Two Artists, Two Perspectives – One Question of Humanity
At Galerie 94 in Baden, Swiss-born painter Chrissy Angliker and photographer George Mayer came together for an intimate conversation about art, emotion, control and the human condition. Moderated by Chelsea Neuweiler, the Artist Talk revealed that behind two seemingly contrasting artistic languages lies a remarkably similar search for meaning.
At first glance, the works of Chrissy Angliker and George Mayer seem to inhabit different worlds. Angliker’s paintings are expressive, fluid and unpredictable, allowing colour and material to take on a life of their own. Mayer’s photographs are meticulously composed, often reduced to the essential interplay of light, shadow and the human body.
Yet during an engaging Artist Talk organised by Galerie 94 in Baden, the two artists discovered how much they actually share.
What began as an exploration of contrasting artistic techniques gradually developed into a conversation about humanity, vulnerability, personal freedom and the delicate balance between control and chaos.
What Makes Us Human?
For Chrissy Angliker, the question is increasingly urgent.
At a time when artificial intelligence dominates discussions about the future, she finds herself asking whether humanity has lost sight of something fundamental. “There’s so much talk about AI and humanisation,” she observed, questioning why society is so determined to make artificial intelligence more human-like when people still struggle to treat one another with sufficient humanity.
“Where’s our own humanisation to us humans?”
It is a question that has become central to her recent artistic exploration. Rather than seeking definitive answers, Angliker uses painting as a means of investigating what it means to be human.
“When I’m painting, the paint will start giving me answers because I clearly don’t know it.”
For her, artistic exploration is never entirely complete. She compares the human condition to a crystal with countless facets: one may approach it from different directions, discovering new perspectives without ever fully grasping the whole.
George Mayer approaches similar questions through a very different visual vocabulary.
Originally trained in design and deeply influenced by Constructivism, Minimalism and the Bauhaus, Mayer spent years working in commercial and documentary photography before developing his distinctive artistic practice.
His ambition is to strip away the overwhelming noise of contemporary life – the constant flow of information, social media and news – until something essential remains.
“What remains if we remove all the temporary things? Some timeless thing.”
The human body, particularly the female figure, becomes his instrument for expressing inner emotional states. His compositions are not simply studies of form, but visual interpretations of psychological experiences.
Control, Chaos and the Creative Process
Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of the conversation was the artists‘ relationship with control.
Angliker describes her creative process as a partnership with her chosen medium. “I consider my medium like we have a 50/50 partnership. I let it do its thing, and then I do my thing.”
Her paintings evolve through a constant negotiation between artistic intention and the unpredictable behaviour of paint.
“My real tension in the work is control and chaos.”
This philosophy also explains a significant recent development in her career: after fourteen years of working with acrylic paint, Angliker has moved to oils. The decision was not simply technical. She felt that familiarity with acrylics had gradually given her too much control. The tension she valued had begun to disappear.
Switching mediums meant surrendering years of accumulated certainty and entering unfamiliar territory. She describes the experience almost as a personal rebirth. “It’s like walking with new feet, not just new shoes.”
With characteristic humour, Angliker compared her relationship with acrylics to a long partnership that had finally run its course. Oil painting represents a new relationship – exciting, unpredictable and still full of discoveries.
Mayer’s process
Mayer’s process initially appears to be the opposite. Before entering the photographic studio, he spends hours or sometimes days reflecting on an emotion, allowing images to emerge through a practice resembling meditation. Only when the composition has become clear in his imagination does he begin sketching. “90% of the work is ready when I see it.”
The studio then becomes the place where those inner visions take physical form. A single photograph can require hours of adjustments to lighting, positioning and composition. Despite the almost architectural precision of his images, Mayer never uses digital manipulation to create their defining effects. Instead, he works with physical light, carefully placed equipment and even hand-cut cardboard masks.
Yet he acknowledges that reality sometimes intervenes. The energy and personality of a model can introduce something unexpected, transforming the original concept. In those moments, even the perfectionist allows reality to become a co-author.
Light, Shadow and the Inner World
Mayer’s restrained visual language carries a profound psychological dimension. Black and white are not merely aesthetic choices. To him, absolute black evokes death, while absolute white suggests a state approaching nirvana. Human existence unfolds between these extremes.
“Our life exists between these two colours, black and white. We always try to find our balance between good and bad, death and life, aggression and pacific emotions.”
His work draws upon philosophical and psychological ideas, including Carl Jung’s concept of the anima, which Mayer connects to the feminine aspect of his own inner world. In one series, a red circle symbolises aggression, while the feminine presence offers a counterbalancing force. The connection is deeply personal. His wife has been an important model and creative companion for more than two decades. Although the resulting photographs may appear detached, their origins are intimate, emotional and often autobiographical.
