The 69th ARTCaffè featured a captivating session with artist Christine Hohenstein, who connected online from her studio in Wolnzach, Germany.

Christine shared her unique perspective on art, describing it as “a life attitude—going through the world with eyes wide open.”‍

This philosophy has inspired her to explore the expansive potential of art in diverse and meaningful ways. Through her workshops, she helps individuals reconnect with their innate creativity, fostering a sense of playfulness and self-expression. Recently, Christine has taken her artistic journey in a new direction, combining her creative expertise with an understanding of art's profound capacity for healing. This has led her to establish herself as a creative grief coach, guiding others through transformative experiences of emotional expression.

Below, find the full transcript of her inspiring talk. Scroll down to access the recordings of this remarkable event.

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Christine Hohenstein: I grew up in the picturesque Bavarian countryside, in the scenic mountain region known as the Bavarian Forest. This enchanting environment profoundly shaped my artistic sensibilities, making the vibrant blue skies and the beauty of nature recurring themes and foundational elements in my paintings.

I had avery happy childhood, which serves as another anchor for my artwork—a source of inspiration I’m deeply grateful for. While I am an artist, my journey has been multifaceted. I used to work as a secondary school teacher before our move to China. I’m also a writer, and an occasional illustrator. Recently, I’ve ventured into country house interior design, a passion sparked by my love for vintage treasures. Over the past three years, much of my creative energy has been devoted to rebuilding and designing the house we now live in, leaving less time for new artwork. However, the pieces I’ve created during this time reflect a personal evolution.

Being an artist, to me, is not just about creating paintings every day or working on books and the other projects I mentioned earlier. It is more of a life attitude—a way of approaching the world with eyes wide open, embracing curiosity and wonder in every moment.

For instance, whenever I find myself in a new city, a new place, or even in a familiar setting, I always carry my "camera lens" with me—figuratively and often literally. I take countless photos, focusing on the small details, the hidden beauty, and the poetry in everyday life. This practice is essential for my mental well-being. In a world flooded with anxiety-inducing news, grounding myself by seeking out the beauty around me—whether in objects, moments, or people—helps me stay present and connected to the positive.

I consider myself a collagière, a term I use to describe my profession—not just as an artist, but as someone deeply specialized in the art of collage. My technique, which I developed during my university years, blends painting and collage in a seamless and unique way. It’s not merely about sticking or gluing fragments of text or figures; it’s about layering, overpainting, and transforming these elements into something cohesive and meaningful. Ultimately, I see my work as creating my own "happy life world," a visual reflection of joy and positivity.

Some artists turn to painting as an outlet for sadness, and while I might paint during those moments too, my creations tend to reflect happiness. I channel my energy into creating uplifting pieces that not only bring me joy but also celebrate the beauty and positivity of the world around me.

“Partysaison 71/72” is one of my older paintings, but it provides a good example of my approach. In my work, you'll always find black and white as foundational colors, along with an additional color palette. I try to limit the range of colors to maintain harmony. For instance, this piece features black and white paired with shades of turquoise, red, and ochre. In the background, you can spot text fragments from old magazines, which add depth and narrative to the composition.

“Via Farfalla” is a triptych, consisting of three-square paintings that come together as a cohesive whole. Here, I experimented with a broader color palette, perspectives, and thematic elements. On the right panel, there's a woman who resembles a figure from street fashion photography. This image is deeply symbolic for me, as it reflects my meditations on the concept of God. It's a kind of "Godly" representation, incorporating celestial elements like stars, the sun, and the moon—a depiction of the source of energy that radiates into our lives. In the central panel, you'll find cats—a recurring motif in my work and a personal favorite of mine. For those who know me, my love for cats is no secret. I admire the way they observe theworld and us humans, exuding a sense of dignity, wisdom, and an almost otherworldly knowledge. They serve as a constant source of inspiration.

