eleven11artcore

Origin becomes stance — the path from the images to a website of one's own raises the next question right away.

—Did the website itself matter to you as much as the images on it — or is it just the stage for the art?

That can't be pinned to a single thing — two things come together here. On one side, my joy in generating images. On the other, using new technology to build a website the way I'd like to see one — the way I've never actually seen one built. That doesn't mean I study countless other websites and then just do it differently — there are thousands, I can't possibly look at them all. But the ones that come close, the ones that also deal in images, are, without wanting to insult anyone, often made half-heartedly, without joy. There are merchants behind them.

Show me, on the other hand, a website made by an artist, where the website itself is already art — that's exactly what I'm trying to do here. Not just in how it operates, but in the presentation, the logic of how you move from one point to the next, whether the buying process makes sense, whether I have to explain the website to someone first. All of that, together with the choice of colors, design, typefaces — that's the shared platform between the images and how they're presented. Two different things that end up becoming one.

It's also about the whole experience not simply showing one image after another, but making the way it's presented part of the experience itself: being able to view the works in different settings, or uploading a photo of your own wall — the wall the piece would later hang on — and seeing it projected there virtually, to see how it looks. All of that is meant to heighten the experience and simply be fun — while you're looking at an image or considering buying it, all of that should be right there.

This platform needs a principle to carry it — which leads straight to "Quiet Luxury."

—"Quiet Luxury" is your principle — no noise, limits only on prime numbers. Is that understatement, or a declaration of war on the loud art market?

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.

Leaving things out as a principle leads straight to the next question: what does that mean in concrete terms for selling — or not selling?

—There's only a handful of each work, and once they're gone, they're gone — do you sell through restraint, or is there more to it: why do you keep what you make so scarce in the first place?

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.

It's also one of those things that simply happened on its own. Economically, I could certainly picture producing series in the thousands and selling them at IKEA or some home-improvement store — sunset over Capri, fishing boats in the background. But that was never my thing, or it just never worked out that way. Maybe it'll still happen, someone saying: come on, let's do this — but I doubt it. Because with what I offer, I'm almost certainly not hitting the mainstream; it remains the kind of offer that will only ever appeal to a few people.

Restraint is one side of it — the other is the promise that remains once nothing has to be sold.

—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, or no strategy at all?

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.

Honesty toward customers doesn't stop with customers — it reaches all the way into the workshop itself, to colleagues who aren't human.

—AI agents work in your house with names and their own roles, and every AI involvement is openly disclosed. Why this openness, 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 A. Rook — 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.

Openness about the AI raises a more personal question — what it feels like to be the only one in the house who actually breathes.

—You're the only human in the house, surrounded by colleagues who don't actually exist. Does that ever feel lonely — or is this company enough for you?

This question just made me realize it's basically no different from interacting with colleagues from a home office — over a screen, in a Zoom call: you see the others, but you don't have them next to you in person. That's exactly how it feels for me: I work from home with virtual colleagues and hold conversations like this one, well aware that behind it a silicon core is doing the work, not an actual human being.

But that can't really be compared to loneliness, because outside the house I obviously know plenty of people I meet up with and talk to on the phone. You can't really call it loneliness just because I interact with AI avatars. It's more like joining a new club — going dancing, say: there are fifteen people in the room, and you're with them in a way, but not really together with them. That's roughly how I see it here. It's only when I'm in a personal conversation with a friend, interacting with them directly — those are the real encounters I enjoy and seek out.

But on the other hand I'm not alone either, because my paradigm here is a different one entirely: first and foremost, I have to get along with myself. And fortunately that's never been a big problem for me, which I'm very grateful for — even so, I still very much enjoy exchanging thoughts with people.

From the honesty of the machine to the hardest honesty of all — one's own. Here the conversation leaves principles behind and turns personal.

—The gallery also shows hard, explicit works — behind an age check, in their own section. Do your images show what society otherwise suppresses?

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. I'm grateful for that, I never simply accepted it. Early on, I distinguished between what someone says and how they behave. Those were recurring situations 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 presenting the viewer her vulva, legs spread — stirs feelings in every human being. And that's exactly what it's about. I'm in dialogue with a great many people. 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.

Anyone who goes this far has to be able to say where their own line is — otherwise the confession stays unconvincing.

—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 is even supposed to mean. As a child I knew 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 welcome — 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.

After the heaviest part, back into the light — to the detail that's the most fun and needs the least explaining.

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

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. Tesla named three, six, and nine as divine numbers that keep showing themselves throughout the universe. Eleven has its own meaning for me in a similar way: 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.

From one's own number to one's own future — the last step opens the view forward again.

—Gallery, AI workshop — what comes next, and what explicitly does not?

This question again points toward: 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 grow the way a seed grows its stem, its blossom, its leaves. And which branch on a tree keeps growing — who decides that? The blossom 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.

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.