Angliker recognised that emotional depth immediately. Despite their contrasting visual expressions, she suggested that both artists are, in their own ways, minimalists – seeking to distil emotions rather than decorate them. The apparent opposition between expressive painting and controlled photography gradually dissolved into something more intriguing: two approaches emerging from a shared emotional source.
Art as a Mirror
One of the strongest moments of the conversation concerned the relationship between artwork and viewer. Mayer, who has taught art photography for more than fifteen years, offered the audience a simple piece of advice.
“When you look at a piece of art, try not to analyse it. Don’t analyse composition, colour, and don’t ask what the author tries to say to you. Ask yourself what you see.”
Instead of searching for the artist’s intended meaning, he encourages viewers to reflect on their own responses. What do they feel? What does the image reveal about themselves?
Angliker enthusiastically agreed. For her, an artwork becomes a mirror – a space in which viewers encounter their own memories, emotions and unconscious associations.
“I feel like as soon as a viewer sees the piece, it belongs to them.”
This conviction is also fundamental to her painting process. She deliberately leaves her images open enough for viewers to complete them through their own interpretations. The artist’s perspective is only one among many possible readings.
Sometimes the results are surprising. Angliker recalled a viewer who interpreted one of her swimmer paintings as an image of someone drowning – an interpretation entirely different from her own. Rather than correcting the observer, she welcomed the discovery.
The value of art, both artists agreed, lies not in transmitting a single predetermined message but in creating opportunities for personal reflection.
Between Solitude and the Outside World
The conversation also offered an unusually personal glimpse into the lives of two artists now based in the United States.
Chrissy Angliker, who moved from Switzerland to America at sixteen, described the cultural differences that shaped her early development. Growing up in Switzerland, she often encountered pressure to pursue a more conventional profession. In the United States, she discovered an environment where her artistic ambitions were treated with curiosity and encouragement.
That experience gave her the confidence to follow her chosen path. Yet life as a professional artist in New York comes with its own challenges. Financial uncertainty, intense competition and the demanding pace of American society create pressures that can be difficult to reconcile with the quiet concentration necessary for artistic work.
Paradoxically, these tensions also nourish her creativity. The studio becomes a sanctuary where she can retreat from the outside world and transform its impressions into paintings. She described her practice as almost monastic. Once she begins painting, ordinary distractions disappear.
But maintaining a balance between artistic dedication and personal relationships requires conscious effort.
“Art is like the love of my life,” she admitted, while acknowledging the importance of making room for another kind of love and a life beyond the studio.
Mayer’s American experience
Mayer’s American experience has been quite different. Originally from Russia, he moved to the United States only three years ago, leaving behind a purpose-built photographic studio near Yekaterinburg, along with an extensive collection of equipment and photography books.
Despite an internationally recognised career and previous connections to the American art world, rebuilding his life and creative practice has proved challenging.
He spoke candidly about the difficulties of maintaining artistic focus amid the practical demands of immigration.
These experiences have also influenced his work, leading him towards more abstract visual expressions.
For both artists, displacement, uncertainty and the surrounding social environment are not merely personal circumstances. They become part of the emotional material from which art emerges.
A Dialogue, Not an Opposition
The exhibition’s title, TO SEE YOU, ultimately takes on several layers of meaning. It invites viewers not only to look at the human figure, but also to question the nature of perception itself.
What do we see when we look at another person? How much of what we perceive belongs to the subject, and how much originates within ourselves?
Angliker’s paintings and Mayer’s photographs offer different answers – or perhaps, more accurately, different ways of approaching questions that resist simple answers.
One artist embraces the unpredictable nature of painting; the other seeks clarity through meticulously structured photographic compositions. Both begin with emotion. Both explore the complexities of human existence. And both believe that art acquires its deepest meaning through the relationship it establishes with the viewer. Asked whether their artistic practices should be understood as contrasting or complementary, Chrissy Angliker responded with a single word:
“Both.”
Mayer offered an equally concise conclusion: “I feel that it’s a dialogue, it’s not an opposition.” Perhaps that is precisely what makes TO SEE YOU so compelling. Beyond the differences in technique, medium and expression, the exhibition creates a space for recognising something universal: our continuing need to understand ourselves, to connect with others and, ultimately, to be seen.
Presented by Galerie 94, founded and directed by Sascha Laue, the exhibition brings together two distinctive artistic perspectives on the human condition.
The Artist Talk on 10 October 2026 was moderated by Chelsea A. Neuweiler, art historian and gallery assistant.
Exhibition: 9 October – 14 November 2026
Galerie 94
Bruggerstrasse 37, Merker-Areal
CH-5400 Baden, Switzerland
Opening hours: Wednesday–Friday, 5–7 pm; Saturday, 1–5 pm, or by appointment.
www.galerie94.ch
https://chrissy.ch/
https://georgemayerstudio.com/
GEORGE MAYER – Fotografie an der Grenze von Licht und Schatten