“Via Farfalla II” is deeply connected to my new profession. It explores themes of death and rebirth, reflecting the profound transformations we experience in life. The butterfly serves as a fitting symbol—a striking example of nature's most remarkable metamorphosis. In Greek mythology, the butterfly was already seen as a representation of the eternal soul due to its transformative journey.

I also enjoy weaving in everyday themes, such as strolling through streets or visiting cafés. When it comes to proportions, I embrace a playful approach, often distorting or reimagining them. I like experimenting with new elements; for example, I’ve recently incorporated rust into my work, as seen in “Via Farfalla II.” This experimentation is gradually evolving into my distinct mixed-mediastyle.

Every painting I create is rooted in personal emotions or experiences. At the same time, I enjoy when viewers find their own connections to my work—everyone is free to imagine the story behind it. That’s why I rarely provide explanations alongside my paintings or exhibitions. It’s about the individual experience; each person can see whatever resonates with them in that moment.  

My creative process is unplanned and organic. It evolves as I go—I search through old magazines, cut out pieces, paste them, and then paint over them. It’s a continuous journey, and I never know in advance what the final painting will look like. Collage, as a medium, offers incredible flexibility and spontaneity.

“Circus Wanda“ was painted in China, inspired by the film La Vie en Rose, a biography of French singer Edith Piaf. It captures my emotional reaction to the movie—the moods conveyed through its colors, and my deep admiration for Piaf as a fiercely modern woman navigating challenging circumstances.

I also incorporated a photo of Wanda into this work. Wanda was a real person who lived in Munich, and the accordion in the photo belonged to her. She tragically passed away at a young age, though I don’t know the details of her story. Despite this, her presence lingered in my photo studio, almost as if she belonged there, and it felt natural to include her in this piece.

Since returning to Germany, I’ve conducted several art workshops, including collaborations with an institute called Artist Travel. Through this program, participants could travel with me to different locations while I taught them my techniques. Sharing my creative process with others has been a rewarding experience.

The most striking thing I encountered during these workshops was how often people would say, “I’m not a creative person.” Nearly every client expressed this belief. It was a powerful reminder of how many people feel disconnected from their creativity, even though it’s something we all possess in some form.

In my opinion, everyone is inherently creative. As we grow up and adapt to the hectic demands of adult life, we tend to lose touch with the sense of ease, playfulness, and openness we had as children. In my workshops, I aim to rediscover this forgotten creativity, helping participants nurture and let it flourish once again. It’s like sending them back to an adventure playground—a place they instinctively know from childhood but may have forgotten as adults.

The first and most crucial step is letting go of the urge to be perfect. This pressure to achieve perfection stifles creativity. Once people release that need, they often experience an incredible breakthrough—they become bold, playful, and unrestrained. Suddenly, they no longer feel the need to conform or "be a princess" to please others. They’re free to create however they like, and the result is art that truly belongs to them.

For me, the most rewarding experience is watching people dive into their creativity and discover new facets of themselves. It’s a transformative moment when they realize their potential and embrace the joy of creating.  

One of the reasons I love collage painting is that it eliminates the fear of starting with a blank canvas — a common source of anxiety for many. In collage, the surface is already alive with colors and textures, providing an inviting foundation to build upon. This makes it much easier for anyone, regardless of experience, to jump in and start creating. It’s an accessible and liberating way to overcome the initial hesitation and unlock the creative process.

In 2020, during the lockdowns, I met an incredible person in Hamburg, Germany— Anemone Zeim. She runs a grief counseling agency and, having transitioned from being a designer herself, brings a beautifully creative approach to her work. Inspired by her, I decided to enroll in her one-year grief counseling training program. Together with a group of nine other women, I embarked on this transformative journey, which ultimately led to me becoming a certified grief counselor.  

Through this training, I found a natural connection between Anemone’s modern coaching methods and my own artistic practice. It was as though the healing power of art, something I had always intuitively understood, became sharper and more focused.  

