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A few Loose Hours

Posted on 04/10/2026 by Andrea Eimke

A morning of strange Associatons

Last night‘s recordings sound as if I had been completely drunk. In reality, I had just been drunk on sleep.

This morning, however, waking up is a different story. My dog presses his face against mine and licks my nose—our sacred morning ritual. Inside my head, words are still fast asleep. “Coffee” is the very first one to clear the fog. I ask Alexa to turn on the news, needing to figure out what is happening in the world today. With a fresh mug and a yogurt in hand, I retreat straight back to bed.

On the radio, a reporter mentions that today is International Mother Language Day. The broadcast quickly shifts, making me wonder: is a new global conflict really looming over Europe? Then, the host introduces a word that describes me perfectly—tsundoku, the Japanese term for people who pile up unread books on their nightstands. Minutes later, a photo on Facebook catches my eye and lures me into the endless temptations of research.

But my drift is cut short. Wifi, my dog, urgently needs to pee and insists we get moving.

Outside, we cross paths with a couple wearing sunglasses. It is a windy, gray day; the sun is completely hidden. I can’t help but wonder: what exactly are they trying to hide?

Down by the water, chaos breaks out as a flock of seagulls relentlessly pursues one lucky bird that managed to catch a sardine. Only a solitary cormorant remains completely still, as if lost in meditation. Looking down, I notice the reflection of a railing stretching across the water. The stark black-and-white lines instantly evoke the striped uniforms of prisoners in Nazi concentration camps. What a curious association for a simple morning walk.

Later, I go out for lunch with an English friend. As I play last night’s recordings for her—now translating my dictation to English—she can’t help but laugh out loud.

And looking back at my day, I have to chuckle too. It is fascinating how the mind works in those quiet, unstructured hours between sleep and fully waking up. From the simple, chaotic greed of seagulls to the heavy weight of history reflected in a harbor railing, our brains constantly weave together a unique tapestry of the world. Perhaps that is the beauty of language, or simply learning to translate our thoughts: it forces us to stop, look closer, and find meaning—or a good laugh—in the most fleeting moments.

Creative Impasse

Posted on 04/10/202604/10/2026 by Andrea Eimke

Not much Science but some Fiction

A friend sent me the link to a Swiss painter’s website. I explore it with interest. I see oils, acrylics, three-dimensional works, and photographs.

Above all, her cyanotype prints captivate me. I submerge myself in a web of white lines: shiny filaments on a deep blue background. I pause to digest what I’ve seen. I look up toward the window in front of my desk, where a similar image surprises me. Above the whitewashed stone cubes of my town and the expanse of the cobalt sea extends, like a net of scars, a tangle of vapor trails that cross and lose themselves in the azure nothingness. Superimposed, an army of gray lenticular clouds evokes the silhouette of several UFOs.

To board one of them, I think, and fly to distant, ephemeral worlds—worlds that no longer exist anywhere but in my memory. To lose myself once again among the caresses of cotton fabrics and natural fibers. To let myself be carried away once more by the adventure of turning that delicate image into tangible matter. To create a space of dreams where reality vanishes on the threshold of the borderland, where the interstice transforms into a physical sensation of nothingness.

Ma, as the Japanese call it. For them, the space between things is not empty, but filled with energy: a force that moves you, inspires you, and lifts you up, like a flight inside a lenticular cloud. A possible interaction with the foreign, whether object, plant, animal, or human. Everything possesses a soul, a sensual promise, and deserves respect. The other, the unknown, is that which disquiets and at the same time fascinates; that which invites exploration. Is it not similar, perhaps, to being aboard that fictional alien ship?

I imagine black spheres descending on thin strings from that cloudy craft. As they draw near, the skeins unravel, turning into wavy filaments and shaping letters. They enter through my window and gather on my computer screen. As if holding hands, they weave sentences. I press a few keys to save this extraterrestrial text. What a rescue for a blocked writer!

A Visual Mind in a World of Words

Posted on 04/10/202606/10/2026 by Andrea Eimke

Just Thinking

Today, I realized that it is far easier for me to think and write in a foreign language than it is to speak it. I can’t help but wonder why that is! As an exercise for today, I decide to dictate my thoughts directly into my phone. What a hassle! It feels clumsy and difficult, but I regard it as a creative challenge. So, practice it is!

Do I actually think in words? I don’t believe I do. My thoughts take shape long before the words arrive, and the specific language I choose depends entirely on whatever linguistic environment I happen to be immersed in at the moment.

Language is powerful. The Gospel of John famously begins with, “In the beginning was the Word,” casting the word as the ultimate creative force. On the other hand, Ulysses S. Grant once wrote, “I think I am a verb.” I deeply resonate with that observation. I am always active—a doer, a feeler, a creator of my own world. I am an active piece of the universe around me, or at the very least, my actions ripple through it.

