Seeing Before Words

On perception, artistic method, and pre-verbal ways of seeing

For a long time, I took my way of perceiving the world for granted. I assumed that most people see connections, structures, and meaning in roughly the same way. Only recently have I come to understand that my way of seeing and working is not self-evident, but fundamental to how my artistic practice takes shape.

When new works take shape for me, they rarely appear as ideas in a verbal sense. Instead, they emerge as coherent wholes: spaces, movements, relationships, atmospheres. Often the work is already there, with its own inner logic and direction. My task is not to invent it, but to realise it. To translate something pre-verbal and complex into material, form, and space, without losing its precision.

My understanding of the world is fundamentally visual and spatial. Meaning arises through relationships, structures, and symbolic connections rather than through words. Language enters later, as a reflective layer. Perhaps this is why I often experience language as more demanding than the visual. Not because words are lacking, but because language is a coarse tool in relation to what I am trying to convey. A single imprecise or overly broad word can shift the whole.

This way of seeing is not limited to my artistic work. I notice it in encounters with people, in conversations, and in everyday situations. I often perceive structures, driving forces, or imbalances before I have formed an opinion. First, I see what something is. Only later, sometimes much later, do I decide how I relate to it.

I have also become aware that mental fatigue for me rarely comes from complexity itself. It arises when information lacks clear structure or inner coherence. When meaning is not yet formed, I have to construct it myself. That requires energy. When something is clear, coherent, and precisely presented, I can take in large amounts of information without becoming exhausted.

This way of working is not unique, even if it is not always clearly articulated. Many artists who work with space, materiality, and what is sometimes called tacit knowledge describe similar processes, where the work appears as a whole rather than being built step by step. In these practices, the artist’s role is often less that of an inventor and more that of a listening translator. It is within this field, where perception comes before language and meaning arises through form, relationship, and presence, that I experience my work as belonging.

Putting this into words has helped me better understand my own practice. Not to reduce it to an explanation, but to make visible the ground it rests on. My artistic work begins with a pre-verbal perception, where understanding comes before concepts. For this reason, art is also my most precise language. It carries meaning without needing to be fully explained.

For me, making art is not about formulating answers, but about attention. About listening, seeing, and taking responsibility for what appears. And about allowing the work to retain its integrity, even where words fall short.