Heike Kabisch’s work explores themes of “vulnerability, transformation and the complexities of the human condition.” In “Memories in deep creeks,” her current solo exhibition at ChertLüdde in Berlin, Germany, she turns to the mysterious ocean and its secret depths, with organic and anthropomorphic forms that map connections and distinctions.
Transformation plays a crucial role in Kabisch’s work and process. The nine featured sculptures, including one relief, are Acrystal casts of models originally created in clay incorporating old towels. Kabisch frequently reuses the same clay, continuously reworking it into new forms. Similarly, the towels, which she uses to keep her sculptures moist during production, are repurposed until they are worn and torn. At that point, she begins to integrate the frayed remnants into the final sculpture, making them an essential part of the piece.
Robert Preece: How did you go about making Flirted with you all my life (2024)? How did the form evolve, and is there a significance to the title?
Heike Kabisch: Flirted with you all my life is a new piece, but it connects to many of my earlier figurative sculptures. Like those works, it presents the human body, or parts of it, like a vessel for emotions and feelings. My process is inherently intuitive; I move in and out of the image I’m creating, drifting from one formal decision to the next.
There’s always an element of chance that excites me—where I gather and abandon tactile moments, fragments of unfinished sketches, notes, and ideas, all of which point toward something yet to be revealed. The work existed in a constantly evolving state in my studio for a long time, challenging me along the way. I remember reaching a point when I tore off the upper portion, and within an hour, the sculpture was finally completed. That tension between the work and me is crucial. Often, it’s in these moments of resistance that the work truly moves forward. And in some ways, this process feels like a flirtation.
The title also serves as a way for me to distinguish myself as a sculptor. I’ve often heard my work compared to Giacometti’s, regardless of whether I see the connection. That said, Flirted with you all my life can be seen as a kind of flirtation with his work.
RP: How did you build up the forms in In the shell of her body’s shadow (2024)? What do they suggest?
HK: I have worked figuratively since my studies, and I am drawn to simplicity. A figurative sculpture often evokes an immediate emotional response because we recognize ourselves in it. But then, as we engage more deeply, we begin to understand that it’s not as simple as it first appears. There are layers of meaning, much of which, for me, is also connected to the process of making the actual piece.
I always begin by sculpting my figures in clay, usually black clay. Then I make a mold and cast the figure, destroying the original and reusing the clay each time. The clay used in In the shell of her body’s shadow was used in works from previous exhibitions and will continue to be reused in future projects. The same approach applies to the towels that I use to keep the clay moist as I work. I keep them until they fall apart, preserving even the smallest remnants. In this work, you can find tiny fibers in the cracks and tears that cover the sculpture like algae. There’s something poetic about this state of transition, and I love bringing it to life. Every part of the process, no matter how small, holds significance. Everything has purpose and function, and everything is interconnected.
In this freestanding sculpture, a mother rests within a tree and her daughter rests against her fossilized body. An early reference in making this sculpture was a painting from the late 18th century. In Alfred Guillou’s Mère et enfant au bord de la mer (Mother and Child by the Sea), a veiled woman is seen knitting while her young child sleeps in a bed of bladder wrack, seaweed that has washed onto the sand. This idealized pastoral scene is a symbol of humanity’s desire for a harmonious retreat from the pressures of urban life, and this was the impulse I wanted to capture—but in my own way.
I think we all understand the feeling of love and care for something. This work aims to convey the experience of parenthood, but you don’t need children to grasp its deeper meaning. We live in a time when rising sea levels, forced migration, and political turmoil are reshaping the world drastically, and the generations following us will be the ones facing most of the repercussions. To navigate this, care is essential; without that, we risk panic.
This idea of connection is deeply woven into my exploration of historical nautical charts. These maps, which I have drawn on and collaged, carry not only the weight of their own histories, but also an inherent mystery and beauty. At the same time, they serve as tools of control and surveillance, designed to monitor dangers and extend territories. In my work, I intentionally position my figures in contrast to this structured order.
RP: Could you tell me about the two figures in In the presence of the sea (2024)?
HK: In the presence of the sea is an acrylic cast; the reinforcing structure on which I applied the clay to build the figures is integrated directly into the cast. Through this approach, I aim to weave together different layers of time. The form itself is inspired by L’Hippocampe, a surreal, black-and-white scientific film from the early 1930s by French filmmaker Jean Painlevé that delves into the fascinating biology of seahorses. It was controversial at the time because it showed how the female seahorse transfers her eggs into the male’s belly—arguably an unconventional depiction of gender roles and caregiving even today, yet still so tender and beautiful.
RP: Did this influence your depictions of seahorses in Luca (2024) and Casey (2024)? Why did you choose these names as the titles?
HK: Who doesn’t love seahorses? I find them to be beautiful yet strange creatures, living in such a different way than we do. About a year ago, I began creating a series of small clay sculptures of whales, drawn to their immense, almost human-like presence. After that, I wanted to explore how much I could humanize their much smaller counterparts. I chose human names—Luca and Casey—because they feel versatile and are gender neutral. Luca means “the bright one” or “the shining one,” while Casey represents someone who is cautious and attentive. I picked these names like you would with a child—selecting a name that is also a hope or a wish for the child. In exaggerating their proportions, I also made them appear more human. For me, it’s important that viewers engage with the work in a way that prompts self-reflection—finding distinctions as well as similarities between themselves and the sculptures. I really crave this engagement.
RP: With Sascha (2024) and Andy (2024), you seem to have morphed the forms, and your use of old towels is more visible. Where are you leading us with these works?
HK: For me, these sculptures are like two guards watching over the space, except that we see them in slumber. I wanted to keep them juvenile in appearance. I used my daughter’s bike seat to prop the figures up while I was making them. Though their upper bodies resemble seahorses, their lower halves feature human legs, complete with toddler-size socks.
Just like in my other sculptures, I kept them partially wrapped in towels, which become an important symbol of protection, like a child’s comfort blanket. These towels and torn fabrics are with them in my studio, and it feels important that they stay with the sculptures when they are exposed to the world.
RP: Memories in deep creeks (2024), the show’s title work, has the appearance of a historical sculptural relief. What are these “memories in deep creeks”? How intense is the making process for you?
HK: The studio is a free space, where body and mind are both active on many levels. It’s a vibrant environment, a place where my thoughts swing between intellect and intuition, constantly searching for a formal solution that holds personal meaning while also conveying a universal relevance.
Memories in deep creeks is a creature caught between worlds and species—between recovery and transformation. Like some of my other works, it carries a mythological weight. It is a hybrid figure, a fictional mermaid. This figure, like all my human figures, stems from working with models in my studio; in this case, I collaborated with a colleague and dear friend who is incredibly important to me. She embodies both strength and fragility, a duality that deeply resonates with the concept that I wanted to convey in the show. Her face also appears in several of the other sculptures. This presence creates a sense of movement, as if the figures themselves are changing, transforming.
Heike Kabisch’s “Memories in deep creeks” is on view through April 12, 2025.