I also think in images, a trait I consider quite important. Being the daughter of a photographer, this visual instinct is part of my DNA. As an artist, I spent a long time expressing my feelings, observations, and ideas through multidimensional, tactile visual works. Learning to describe both my inner and outer worlds through written language is an entirely new journey for me.

Participating in the first ever International Biennial of Contemporary Lace in Gerona in 2025

Posted on 19/09/2026 by Andrea Eimke

I was invited to exhibit some lace pieces in the Conference’s exhibition. This challenge gave me the idea to finish a piece that had been waiting in a drawer for the right time to be shown.

“Between Wor(l)ds” is a play with words, which describes my liminal situation between languages. Words – connections between people – are audible and readable; they can be touched and they touch you. They fit together and make sense, yet sometimes they want to break out of the box. The work speaks to the desire to perceive cultural and linguistic conventions not as a limitation but as an enrichment.

As I had so liked the idea of making a dancer’s mask for the inauguration of Tercer Espai V. So I decided to make some more in a variety of colours and also send them to Gerona for display.

The Conference was a wonderful opportunity to meet with lace makers from all around the world. I loved talking to fellow artists and marveling at their art. It was here that I met the Bulgarian lace artist Bistra Pisancheva who invited me to exhibit Third Space VI in Sofia in March 2026. And my encounter with the organizer of the Textile Conference in Andorra led to my invitation to exhibit Tercer Espai VII as part of their biennial textile event in October 2026.

Tapa experiments in Tarascon

Posted on 20/08/2018 by Andrea Eimke

In September of 2017 the amazing book TAPA was launched in Paris. I was privileged to be one of the book’s many authors, and asked to write about the bark cloth on my former home island of Atiu (left). I was also invited to exhibit some of my works for the occasion (below a detail of my tapa-lace panel with Marquesan dance costumes in the background).

During the exhibition I met French artist and art restorer Marion Dumaine. Marion exhibited lengths of Tongan tapa beautifully decorated with natural pigments and gold leaf. Being both interested in barkcloth, the idea arose to meet in August 2018 and hold an experimental workshop. My German girlfriend Christel Weingart, felt artist, painter and published author, who had used barkcloth in a sculptural way many years ago, would also join us. Raymond and Colette Cristini offered us free of charge their lovely summer house in Tarascon sur Ariège (France) for our experiments. Our first interest was to check if there were any suitable plants growing in Europe whose inner bark could be successfully beaten into usable sheets. Marion’s cousin had had to cut down a fig tree, ficus carica, one of the many fig species and thus distantly related to the plant family from which tapa is being made in the South Pacific islands and other areas. They had kept some branches for us to explore.

We boiled these in water for three hours (left: Christel checking on the branches) and spent an entire day shaving off the outer bark. The bast could be removed and smelled, felt and looked just like that of the Banyan roots I had worked with in the Cook Islands. We fermented it for a day, as I had done on Atiu, to make beating of the rather coarse bark easier.

However when beating it, it did not stay in one piece, but dissolved into bundles of tangled fibres. So we learned our first lesson: not all fig bast is suitable for tapa making.

Marion brought some Philodendron roots from her giant plant at home to try out. It was a fiddly enterprise to shave off the outer bark. The best way of removing the inner wooden core was to just beat the root flat. When fresh, it had beautiful rusty and pink colours, however these dried into beige and brown once dry.

I took some blueprinted tapa with me which I wanted to felt into a freshly beaten length of tapa. Colette, our hostess, had brought us bundles of dried Broussonetia papyrifera (Paper Mulberry) bark from her home island of Futuna. We were grateful that Michel Charleux, the editor of the TAPA book, let us have the Marquesan-style anvil which had served for tapa demonstrations during the Paris book launch exhibition. Once the bast was beaten thin, I removed some slivers from the cyan-dyed tapa pieces and beat them into the white tapa. It worked wonderfully.

Encouraged by Marion’s experiments with the Philodendron roots, I decided to experiment with mauve coloured Rose of Sharon petals. The delicate upper parts were easy to felt into the bast, the thicker maroon centers not so well. However in the end, most of the petals had merged with the bark.

We decided to beat all strips of bark which we had already soaked in water. Both Marion and I were interested in achieving a lacy effect (left) for use in future artworks .

Meanwhile Christel had been using pieces of tapa to fashion some delightful three dimensional artifacts. I had seen Christel’s tapa bowls when I first met her in 2003 and had been keen to learn from her how to make them.

