Designing the book for Kunsthalle Appenzell was an adventure. Like stepping into a world where art holds its breath—alive, restless, waiting. Ty Waltinger’s work did that to me. It wasn’t just paint on canvas. It was… something more. A conversation. With history. With nature. With time itself.
Did you know he collected pigments? Not just any pigments, but rare, historical ones. Colours with stories. Centuries-old legacies dug from the earth. Imagine holding that kind of history in your hands. And then using it to create something entirely new. That’s what Ty did. But he didn’t stop there. He let nature finish the job.
Who does that? Leaves their work out in the open—rain, wind, time—all chipping in as collaborators. Was he nervous? Excited? Both? I wish I could’ve asked him. I didn’t get that chance. He passed away in August 2022. But his process—letting nature take the wheel—it’s wild. And the results? They’re stories. Metaphors for life. Everything changing, always.
That’s why the book opens with a golden lava landscape. It pulls you in. Feels like the beginning of something ancient. Something big. Like the first spark of creation. The textures? Unreal. We tried to capture them, zooming in as much as possible. Still, it felt like trying to capture the ocean in a bottle. But we tried.
And as I worked on this book, I kept imagining him. Mixing those pigments. Brushing them onto the canvas. Stepping back, letting the elements take over. How did he know when it was done? Or was it ever done?
This book goes beyond showcasing his art—it preserves a legacy. A dialogue between human hands and the so-called chaos of nature. A reminder that art isn’t static. It’s alive. It’s felt. It lingers.
Being part of this? Designing it? It felt like a privilege. A small way to honour Ty’s way of seeing the world. Of creating with it, not against it. Art like his doesn’t just sit on walls. It stays with you.Like a murmur. Or maybe a roar.
