Verena Hopp

I was born on March 5, 1985, in Lutherstadt Eisleben, a small town in the former GDR, socialist East Germany. The Berlin Wall fell a few years after that, but I was raised by parents who had only ever known socialism, and by grandparents who lived through the horrors of both war and socialism. That was all they ever knew.

My paternal grandfather, Erwin Hopp, was born in a German settlement in Bessarabia (now in northwestern Ukraine). In the late 1930s to early 1940s, they were called back to the Reich—"Heim ins Reich"—even though they had never set foot in Germany before. If you are interested in their history, you can find many articles online about the "Volksdeutsche." My grandfather’s journey as a young boy was incredibly hard. Along the way, they were placed in the house of an occupied Polish family and told, “This is your home now.” But they despised that notion and tried to live as respectfully and kindly as possible with that family, despite the circumstances.

My great-grandmother once remarked that Germany could never win the war by trying to conquer Russia in a single summer, a crime known as "Zweifel am Endsieg" (expressing doubt about Germany’s final victory in WWII), which often led to the death penalty. As a result, the whole family was sent to an internment camp, living as prisoners. They were only released when my great-grandfather volunteered to fight in Italy, as he spoke Italian. The family’s final destination was a tiny village in East Germany called Ahlsdorf in the Mansfelder Grund. These German families, who had lived abroad and were “brought back,” were treated like "Gypsies." They arrived with nothing, had little education or money, and had to rebuild their lives—and their dreams—from scratch.

Why am I telling you this, dear reader? Because I want you to understand where my artistic intention comes from. I dearly loved and still miss my grandfather Erwin (as well as my other grandparents). He was a major influence on me, an extraordinary storyteller, and a wonderful, though broken, person. I, a creative misfit, could always relate to him. I understood his frustrations because I have similar ones.

In 2006, I went abroad to Japan for the first time, returned, and went back again. Skype (thank you, Skype—I love you!) allowed me to prepay for landline calls, and we established a routine of weekly conversations that continued until the last few days of his life in November 2020. He understood my struggles in building a life abroad, and he always spoke his mind—something I can’t help but do too. He became a pacifist and taught us that war is always wrong.

I am a free spirit. I don’t believe in borders, limits, or the walls and fences put up by authorities. I don’t believe in “can’t”—I believe in learning and evolving.

My art is an expression of boundless creativity. I refuse to be confined to one medium or technique because every new skill I learn opens doors to fresh ideas and forms of expression. For me, there are no boundaries between the arts—each technique, each material is part of a continuous journey that drives my work forward. Specialization is not an option for me; it is a cage that would suffocate my freedom and the flow of my inspiration. My art is a manifesto of freedom, experimentation, and infinite possibilities.

When you purchase one of my pieces, you’re not just acquiring an object; you’re investing in freedom of expression and the breaking of boundaries. My work invites you to challenge the need for specialization and the limits society places on creativity. Through my art, I hope to inspire you to explore your own potential, embrace new perspectives, and let go of the notion that creativity must fit within a box. This is art without borders, a reminder that growth and learning never stop.