Over a ceramic bowl, with the help of cling film, water and cellulose glue she formed delicate vessels (left), decorated with spirals and some of the fig bast fibres from our previous experiment (right). They were especially impressive when seen in their delicate beauty against the light and blue sky of Tarascon’s summer.This was my chance and now I knew what I wanted to do with the cyan-dyed tapa pieces.

The blue and white patterns reminded of Delftware. After the first bowl I became more adventurous. I discovered that the pieces were double-layered and that using both layers made the bowl too opaque for what I wanted to achieve. I also used the inner, plain layer and adorned it with the remnants of the previous bowl.

Now, back in Terrassa, the three bowls I made in this enjoyable experimental workshop adorn my book shelf. They may become part of an exhibition I am hoping to have some day…

Cyanotypie – a workshop

Posted on 20/08/2018 by Andrea Eimke

In June 2018 I enrolled in a workshop at Terrassa’s wonderful art gallery Tigomigo. Its owner Paulo Cacais introduced us to the secrets of cyanotypie.

Cyanotypie is a photographic process that results in cyan or Prussian blue prints. It was invented in 1842 by Sir John Herschel. British botanist Anna Atkins used it immediately in a series of botanical books published in 1843. She can thus be considered the first (female) photographer. Blueprints were widely used for many decades in architectural offices until alternative methods were invented in 1942 . Artists still use it today.

During my visit to Tel Aviv at the end of 2017, I was fortunate to meet the artists Rachel Eretz and Lucy Elkivity in their studio and admire their co-operative blueprint works (left). The technique resembles the sun-dyed pareu we used to make in the Cook Islands. I became curious to find out if I could use this method on tapa.

I took some pieces of Tongan tapa with me to the workshop. In his dark room, Paulo showed us how to dissolve small amounts of potassium ferricyanide and ferric ammonium citrate in warm distilled water and apply the greenish solution with a brush to the surface of our substrates. The prepared pieces were then left in a dark place to dry.

My first idea with embroidery frames and gauze fabric did not give good results, since it had to be kept inside so the wind would not blow it away and could thus only be developed through the window.

On a supporting frame, under glass plates held in place with clips I could then arrange my printing material on the dried substrates. I opted for plant material which I found outside the gallery.

Paulo had the great idea to scan my hand, print it out on transparent paper and use it as a “negative” that the sun could develop. It is amazing how quickly the colour of the chemicals turns from a light green to a greyish blue right and beyond.

If left in the sun long enough, one achieves a beautiful dark Prussian blue, while the parts that the sun can’t access remain white (or the colour of the substrate).

To dry the developed “photographs”, the wet pieces were just stuck to the large window of the gallery. I was so pleased with the outcome that I could not help but take a selfie…

Un pas més – Another Step…

Posted on 01/09/2017 by Andrea Eimke

…is the motto of the exhibition. And surely, for me this much appreciated challenge has been a step forward.

Going back to the beginning: newspaper as material. Cool!. How could I use it? It was clear that it would have to be “my way”, i.e. sewn lace. However paper is fragile. What to do about it?

I could print a newspaper extract onto fabric (left).I wanted it to be a meaningful text, though. Where would I find one in such a short time? And then, what to do with that text? Hmmm, somehow that wasn’t convincing.

The technical question was, how to stabilise paper? With iron-on interfacing (above).

Yes, this did work, however, where was the message? I could look for meaningful words. Which language should I use? German – my native language, English – a language I sometimes find easier to work in (!), Castellano – the country’s language, or Catalán – the regional language I am only just beginning to learn and love?

No! All the languages I speak, I decided. Then I went in search of international newspapers.

Many interesting articles later I had a good collection of words I could use. I arranged them so they’d transcend the confines of the frame (left). The words could be sewn (right)…

However, that turned out to be too labour-intensive for the short time period, so this will become a separate project to be continued…

In the end I found words that satisfied me and joined them with machine-sewn lace. I didn’t much like the frame and thought that the natural wood colour made it stand out too much. White paint was the answer. For weeks my workroom smelled of paint! However, it did the trick. I drilled holes in the frame to attach the lace with beads (right).

And, voilà, the work was finished. The title came easily: Between Wor(l)ds – my favourite space to be.

My work can be seen during the four days of the Festa Major (city festival) de Matadepera at the Casal de Cultura (culture centre) – between other interesting works of local artists who have also submitted to the challgenge of frame and newspaper. We have all done “un pas més” – another step.

Back on Track

Posted on 30/08/2017 by Andrea Eimke

During the time of transition from one side of the world to the other, from island to city life, from wife to widow, from full-time work to (semi-)retirement, I managed to create a wonderful circle of choice family members and friends in my new Spanish home town and nearby. To all these amazing people I owe my sanity.

