7-Thoughts: Becoming visible - instead of being represented

These seven thoughts have been with me for many years. They are not a theory, a method or a concept - rather, they are an inner trace. They have become engrained in my work, in my attitude, in my perception and design. What is collected here is not just a text about design, but the expression of a way of thinking that has been formed through doing.

The impulses come from the teachings of Catharine Rembert. Without quoting her directly, I formulate reflections in the seven thoughts that were triggered by her exercises and her attitude to seeing. Her way of working with line, space, reduction, shadow, repetition and fragments was not a didactic model for me - but an invitation to pay attention.

This invitation has stayed with me. Its traces are visible in many of my works, designs and decisions - not as repetition, but as a continuation.

The seven thoughts are written in a tone that corresponds to what design can be: calm, concentrated, open to nuances. They do not speak in the mode of explanation, but in the rhythm of exploration.

What follows is not a closed doctrine. No instructions. It is an attempt to encircle with words what often happens between the words: Perception. Presence. Attitude.

The seven thoughts stand for something that began in me when I started to understand design not as an external expression but as an inner movement.

THOUGHT 1: The line as a decision
A first thought - in the shadow of a gesture

You might think that the line is something simple.
A beginning. An end.
A contour that delimits something - and thus creates form.

But the way Catharine Rembert taught it, it was more:
It was not a representation, but a presence.
Not a description, but a decision.

Rembert's shadow-tearing exercises - at first glance an old-fashioned technique - were actually
were in fact ultra-modern training in conscious seeing.
No sketching, no tracing, no modeling in the sense of a "real picture".
But rather a feeling:
Where does a form begin for me?
And - just as importantly - where does it end?

The line becomes an existential gesture.
Not in pathos, but in the practical.

Because whoever draws must choose.
And whoever chooses takes responsibility - for what is visible.
For what comes into the light through their own hand.

This decision is not a purely technical one.
It is an attitude towards the world.

In an age in which image production is automated,
in which gestures are standardized and filters are placed over everything,
the consciously set line becomes a contradiction.

It says:
I see for myself.
I decide for myself.
I am not an imaging apparatus.

Rembert did not see this attitude as a technique,
but as training - not
not just for artists, but for people.

Because conscious seeing -
the setting of a line -
also changes our view of life.

What do I perceive?
Where do I draw a line?
What do I leave out - and why?

In her courses, this meant pausing.
Not simply letting the brush lead the way.
Not sketching quickly,
but forcing the hand to feel what it is doing.

And suddenly it became visible,
how much power lies in a single line.
How much clarity there is in a deliberate placement.
How much courage there is in dispensing with embellishment.

This line - it is not perfect.
It is not illustrative.
But it is honest.
It is there.
And it means something.

In this sense, the line was not a means to an end for Rembert,
but a medium of thought.
A thought drawn by hand.
A sentence without words.
A visible yes to the present.

Design, understood in this way, is not the creation of an image.
It is the design of a position.

A student of Rembert's once wrote in the margin of his exercise:
"I didn't learn to draw today -
but I have understood where I stand. "

Perhaps that is the actual function of the line:
Not to represent something -
but to make it visible,
where the self begins.
And how it stands in the world.

THOUGHT 2: The space in between

A thought about what is not drawn - and yet speaks

When we talk about design, we often talk about forms.
About the visible. The contoured. The set image.

But what about what has not been drawn?

Catharine Rembert had a quiet but forceful way of
to bring this space into the mind.
Not as a lack - but as a possibility.
Not as a blank space - but as substance.

For her, the space between things was not a vacuum,
but a resonating space.
Something that connects - or separates.
And precisely because of this: makes things resonate.

Her teaching was never merely form-based. She was aware of space.
Not in the architectural sense, but as a question of attitude:

How much do I leave open?
What can remain unspoken?
Where does tension arise - not from what I say,
but by what I don't say?

Two simple forms could lie side by side -
and suddenly something third emerged.
Something unsaid, unsigned - and yet tangible.
An in-between space that does not impose itself, but carries.

Like a gaze that is not directed at something,
but lingers in between.

Such spaces require patience.
They do not open up at first glance.
They do not invite you to consume quickly -
but to linger.

Because emptiness poses a question:
Can you stand it - that there is nothing there and yet something is happening?

In everyday life, we often overdraw such spaces with clarity.
We fill them with opinions, with explanations, with volume.

Rembert's teaching, however, invited us to see things differently:
Not: What do I see?
But rather: What is in between?
Not: Which form is correct?
But rather: What tension arises between the forms?

Perhaps this is a deeper principle of design:
Not to make things -
but to enable relationships.
Not to build -
but to balance.

The space in between - that is the place where relationships become visible.
Between line and surface.
Between figure and ground.
Between the self and the other.

In music, it is the silence between the notes that creates rhythm.
In language, it is the pause that allows meaning to breathe.
In design, it is the unoccupied space,
that shows how something works.