Now, I offer creative grief coaching. In these sessions, my clients and I work together using special techniques to explore and express their emotions. It’s a collaborative process, not one where I merely observe, but where we create side by side. Through this work, clients discover a deeply personal and meaningful way to confront and navigate their challenges.

When I talk about grief or grieving, I’m referring to something far broader than the loss of loved ones—although that is, of course, a significant and often central part of it. Grief can also stem from many other experiences that involve change or loss. It might be the loss of a baby, an abortion, or any life event that alters our path. It could be a job change, or losing a job. Aging can bring its own challenges—like facing wrinkles and the shifts in self-image that come with them. It’s also about the transitions we experience through others. As a parent of an only child, I’ve felt the bittersweet grief of watching my baby grow up. My daughter is six now, and that baby stage is gone. Letting go of those moments, even gradually, can be an emotional journey.  

Grief also manifests in quieter ways, like the empty-nest syndrome, which people often hesitate to talk about, even though it can be deeply painful. All these experiences are valid forms of grief, and they deserve space for acknowledgment and healing.

Grief can also stem from countless family dynamics and issues, which often become deeply personal and emotional. One area I’ve come to focus on is pet loss, a topic that holds special significance for me. I had an extraordinary bond with my beloved cat Mia who traveled with me to China and back. When she passed away, I was devastated. In Germany, discussing the grief of losing a pet is sometimes acceptable, but other times, it’s treated as a taboo topic, which I believe it shouldn’t be. For many people—especially those without children—pets can feel like family members or even surrogate children. They provide companionship, love, and a sense of purpose. Losing such a profound connection can beincredibly painful, and it’s crucial for people to have the space to grieve and process that loss without judgment.  

Acknowledging the depth of this bond and validating the pain of its loss is an important part of healing for those who have experienced it.

Everything I do is centered around helping people find meaningful ways to navigate life’s transformations and changes—and, of course, to cope with grief.

One of my favorite techniques, which I learned at Anemone's place, is inspired by the Japanese art of kintsugi. Traditionally, kintsugi involves mending broken pottery by using gold to piece it back together, transforming what was damaged into something uniquely beautiful. This technique embodies the philosophy of embracing imperfection and discovering the inherent value inflaws and fractures. It’s a powerful metaphor for healing and finding beauty in life’s challenges and scars.

I work with people in a deeply symbolic way, using paper, colors, and my usual materials as tools for expression. Together, we channel all the feelings, emotions, and grief onto the paper—then tear it apart, often in a raw, almost brutal manner. Life itself can be brutal at times, and this act becomes a powerful reflection of that reality.  

Afterward, we take time to examine the scars left on the torn pieces. This can be an opportunity for participants to share their pain and the stories behind it—but it’s entirely optional. The process itself is often enough to allow emotions to emerge and provide a safe, tangible way to confront and explore their grief.  

Then comes the transformative part: we patch the pieces back together, adding gold, layers of color, glitter, and paint. This act of reconstruction mirrors the healing process, turning something broken into something beautiful and meaningful. During these sessions, so much buried emotion begins to surface. People often find themselves expressing thoughts and feelings they’ve never been able to articulate before.  

For me, witnessing this transformation is truly incredible. It’s a vivid demonstration of how the power of art can help us heal—not by erasing the scars, but by honoring them as part of our journey.

Recently, neon colors have become a new addition to my palette, a shift influenced by my training with Anemone. Surprisingly, I find that neon and grief make a powerful combination. In my experience, especially in Germany, there’s an unspoken rule that those who are mourning should avoid color, as though it’s socially inappropriate for them to engage with anything vibrant or lively. This is precisely why I think it’s so essential to challenge this notion—grief deserves color, too.  

Each torn piece of paper we work with represents a fragment of life—those moments or experiences that feel broken. And just like in life, we can’t simply discard these pieces. They remain with us, whether we acknowledge them or not. Trying to hide them, to push them under the surface, only ensures that we’ll stumble over them later.  