Nearly two years had to pass before I was able to start creating again. I have adjusted to my much smaller workroom (above) and won new artist friends.

These encouraged me to join an art group in a neighbouring town, the Matadepera Col•lectiu d’Art, and participate in their art exhibition. All participants had to use a frame sponsored by the city council of Matadepera and newspaper in our works (left).

I’ve always wanted to work with text. This was a much welcome challenge. It finally broke my artist block.

Tomorrow will be the inauguration of our exhibition. I’m so excited! I will keep you posted…

Dust to Dust…

Posted on 28/01/2016 by Andrea Eimke

… Ashes to Ashes

Almost a year has passed since my last post on 9th February 2015. It has been a pivotal year in my life. Quite unexpectedly, in March my husband Juergen began his final journey to the other side of the world and eventually of life. For me, too, this meant leaving for good my beloved home island of Atiu. Circumstances forced us to forsake most of what had formed our daily life and identity for 31 years. In May, all arrangements were finished and I could follow Juergen to Germany to attend to his needs. In early July, I lost my loving partner of 35 happy years, Juergen Manske-Eimke.

Many friends in all corners of the world supported us during this arduous journey. I have no words to express my gratitude. The love of my Spanish “family”, whom I have known since childhood days, has kept me strong and positive. With their help I found a new abode in their delightful home town close to Barcelona in Spain, where I have now been living since August 2015.

Tapa and Fermentation

Posted on 12/01/201512/01/2015 by Andrea Eimke

Making Tapa Eastern Pacific Style

Te Rangi Hiroa (Peter H. Buck) writes in Arts and Crafts of the Cook Islands that the tapa makers of the time (1944) wrapped the pre-beaten bark in banana leaves and left it to ret for three days. Today’s tapa makers on Atiu usually beat the bark right away. When making a larger piece such as a garment, several strips are joined together with glue. In times past, retting, a water-aided fermentation process, loosened the fibres and enabled the tapa makers to join the pieces together by a kind of felting (beating). Following a correspondence with Hawaiian kapa maker Dennis Kana’e Keawe, at the Atiu Fibre Arts Studio, at the Atiu Fibre Arts Studio we conducted a number of experiments in 1988/89 to try this method. He joined us in beating the prepared bark. In 2013, I agreed with the art teacher at Enuamanu School to repeat the experiment.

Atiu does not have running streams and water shortage is often a problem. However there is one particular beach, Avatapu, the beach on which the Edna was stranded, that Atiu women use to ret lemon hibiscus bark for making dancing costumes. That’s where, in 1989, we soaked our shaved bundles of banyan roots instead of heating them to enable us to get the bark off the wooden core. This process both softens and loosens the bark and preserves it at the same time. In 20213, the art students came up with an ingenious way of insuring that the bundles would stay together, by plaiting a coconut frond around the bundle.

Heavy boulders of coral have been thrown up on the beach’s edge at Avatapu. These serve as weight to keep the bundles submerged in the water and in place when the sometimes rough sea tries to steal them away. The beach is right next to our harbour and the cargo boat that brings cargo from Rarotonga to the sister islands had arrived that day.

I am not sure whether it was light or salt water – or the absence thereof – that caused the basket’s pattern to be imprinted on some of the outer roots’ bark. Worth conducting more experiments to find out how I can achieve that purposely, I guess, but not right now. The bark we have removed gets rolled up in leaves and is left to ferment.

Fermenting their paper mulberry bark is a distinctive feature of Hawaiian kapa (their word for barkcloth). During the Tahiti Tapa Festival in 2014, Honolulu tapa expert Moana Eisele and her assistant, Kamalu du Preez, demonstrated to us their innovative method. Fermented wauke (Hawaiian for Broussonetia papyrifera or paper mulberry) becomes very delicate to work with. Especially when you plan to make a wider sheet, moving it forward on the kua (Hawaiian for wooden anvil) can be quite a challenge. Moana therefore beats her kapa on a large sheet of plastic.

This serves to hold it when folding it over to felt together the fibres…

…and if she wants to keep an unfinished piece for another beating session the next day, it is ideal for storage, prevents the bast from drying out and might even keep it fermenting.

Hawaiians have patterned i‘e kuku (tapa beaters) with which they can ‘imprint’ a watermark into the moist bark that has been finished beeting into a fine sheet. Our Hawaiian friend Kana’e gave us a beautiful i’e which he had carved himself when he visited the Atiu Fibre Arts Studio in 1989. I love working with it, because it is well-balanced and wonderful to handle.

I used it to experiment with a small piece of mati (ficus tinctoria, dye fig). I had also put some triangular pieces of cardboard between the tutunga (wooden anvil) and the bark to try out some different ways of watermarking. As we can see here, it worked.