Perhaps this is one of the quietest thoughts - but
but precisely for this reason: one of the most powerful.

Not because it tells us what to do -
but because it reminds us,
what we often overlook:

That design does not only happen by doing -
but in letting.
Not only in the form -
but in the in-between.

THOUGHT 3: Form as a relationship

A thought about juxtaposition - and what arises from it

A form is never alone.
Even if it stands for itself, it always stands to something.

Catharine Rembert did not understand form as a self-contained object,
but as part of a structure.
It was not isolated - but in relationship.

Her exercises - with letters, paper surfaces, simple bodies - were never
were never just about what something is,
but always also: What happens next to it?

A circle on a sheet of paper - is that a shape?
Or does it only become a shape through the distance to the edge?
by its relationship to a second circle,
by its position in space -
something significant?

Rembert's view of design was a relational one.
Not analytical - but sensitive.

What effect does a line have when another one runs alongside it?
How does a surface change when it is part of a group?
What does an element mean - not on its own, but in combination?

In this way of thinking, design becomes an observation of relationships.
Not in the mathematical sense.
But in the perceptive, feeling sense.

It is not about rules.
It's about tension.
About closeness.
About distance.
And about the silent knowledge:

What I set is not only effective in itself -
but through what it sets in motion.

In her exercises, forms were never isolated.
There was no "for itself".
Only "in context".

And this contextual thinking - it has a lasting effect.
Not only in design.
Also in seeing.
Also in life.

Because every decision in space entails another.
Every emphasis brings with it something unsaid.
Every form demands a reaction.

In the school of perception that Rembert designed,
one not only learned how something looks -
but how it acts.
How it sounds together with other things.
Or interferes.
Or disappears.
Or is allowed to stand out.

Design thus became a kind of relationship lesson.
Not moral.
Not didactically.
But more visual.
Slower.
More alert.

And suddenly you realize:
A form is not neutral.

It is an answer to its surroundings.
Or a question.
Sometimes both.

THOUGHT 4: Reduction as access

A thought about the little - that lets you see more

Less is not less.
Not in the teaching of Catharine Rembert.

For her, reduction did not mean renunciation.
But concentration.
A conscious limitation -
to see more clearly what is there.

Everything superfluous was left out of her exercises.
Not out of principle. Not out of stylistic rigor.
But because any excess scatters perception.

Circle. Square. Line.
Shapes that don't need to be explained.
Shapes that, precisely because of their simplicity
create a space - for attention.

Reduction was not a stylistic device for Rembert.
It was a means of sharpening.

A way back to that,
what carries.
What remains,
when everything else falls away.

It is a silent school.
You sit in front of a blank page.
Perhaps with a single circle.

And suddenly a question arises:
Why exactly there?
What happens if I move it?

These questions only arise,
because there is nothing else to distract you.

Reduction lets things speak,
that would otherwise be drowned out.
It doesn't show more -
but it shows clearer.

It is an invitation:
Not to get lost in possibilities,
but to get involved - with one.

One form.
A gesture.
A moment of decision.

Rembert trusted her students to
to work with little.

Not because she had little confidence in them -
but because she demanded a lot.

The little was not a relief.
It was a challenge.
Not technically - but internally.

Because reduction brings something to light,
that often remains hidden in the abundance:

Your own view.
Your own signature.
Your own decision.

Not what is possible -
but what is essential.

Reduction, understood in this way, is not a style.
It is an attitude.

An attitude that allows clarity,
because it allows silence.

THOUGHT 5: The shadow as depth

A thought about what makes visible without being in the light itself

What we see, we see through light.
That seems self-evident.

But in Catharine Rembert's teaching
it was often the shadow
that really taught us to see.

Not as an effect.
Not as a plastic aid to the illusion of space.
But as a silent presence of depth.

In her exercises, the shadow was not "used".
It was understood -
as something of its own.
Not just a follower.
But a trace.

A trace in perception.
And in the design.

The shadow shows nothing.
But it points to something.
It hints.
It lets us feel it -
without placing itself at the center.

Perhaps that is where its power lies:
It forces the form to enter into a relationship.
With the space.
With the weight.
With the invisible.

The shadow does not mark a boundary.
It does not draw a line.
It tells of something,
that cannot be grasped - but
but becomes tangible.

In the transition from the visible to the implied
depth emerges.
Not as an illusion of space,
but as an intensity of seeing.

Design, understood in this way, does not mean
making something visible.

But rather: making something visible,
what would otherwise remain in the background.

The shadow allows the form to breathe.
It gives it peace.
It does not expose it -
but it makes it perceptible.

A picture with light and shadow shows:
Clarity does not come from contrast.
But from the relationship.

And this relationship is never stable.
Never unambiguous.

It requires the viewer to go along with it.
To look along.
An endurance.

Because the shadow is not there,
to be understood.

It is there to create depth - not
not as an effect,
but as a question:

What lies behind what I see?

