The ways that lead to maturity are manifold, often winding and intersecting, sometimes – if they are too short – fatal. Artists’ biographies reflect this clearly enough. This maturing process can best take place when the way is long and straight and the artist craftsman does not stray from it but, rather, lives and works in relative seclusion without the burden of an exalted public. Of course, fashions lurk here, too. Nonetheless, the cosmos is more intimate, the purpose more demanding and the reward more objective.
But enough of these generalizations. Let us now turn to the particular reason why we are here and concur that, at sixty, Christa Lühtje makes beautiful, irresistibly simple things. Her longstanding friends and customers have been able to follow her development for many years. My own observations have been limited to more recent times, but this made my acquaintance with her work more dramatic and forced me to approach it with the utmost concentration, which of course would not have been possible without Christa Lühtje’s competence in presenting her work in an appropriate context.
One of the questions I already asked myself during our preparations for the 150th anniversary exhibition of the Bavarian Arts and Crafts Society in the autumn of 2001 was whether Christa Lühtje was the first goldsmith to hit upon the idea of cutting rings into several parallel, identically shaped parts. It would indeed seem to be the case. This idea – which is naturally the product of long reflection – is so wonderfully convincing because it enriches and diversifies our notion of the ring as an item of jewellery. It is also of fundamental significance, for it further strengthens the raison d’être of the artist craftsman and craftswoman.
Whereas rings, once they have been removed from their wearer’s fingers and put aside, normally convey the impression of helplessness, like flotsam and jetsam washed up on a deserted beach, this innovative creation invites us to play with it, to stack its four or five parts in regular or fortuitous arrangements. Some of them can be stood on end, like arched gateways.
But enough of these generalizations. Let us now turn to the particular reason why we are here and concur that, at sixty, Christa Lühtje makes beautiful, irresistibly simple things. Her longstanding friends and customers have been able to follow her development for many years. My own observations have been limited to more recent times, but this made my acquaintance with her work more dramatic and forced me to approach it with the utmost concentration, which of course would not have been possible without Christa Lühtje’s competence in presenting her work in an appropriate context.
One of the questions I already asked myself during our preparations for the 150th anniversary exhibition of the Bavarian Arts and Crafts Society in the autumn of 2001 was whether Christa Lühtje was the first goldsmith to hit upon the idea of cutting rings into several parallel, identically shaped parts. It would indeed seem to be the case. This idea – which is naturally the product of long reflection – is so wonderfully convincing because it enriches and diversifies our notion of the ring as an item of jewellery. It is also of fundamental significance, for it further strengthens the raison d’être of the artist craftsman and craftswoman.
Whereas rings, once they have been removed from their wearer’s fingers and put aside, normally convey the impression of helplessness, like flotsam and jetsam washed up on a deserted beach, this innovative creation invites us to play with it, to stack its four or five parts in regular or fortuitous arrangements. Some of them can be stood on end, like arched gateways.