Instead, with kintsugi we confront these shards. We examine them, add gold, and piece them back together. Through this process, the broken becomes whole again, transforming into something entirely new—a unique piece of art. And just as every person’s life is different, so are the shards they bring to the table. No two creations are ever the same, because no two lives are ever the same. This act of healing through art is a celebration of individuality and resilience.

Another method I deeply love is the art journaling. I first explored this during my university years but, for reasons I can’t quite explain, I let it slip away as adulthood and the demands of “serious life” took over. Rediscovering this practice during my training felt like finding a lost treasure. It became a daily meditation for me, a way to reconnect with creativity and reflection.

I chose a vintage book for this project, drawn to its beautiful illustrations and its meaningful title. The book’s title, “Leb wohl, Elke!”, resonated with mytheme—it’s a German woman’s name, and "Leb wohl" carries the sense of a farewell, a parting where you may not see that person again. It encapsulates the transformation from life to death and the mysteries that lie beyond, making it the perfect foundation for this meditative practice.  

The art journaling gave me a space in my hectic life to pause and reflect. Each day, I worked on it for just 10 minutes—a short but profoundly impactful ritual. Some days, I let the mood of the moment guide me; other times, I explored deeper themes. This small daily commitment turned into a powerful tool for grounding, expression, and transformation.

When a book, like the one I used, already contains text, I love incorporating blackout poetry into my process. It’s a wonderfully creative and playful technique: I black out certain words and leave others visible, forming a kind of lyric or poem from the fragments. On one particular page, the words I left visible were Himmel, zersprengen, schmerzender, and pein. It’s difficult to translate exactly, but the essence might be something like “heaven-shattering, suffering pain.” That day, I was reflecting on my grief for a dear friend who had passed away. She had been a dancer, and as I worked, I imagined her now—after all the pain she endured—feeling light and free, perhaps dancing around me or somewhere nearby.  

That moment became a kind of color-poem meditation. I realized then how tears, like paint, have the power to transform. Just as the old masters mixed powdered pigments with water and oil to create their art, tears dissolve perfectly into paint, carrying emotion into something tangible and beautiful. It was a profound discovery for me—how even pain can be alchemized into art.

One day, I heard Stevie Wonder song I Just Called to Say I Love You playing on the radio. Sometimes, when someone we’ve lost is no longer here, we long for the chance to simply call them, to hear their voice again. Personally, I hold on to things like old texts, app messages, and voicemails—it’s my way of keeping a part of them close. Listening to that song moved me deeply, and I felt compelled to sit down and paint. The neon colors I chose became a way to quiet the overwhelming rush of my thoughts. Their vibrancy gave me a sense of power and freedom, allowing me to create purely on instinct, without overthinking. The painting just happened—it became my personal sanctuary in that moment.  

The art journaling is not about creating something “pretty” or perfect; it’s about capturing the feeling of some specific moment. That’s all it needs to be. Making room for playful, creative fun is essential—not just for enjoyment, but for maintaining mental health and nurturing a balanced soul. Creativity is such a powerful tool for self-care. It can be incredibly freeing because it comes without limits or rules.  

In this process, everyone is encouraged to use whatever materials or colors they’re drawn to. There’s no right or wrong; they can even destroy the diary if they feel like it. The beauty of it lies in its freedom—it’s an open space where the soul can express itself fully and release everything it’s been holding inside. It’s about letting go and allowing creativity to flow in its purest form.

Creativity is my personal form of witchcraft—my superpower. It’s a magical tool that helps me navigate daily challenges and breathe through life’s ever-changing phases.

But this superpower isn’t mine alone; it belongs to everyone. Truly, everyone has it. Sometimes, it’s just lying dormant, waiting for the right moment to awaken. That’s where I come in. I like to think of myself as the hotel receptionist for creativity—I’m here to give it a wake-up call and help it come alive again.