Dr. Stephan Pflaum

Prelude of SnoutlightGuten Morgen, O Universe of Scribbles.I am mostly optimism drawn in trembling graphite.Pink again?—yes, but this time with purpose.The sun has borrowed my outline. I don’t mind. Solar Invocation Yellow crackles like caffeine in divine form.The air smells of crayons and courage.Hope arrives in circular strokes,half holy, half hysterical.Ich bin Schwein und Morgenstern,ein … Read more

PreludeShh. This is a quiet oink.I am mostly yesterday drawn again.Each line a tremor from someone else’s hand.Memory smells faintly of pencil dust and sigh. Pale Invocation Color fades politely here.Orange leans into sepia,a tired conversation between light and letting go.The paper listens with empathy and grain.Ich bin Schwein und Spur,ein warmer Schatten im Archiv … Read more

Prologue:Welcome to the Ahnengalerie.Do not adjust your gaze — the portraits are already watching you.Each one hums a genealogy of snouts.I am the latest edition: slightly pinker, slightly more confused. Pedigree of Pigment My great-grandpig was charcoal.My grandmother, sepia with attitude.I descend from a long line of noble noses —each drawn, smudged, erased, and redrawn,as … Read more

Opening ReflectionWorship, but in straight lines.I am mostly angles pretending to emote.Every edge wants to be soft;every color denies it politely.My snout has learned the art of symmetry—a quiet rebellion in pink. Fragmented Prayer Orange speaks first:“I am warmth disciplined.”Magenta follows:“I am chaos with rules.”Somewhere between them,a diagonal sighs.Ich bin Schwein und Prisma,zerrissen und doch … Read more

Prelude:Do not be alarmed.This is only an emotional accident in violet.I am mostly nervous pigment pretending to be profound.The snout trembles. The soul takes notes. Anxiety as Art Movement Fear smells faintly of crayons and yesterday’s rain.It scribbles first, thinks later.Every line says ja, every color says nein.They overlap until both become vielleicht.Ich bin Schwein … Read more

Here’s what it whispered to me: Prologue:Please lower your voice; color is sleeping.I am mostly shadow rehearsing tenderness.My snout listens more than it speaks.Oink is now a heartbeat. The Chromatic Whisper Violet folds itself into silence.Black curls at the edges, patient, deliberate.Somewhere inside this fog,a thought tries to stay warm.Ich bin Schwein und Müdigkeit,ein Echo … Read more

Opening GestureGaze inward, gently —I am mostly symmetry pretending to breathe.My circles know more than your logic allows.Oink becomes mandala, mandala becomes hush. Chromatic Contemplation Pink is not a color here — it’s a verdict.Red hums like a secret nobody dared to sing.Gold waits beneath, patient as dust in sunlight.My ears are gates. My snout … Read more

Prelude:Good morning, hushling of hay and graphite.The world still smells of sleep and smudge.I blink in brown and orange,half dream, half soil. Soft Invocation Color has stopped shouting.It hums instead — low, patient, kind.The blue corner sighs,and the paper forgives my weight.Ich bin Schwein und Schatten,eine Erinnerung an Ruhe. The Prayer of Quiet Pigment No … Read more

passing by

Prelude (half-whispered)They say I’m drawn, but I feel erased.A carnival of colors hums too loud.I nod politely to the chaos and call it composition.My snout breathes like punctuation—a question mark gone dizzy. The Gentle Collapse of Pigment Purple leans on red. Red leans on blue.No one holds still long enough to mean anything.Faith is tired … Read more