Visceral
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On February 4, 1944, my parents’ house in Germany was hit by several phosphorus bombs, and the roof and third floor were destroyed despite extended efforts by the fire department. Other houses in the neighborhood were hit on that day as well. Some burnt down entirely to the ground. I was three and a half years old, and these were my first memories: a world on fire, a world whose stability you cannot trust. Fire and water damage made our house unlivable for more than a year, and we had to move to an apartment in a neighboring town. By the end of the war, 80 percent of all houses were destroyed in my hometown.
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Not in my lifetime did I expect that another lunatic would set the world on fire. The sight of houses in rubble gets me very emotional; it is a reminder that we cannot take anything for granted. I got the idea that the disorder and chaos I encountered during those first formative years was a factor in my decision to go into science as well as embrace art: those two disciplines allow you to (re-) create order from elements you find.
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