Since 2010 I have lived on a small farm in the Uckermark, north of Berlin. Every day I visit my sheep, feed them by hand, and talk to them.
In winter I carry water through the frost; in spring I shear their wool; in autumn I trim their hooves. Sometimes I raise a lamb by hand with a bottle. I recognize my sheep by their faces, and of course they have names.
I am sometimes asked how I can bring myself to slaughter them. The answer, like most things in life, is complicated. Sometimes it is easier to paint them. I have been painting our sheep on canvas, in a way, in memoriam. I paint them as I remember them: with their quirks and habits, their colors and postures — and yes, in their individuality.