[Re]Orientation - New Paths on Old Trails: The Worlds of the Autism Spectrum

Living a life on the autism spectrum means one thing above all: a continuous attempt to understand. On both sides. You constantly navigate between two worlds. The "normal" one out there, and the one that exists within yourself.

A diagnosis, especially in adulthood, casts a completely new light on your own past. For years, I pushed signals away or convinced myself: "Everyone feels this way." (No, they don't. Saying "Everyone is a little autistic" is about as accurate as saying "Everyone has a little migraine.")

At some point, you realize that most people naturally experience the present with clarity—unlike yourself, where everything blurs the moment you lose focus entirely. You realize that multiple background noises at once are perfectly fine for others, while you just want to put on noise-cancelling headphones (and then, in the ultimate paradox, play your own music at full blast because it grounds you). You understand that many people apparently don't find perfume overwhelming, but actually pleasant. The same goes for sunscreen or hair conditioner.

For many, autism requires an almost constant, second-by-second reorientation. You stand at the train station - something you mentally prepared for days in advance - and try to focus on the essential. But while the timetable loads, you absorb a thousand other things simultaneously: the glare of the lights, the pigeons fluttering overhead, the rolling of suitcases and the often careless way people handle them, the chaotic blend of voices and languages, the heavy smell of different bakery pretzels. Internally, you are almost screaming from sensory overload, feeling lost and out of place in this seemingly ordinary everyday situation.

Yet, when you manage in those moments to hold space for yourself and find a way through the chaos, something precious emerges: a deep sense of self-efficacy. Reorientation can be overwhelming, exhausting, and scary at first. But if you navigate it, it leads to safety, quiet, resilience, and strength.

It is precisely this internal world that I want to translate outward through my work.

But why maps?

I remember a woman asking me once why on earth I paint on maps. I didn't understand her question at all and tried to formulate some logically acceptable answer just so she would stop asking. To me, it was so obvious how incredible and refreshingly different it was compared to a traditional canvas. That single question cost me nearly a week of processing time, trying to figure out why anyone would ask that in the first place instead of arriving at the answer themselves (no hate intended, I'm smiling at my own processing style here).

The question for me is rather: What happens when I paint on maps?

On the one hand, they lead me back to my core, to my roots. They remind me of my late father, who worked as a mountain guide. The more I understand and learn about myself, the closer I feel to him and the more empathy I gain for his journey. I feel connected to him because I suspect he, too, often found himself in a world that wasn't built for him, and yet he was remarkably good at reorienting himself within it. It feels as though I get to sit at the table with him for a moment, talking through all the questions that float around here.

On the other hand, it is my personal path of creative processing: allowing myself to express visually exactly what I feel inside. To discover and unfold my own voice. I truly wish this for everyone: to give yourself permission, again and again, to let your inner parts speak.

When I started the "[Re]Orientation" series, I noticed how much my style had evolved: moving away from figurative depictions toward abstract, partly geometric forms. I also realized just how long this project of painting maps has been accompanying me. Stepping onto the old path once more with a fresh perspective was worth every moment.

You don't have to leave old paths behind to discover something new. Sometimes, it's enough to pause, realign, and notice the turnoffs you missed before. Or as the saying goes: Not all those who wander are lost.

In the upcoming blog posts, I want to take you into the studio and introduce individual pieces from this heartfelt series. I look forward to connecting with everyone who chooses to join me on this journey.

Thank very much for reading!

These posts are part of my artistic journey, sharing the stories behind the canvas.

If this glimpse into my work inspired you and you'd like to join me a little further on my path, you can support my studio work with a small contribution toward new paints or a creative coffee break. Just click the green link below.

Thank you so much for your support and interest!

I'd love to hear your thoughts! Click here to read this post on my Substack and join the conversation in the comments.