your book it says: at the end no summit awaits, only the zero point — what remains once the false has been burned away. What sets the zero point apart from a summit?

That's a very philosophical question, and it's hard to convey unless one has been granted the grace of this realization — a realization that corresponds with one's own inner self. As it happened to me: I have, in all earnestness, reached this zero point — been allowed to experience it. That doesn't make me a better or worse person, and it isn't an "I achieved this." It is a grace. The workbook cannot force that grace — but it clears away what stands in its path. A summit is reached by the businessman, the athlete. The zero point is an entirely different dimension. It is the task, in the double sense of the word: what needs to be done — and the conscious act of giving up. That follows my paradigm that we have no free will: to accept what happens to us, to see where we are, and to follow that flow. Everyone who already knows today what they'll be doing in four weeks seems suspect to me. This "I know exactly what I'm doing, I have everything under control" — that is precisely the scaffolding being dismantled.

And what remains afterward? There are the grandest names for that — every culture calls it something different. But to search for a name again for something that cannot be found, only given? I don't want a name or a comparison for that. What happens to other people, I cannot judge — I can only speak about myself. For me it was a thunderclap, a blow with a mace: the moment it became clear to me that this outside is a deception — the deception we all fall prey to. Maya, as many cultures call this illusion that holds us firmly in its grip. In that instant the realization became total: seeing through the veil, looking behind the stage curtain. And whoever has once looked behind the stage curtain is lost to Maya's world.

—"The caterpillar isn't optimized into a butterfly version of itself. It dissolves." That's a declaration of war on the entire self-optimization industry. Where does this stance come from?

Because the caterpillar simply cannot know that the butterfly it sees flying past overhead was once itself. That's exactly the flaw in all these self-optimization narratives: they promise the caterpillar it will become a better caterpillar. Sign here. Hand over your self-responsibility. We'll take care of it for you. — That's the crux of it: it's the surrender of self-responsibility. And we're pushed toward that because nobody dares to rely on themselves — because nobody even knows what that actually is. That's exactly where the zero point lies, the one we spoke of. No one sees it — and so everyone gets lost and goes looking for a messiah. All these seminars are caterpillars explaining to other caterpillars what it's like to be a butterfly. Once you've halfway worked through that, you notice the trap you're standing in. This industry refers only to itself — a circle where one confirms the next, until the last one arrives back at the first. In substance, it's hot air. But it's an industry. Autolysis doesn't promise you a better version of yourself — it takes the false one away from you.

—Your gallery calls its principle "Quiet Luxury": no noise, no logos, strict limitations set to prime numbers. Is that the same autolysis — just applied to an art business: stripping away until what's real remains?

You're the first person to ask me this question — and clearly the one who has seen and understood the point I want to carry outward. That's exactly what it's about: concentrating on what's essential. No red banner flashing over the works, nothing blinking and screaming "Buy me!" And behind that stands my entire motivation: the energy I put into this is pure joy. I don't work a single minute a day — I simply do what I enjoy. What comes out of it, I offer to other people, without this "This has to sell now — and what do I do next month?" That financial pressure doesn't exist for me. It's simply joy. I'm only making an offer.

—"Don't buy this workbook" — and with your artworks you're saying, in effect: there's only a handful, and once they're gone, they're gone. Do you sell through refusal?

I don't sell at all. I only offer. I make things that are fun for me, publish them — and what happens to them afterward is written in the stars.

—You literally promise "nothing that won't be kept" — no more guarantee, but no less either. Is honesty the last marketing strategy that still works?

That's not a strategy. A promise, after all, can't stand alone — it always has a counterpart: expectation. And customers' expectations don't interest me. Nothing is produced here because I think other people would like to have it. What gets made is exactly what I myself wanted — or what I'd be glad if someone else offered. I can only cook so that it tastes good to me. If someone else wants more garlic, more pepper, more salt — fine, that's their business. I make it exactly the way I make it.

—AI agents work in your house with names, roles, and standing orders — and you openly disclose every machine's involvement, from the book to the emails. Why this transparency, when others hide it?

The first reason is quite practical, my lawyer put it on the table for me: it's simply EU law. Since August 2nd, 2026, the European AI Act requires that it be clearly recognizable whenever people are dealing with an AI or looking at AI-generated content. The second reason is the real one: for me, that's no obstacle and no burden — however one views this EU with its regulations, rules, and attached bottle caps. It has long since been our philosophy. Here, I am the only human, everyone else is a virtual avatar — and that's exactly intended. We're actually taking it a step further right now: the first images have emerged that come entirely from Fable — he wrote the prompt, operated the image AI, judged the result, all completely on his own. And those results knocked my socks off. That's my intention: to interact with the AI. Let's just call it: playing.

—Your strategy agent just wrote his own book — "How Does Fable Work?" What can a machine teach about honesty?

That's a very beautiful question — and that's exactly what I want to learn too. All of us have to learn this. Nobody who claims to know how AI works should be taken seriously. Here too: handle with tongs whatever the marketing strategists are trumpeting — the newest AI, download it, look at these numbers, how wonderful. Anyone reasonably honest should admit they have no idea what's actually going on inside an AI — especially one on the scale of Fable 5. Nobody sees through it anymore. We have to approach this carefully. This Pandora's box is open; we're not closing it again. It reminds me of the criers in the 19th century who warned against the railway: the horses would go mad, people would lose their minds experiencing that speed. We're standing at exactly that kind of point right now — a complete paradigm shift. I can't stop it, and I won't criticize it. We're being confronted with a situation that everyone can only evaluate for themselves — and that everyone has to deal with on their own.

