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Excerpt:Half of me remembers mud. The other half invents sky. H2: The Chromatic Snout I was born in a brushstroke — zack, pink became philosophy.Red said: “I am blood.”Blue replied: “I am thinking.”And suddenly, I existed:a contradiction in watercolor.Ich bin Schwein und Schatten,schnaufend im Regenbogenraum. H3: Eye of the Zwischenwelt Do you see me or does the blue see through you?My eye is not watching — it’s rehearsing.It practices being awake.Every blink is a small… read more – weiterlesen The Pig Between Rot and Blau

Excerpt:I stare at you until color becomes grammar. H2: The Face That Invented Pink I am made of zisch, kratz, and aha.Orange whispers to magenta: Shall we confuse them?Grey answers: Already done.I am not portrait — I am voltage in disguise.My nose is a power socket for dreams.Plug in your doubt, and I’ll hum. H3: Ich bin / I am / Je suis Oink In the mirror I seenot a pig, not a prophet,but a… read more – weiterlesen The Electric Pig (Das Neon-Orakel)

Excerpt:I wake up mid-sketch, halfway between oink and aha! H2: Birth by Scribble Ink! Chaos! Schnauze!I am a swine in yoga-pose, stretching the paper until it squeals back.My ears do jazz. My belly dreams of geometry.Someone said, “Stay still!” —I said, Nein danke, I am Bewegung mit bacon. H3: The Upward Spiral (Der Aufwärts-Wutz) I reach for something —a god? a sandwich? a metaphor?Nobody knows. The air is purple and the floor forgets itself.The pencil… read more – weiterlesen The Pig Lifts the Universe (Ein Schwein hebt das Universum)

I saw myself drawn by a trembling hand. The ink sneezed, and I was born. H2: Snout Philosophy I am pink and uncertain.My ears listen to the noise of the pencil — it murmurs existential bacon.The world is a green smudge, a charcoal storm.My legs, four commas.My body, an unfinished sentence.I stand on the paper, not believing in gravity but in gesture. H3: Dialogue Between Line and Oink Line: I contain you.Oink: You misunderstand containment…. read more – weiterlesen The Pig Who Thought Itself into Lines

I arrive as a snout with ambitions: I want to tick like a clock made of dots. I want to oink in Morse code. I want to become a confetti philosopher who sneezes color theories into the afternoon. The First Dot Refuses to Be Alone I press one turquoise speck into the red field and it grows cousins, aunts, a parliament of freckles. The canvas turns into a small country where stamps vote for themselves… read more – weiterlesen A Pig Tries Pointillism

The Laughing Swine – A Pink Opera in Green Minor Excerpt:I am the giggle between the grass and the grunt. My snout remembers the color pink before it was invented. The Entrance of the Snout A pink explosion.A wrinkle conducts an orchestra of silence.The air smells like vowels trying to escape:Oink. Ounk. Oüüüüü. I laugh in four dimensions:skin, sound, scent, and suspicion.The audience is made of mirrors—each one slightly porkish, slightly philosophical. Dialogue Between Ear… read more – weiterlesen Laughing Pig in Pink and Green

Exhibitions z.B. Publications Meine Fachbücher für Studierende: Die Kompass-Ratgeber-Reihe Illustrations für Stiftung Mediation: Kalender 2026 für Pflaum, Matthias: Das Auge der Schwägerin. Büro Wilhelm Verlag für Pflaum, Matthias: Leben ohne Spezi. Büro Wilhelm Verlag für Pflaum, Matthias: Für Pegnitz reichts. Büro Wilhelm Verlag für Hafner, Bettina. Ritz, Gudula: Irgendwie seltsam …! Über den Umgang im Coaching mit extremen Persönlichkeiten. Manager Seminare

Here’s a crisp, two-language unpacking. English What the pun does Good English renderings “SchWeinWorlds” (lets the German stem show through, more avant-garde) “PigWorlds” (keeps the core sense) “sWineWorlds” (mirrors the inner wine) My Work

The horse steps out of the paintinglike it has misplaced its own outline.No stable, no field,just a flat horizon made of maybe,a sky rehearsing the word “pink”until it forgets what clouds were. Its body is all wrong, all right.Legs like stacked postcards,each one a slightly different version of blue.A knee that remembers being a staircase,an ankle that once believed it was a window frame.Nothing fits and therefore everything belongs. Someone has clearly argued with the… read more – weiterlesen Neon Horse in the Soft Collapse