About Ivo Meier

Origin — Understanding the Work

Who am I? What am I? Why am I?

It was December 3rd, 1989. Early morning—I was still sleeping—when the phone rang. On the other end was the police, informing me about my brother's severe car accident. After long hours of waiting, all the hope and fear came to an end: my brother passed away. Days of profound sorrow and grief followed. After about three days, an unexpected feeling overwhelmed me: emptiness—total emptiness. After weeks and months, I decided that I had overcome the loss, the sorrow, and the void. I wanted to close the book and get back to life. Slowly, happiness returned. I went out, met friends, and visited the dance club where my brother and I used to party together for the first time since his passing. Slowly, I crawled my way back to life, deciding that while my brother's death felt in vain, life had to go on.

I truly believed I had overcome the loss and could close that chapter. I looked forward, starting to enjoy life again—knowing it was worth it. But a few weeks later, suddenly and without warning, a familiar feeling came knocking at my door again: the emptiness was back—that same cruel and cold emptiness. That is when I started drawing. I began putting my thoughts into drawings, and later, into sculpting. This contemplation helped me grow into a different person. There was no reason to close the book anymore. I learned a profound truth: "The worst thing in my life was losing my brother, but the emotional awakening it forced upon me became the best thing for my life, too." It may sound like a shocking sentence, but people who have walked through a similar experience understand exactly what it means. Most importantly, I decided to keep my brother alive—he accompanies me, and he even grows older with me.

I added a new layer of personality to the person I was before. At times, I wished to change my entire life—to do something truly useful, to give a deeper meaning to what had happened. I didn't change my life entirely, but knowing it was an option gave me my freedom of choice. Then I met Kathrin, and she was the convincing factor: I knew she was the one for me. I am deeply passionate about her, and profoundly grateful for what we have built together. We have wonderful children. Life goes on, and that is what truly counts.

Yes, there is still a bit of both within me—the Ivo before, and the Ivo after. Sometimes these two personas battle each other, and this inner friction is the true subject of my works. Sometimes it is obvious, and sometimes it is hidden. Through Metamorphosis (2001), I realized it is not just about the Ivo before or the Ivo after—it is about the friction between the inner and outer world. More than twenty years later, this tension between the inner and outer continuum is still there, rooting directly back to the loss of my brother.

My latest works are interactive. They may explore my inner world, my outer world, or both united. It is no longer about separate worlds, but about impact, deep self-reflection, and the life-changing moments in your own past, present, and future. More importantly, it is about you. The work is meant to throw up questions: the very moment a sculpture makes you pause and think, it transforms from an object into art.