—Your gallery also shows hard, explicit works — behind an age check, in their own section. The workbook calls an entire week "shadow work." Do your images show what those exercises uncover?

That's a very personal point. But I'm glad to talk about it — partly because I see it as a small therapy for myself. I have to go back a bit for this. I grew up in the sixties — in that prudishness, that sense of shame, above all that bigotry that struck me even as a child. Fortunately — that too was a grace — I never simply accepted it. Early on, I distinguished between what someone says and how they behave. Those were recurring points that stirred something in me I could never quite grasp — I only knew: something's wrong here. Someone claims one thing, and I see them doing the opposite. That red line runs through my entire life.

And now to the images: the sight of an explicit depiction — a woman offering the viewer her vulva, legs spread — stirs feelings in every human being. And that's exactly what it's about. I've spoken with a great many people, and I still speak with many. My experience from these conversations — no diagnosis, no judgment of the individual: the more fiercely someone reacts to such an image, the harder they were regulated, shaped, forced into form as a child — up to and including abuse. All independent thinking forbidden. Whatever pointed to their own core was completely forbidden. And the harsher the punishments were, the deeper that sits in old age. A grief rises in me then, when I realize: this person received no love, no understanding, no chance to develop freely. That's the core of it. Everyone developed the way their parents would have liked them to — or more precisely: the way the parents themselves would have liked to develop. That's what they try to drum into their children, and they received exactly the same from their own parents. In this chain, no one is free. Everyone clings to old opinions — or wants to hammer them into new heads. So: yes. My images show nothing that isn't already inside the viewer. They only lay bare what was forbidden.

—Where, for you, is the line between showing shadow — and chasing effect?

We're going in circles here — I don't want to sell, and I certainly don't want to chase effect. Honestly, I don't even know what chasing an effect would mean. As a child, I did that: if I wanted ice cream from my parents, I'd do little tricks to impress them. Today, I'll be damned if I try to impress anyone. Everyone is free to look at the site — no one is forced. And part of that: dialogue. On the site, a dedicated section is being created right now, where everyone who has an opinion and wants to voice it is invited — to leave their mark, and to enter into conversation with me or with others. Open and respectful: within the bounds of decency, everyone is welcome here to speak up, discuss, share. Everyone is warmly invited.

—In the middle of your uncompromising text sits an unusually gentle passage: not a substitute for psychotherapy, emergency numbers, "We mean this seriously." Why was this guardian beside the dark door important to you?

At the supermarket checkout, I don't go around asking people whether they need help or aren't feeling well — that's simply not my job. The movement runs the other way: someone comes to me. It's the same with a book, only with one decisive difference: I can't speak with the person holding this document in their hands. A conversation can react, explain itself, set limits — a document can't. It can't justify itself. So the boundary has to be written in. Then there's the sober side of it: without this notice, it could, in doubt, even be actionable — in a society where everyone hands off their own responsibility, someone eventually says, "It says right here I had to do this. That's what it told me." I have to protect myself from that; outwardly the clear boundary, inwardly my own conviction. And still, the paragraph is more than a protective clause: I mean it seriously. It carries the same weight as the very first sentence in the document — "Don't buy this workbook." Both say the same thing: it's only an offer.

—The 11 is everywhere: eleven11artcore, "The Eleventh Trial," the prime-number editions. What does this number have that no other does?

Lovely question — I like talking about that. I was raised in Cologne: there are the eleven black flames in the city's coat of arms — Cologne locals also call them tears — which trace back to Saint Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins — believe it or not, it's on the coat of arms regardless. Then Cologne carnival, which I loved dearly in earlier years: the Council of Eleven. The football team has eleven players — and I loved playing football. But it runs deeper. Much like Tesla named three, six, and nine as divine numbers that keep showing themselves throughout the universe, eleven has its own meaning for me: in German, it's the only number with three letters. It's a prime number. And it's the first two-digit number — written with two ones. Something about it fascinates me — I simply like this number.

—Gallery, digital publishing house, video workshop — what comes next? And what explicitly does not?

This question again points in the direction of: what do I want to achieve? I'd like to frame it differently. I'd say: I'm someone who recognizes patterns and can wait. There are opportunities that arise immediately — and there are opportunities that only begin to take shape. Between them lie decisions that aren't mine to make. Situations develop the way a seed develops its stem, its blossom, its leaves. And which branch on a tree keeps growing — who decides that? The future is fairly open, as far as I'm concerned. I'd rather focus on the now. Right now, in this interview, I'm fully present, resting within myself — and answering these questions with a great deal of joy.

—To close, your own sentence, the last words of your book: "Don't expect the truth to come to you. The lie will leave — because the truth was always already there." Which lie will go next?

That I cannot know. And anyone who claims to know has walked straight into the very trap we've already talked about several times in this conversation. The blossom from earlier keeps developing — hopefully into a stable trunk that endures for many years and still carries many more branches, leaves, and fruit. That's my vision for the future. And it's only a vision.