Rembert did not ask this question out loud.
But she let it arise -
in every leaf,
in every darkness next to a light.

And once you have learned
to see the shadow not as a disturbance
but as part of the form -
will see differently.

Not just with the eye.
But with time.

THOUGHT 6: Repetition as insight

A thought about practicing - and what it changes

Repetition - that sounds like effort.
Like mechanics. Like duty.

But with Catharine Rembert, repetition was not a drill.
It was a movement.
A loop,
in which the same thing is not repeated -
but the view changes.

There was no practicing in her courses,
to master something.

It was repeated,
to see something -
new, different, deeper.

A leaf.
A circle.
A shadow.

Once more.
And one more time.

Not because the first attempt was unsuccessful.
But because each attempt
could reveal a different perception.

This kind of repetition
was not about control.
It was about opening up.

About allowing small shifts.
Because what changes,
is not the exercise -
but the practitioner.

Repetition does not create knowledge on demand.
But familiarity.

Not as a routine,
but as slow, tentative seeing.

Rembert's teaching was based on this:
Knowledge does not leap.
It feels its way forward.
At the pace of attention.
In the rhythm of your own questions.

Repetition was not an end in itself for her.
But a counterweight - against
against hasty understanding.
Against ticking things off.
Against the "I already know".

Because what we often do,
we often only do superficially.

And what we repeat,
shows - if we remain quiet enough
suddenly something
that wasn't there before.

Perhaps this repetition is also a resistance:
Against the new for the sake of the new.
Against the compulsion to progress.

Instead: Depth.
Instead: Patience.
Instead of: Trust -

that something will grow,
if you stay with it.

That takes courage.
And time.

Because repetition is not a guarantee.
It is an offer.

An offer to learn by doing,
what cannot be explained.

An offer,
not to see form as a product,
but as a process.

And perhaps also
not as a doer,
but as a learner.

THOUGHT 7: The collage as an understanding of form

A thought about putting things together - and leaving breaks

Not everything has to be one.
Not everything fits.

And that's not the problem.
It's the invitation.

In Catharine Rembert's teaching, collage was not a gimmick.
It was a school of seeing.
A space in which fragments were not hidden - but
but were uncovered.

A piece of handwriting.
A torn photograph.
A strip of paper glued on.

None of it perfect.
But everything: in motion.
In the making.

In the collage, something was allowed to stand side by side,
that was not "coherent" in the classic picture composition.

And precisely in this:
something began to speak.

Not in the sense of a statement -
but in the sense of an attitude:

It's allowed to be there.
Even if it breaks.
Even if it does not resolve.
Even if it does not explain.

Rembert allowed a way of thinking in the collage,
that was not linear.
Not harmonious.
But open.

Open to displacement.
For contradiction.
For the unfinished.

In her exercises, the question was not:
"How do I put it all into a form? "

But rather:
"What happens if I don't smooth anything out? "

This is a different understanding of design.
One that is not defined by order,
but about attention.

Because what becomes visible in the collage
is not what is found -
but the assembling.

The gesture,
to take something,
to move it,
to read it differently.

And thus:
to open up a new possibility.

Perhaps it was precisely this openness
that was important to Rembert.

A form that does not prescribe,
but questions.

Not: What is this?
But rather: What could this be - in relation to something else?

This creates a design,
that does not live from unity,
but of relationship.

A design,
that does not explain,
but makes it tangible:

Diversity is not the opposite of clarity.
It is its ground.

Concluding thoughts

On the continuation in space, image and view

What has been hinted at in these seven thoughts finds its actual place not only in thinking - but in doing. In practice. In the stillness of a studio. In the construction of a surface. In composing a picture.

The principles that run through Catharine Rembert's teaching also characterize my photographic work. Especially where design and perception go beyond what can be clearly named. In my work with photographic composition - especially in the avant-garde field - the same questions arise:

What do I see?
What do I show?
And what is created between these two moments?

Light and shadow do not play a secondary role - they are language. They form without drawing. They tell without explaining. It is not images that are created, but approximations.

They are often forms that are so far removed from the real image that they themselves become a reality in their own right. As if they only exist in the mind. Or in the space between image and observation.

These forms detach themselves from the object.
They become illusions.
Pure fantasy.

And precisely where clarity disappears, the real thing begins:
An inner resonance.
An image that does not hold, but moves.
A design that does not instruct, but invites.

In my studios, design becomes an open practice.
It doesn't just mean graphic design, not just visual order.
It also means sensing what happens between things.
And making that visible - in a language that can be images.

Perhaps this is precisely the thread that runs through all my work:
Understanding seeing not as a technique -
but as an attitude.

DREIFISCH
Greifswalder Str. 242
17121 Loitz
Germany

Herr Anselm Bonies
039998 95900

support@dreifisch.com

Welcome - I am Anselm Bonies, a creative companion who sees the interplay between color, form and design as the heart of my work.

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