Pencil drawings by Flavio Apel
Publisher: Galerie Rasch
Texts: Anjelika Spöth, M.A. Art History
ISBN-13: 978-1724068828
Dorothea von Kiedrowski, Institute for Church Architecture and Contemporary Religious Art
Flavio Apel spent his childhood in a small village near Rome. Now living in Marburg, the artist continues to revisit this place, which has deeply influenced his visual language.
The protagonists of Apel's imagery—everyday objects and insects—come to life in his compositions. Unlike the still lifes of the Old Masters, which depicted lavish meals, gleaming cutlery, and finely crafted glassware on artfully arranged tables, Apel’s works present bent forks and spoons, half-full soup bowls, and empty cans against a stark white background. His personal vanitas motifs, insects, appear fragmented or lying on their backs.
The stag beetle, however, asserts itself in Apel's enigmatic visual narratives. In Christian symbolism, the stag beetle is considered an apotropaic figure, believed to ward off evil. It repeatedly features in Apel’s drawings, engaging in duels with bent forks or standing helplessly before a praline with insect wings under a glass dome. These unusual constellations breathe new life into mundane objects, weaving stories that invite viewers to imagine their continuations. With precise lines and minimalist means, Apel creates surreal worlds.
Another hallmark of Apel's approach is positioning the protagonists of his imagery near the edges of his works. The empty center draws the viewer's attention to seemingly insignificant spaces. The gaze then travels to the abstract arrangements of subtle gray tones and delicate lines. These invite closer inspection, urging viewers to step in, examine carefully, and let their eyes wander along the edges. Upon closer look, the captivating textures and shadows reveal themselves as remnants of ordinary materials like spackle, insects, or butter.
In 2017, Galerie Rasch in Kassel hosted a solo exhibition by the artist titled "Andacht zum Unbedeutenden" ("Reverence for the Insignificant"). The title references a dismissive comment made by art historian Sulpiz Boisserée in 1815 about the research of the Brothers Grimm, who were accused of focusing on trivialities in their linguistic and literary studies.
The Grimms responded: "It is easy to cast aside as useless that which most distinctly expresses life, surrendering instead to reflections that may intoxicate but do not truly nourish."
In his drawings, Apel seeks out the “insignificant” things, beyond spectacle and splendor.
KUNST + Kaviar interview with Flavio Apel
Kunst & Kaviar (https://www.kunstundkaviar.de/)
Our first guest is a young artist from Kassel. Flavio Apel, of German-Italian descent, spent his early years in a picturesque location near Rome until the age of seven.
His pencil drawings on paper challenge the viewer’s perception at first glance, as they are almost indistinguishable as drawings. Photographic in precision, hyperrealistic, and therefore almost surreal, they captivate at first sight. Delicate lines, sometimes barely visible, resemble strands of hair more than conventional sketches. Hours, days, and sometimes weeks pass before these faint lines evolve into recognizable shapes. Pencil, paper, time, patience, doubt, and solitude—all these elements are integral to his process.
We spoke with Flavio about these themes and much more.
Flavio, thank you so much for taking the time to talk with us. We've already had the pleasure of getting to know you and your work, and we understand that your heritage and childhood play a significant role in your art. What was your childhood like?
I was incredibly fortunate to grow up in a beautiful, almost stereotypically Italian villa. My grandfather spent 20 years building the villa with his brother, who was an architect. It was a stone house surrounded by nature—it felt like paradise to me.
Then, when I was seven, I moved to Germany, and suddenly everything was gray and made of concrete. The time I spent in the villa was deeply formative for me, and I look back on it fondly. I especially remember the enormous garden and the plants. To this day, I carry that feeling with me and strongly associate it with Italy. Of course, the house was eventually sold, but the memory and the emotion remain.
In your drawings, recurring motifs like cutlery or insects often appear. Do they connect to your memories of Italy?
Oh, absolutely. What do people in Italy love most? Celebrating and eating. There were always big celebrations, and one of our tasks was setting the table or polishing my grandmother's beautiful silver cutlery.
Some of my earliest encounters with animals were with insects—especially the many stag beetles. They fascinated me even as a child. In Italian, they’re called cervo volante, which translates to "flying deer," and I was captivated by the name alone.
Recently, in Marburg, I rescued five stag beetles right outside my door! Isn’t it strange that so many are here? I immediately put one under a glass and filmed it. That led to a drawing. These kinds of memories, these little connections, stay with me.
Right now, the whole world is staying home. Where would you say "home" is for you—Italy, Rome, Kassel, or Marburg? Or does that place even exist for you?
That’s an interesting question because I’ve thought about it a lot. Initially, I struggled to accept Germany as my new home. As I grew older, of course, that changed. I enjoy living in Marburg, but I prefer Kassel—there’s just more going on there. I’d say Kassel feels like home now.
But I have to admit, the villa in Italy will always be a part of my sense of home, even though I’ve built a new life for myself.
How did you come to art? When did you start, and was there a defining moment when you realized it was what you had to do?
I come from an artistic family. My father studied Visual Communication, focusing on posters, graphics, and photography, at the HBK (School of Art and Design) and later worked there as a lecturer. My grandfather and mother also had artistic backgrounds and were deeply passionate about art.
My childhood was sometimes turbulent, shaped in part by a complicated relationship with my father. Drawing became a place of calm for me, a refuge.
I’ve always drawn, but in 2014 I reached a personal turning point and decided to make art my career. It wasn’t easy—I’m highly critical of myself and my work, and it took a lot of courage to put myself and my creations out there. At first, I worried because I didn’t know where realism could fit into the art world.
Are there moments when you leave the medium of realistic drawing? Especially nowadays, realism is met with much skepticism. Purely copying reality is seen as outdated and unnecessary in the age of photography. How do you deal with that?
Yes, definitely! Privately, I also experiment with other materials, drawing with ink and other colors. I haven't yet dared to try oil. However, my focus is on pencil drawing. I mainly work in series. This allows me to look at things more closely. It's not about replicating, which is a craft many can learn. At the same time, I try to add something of myself to my realism, which is extremely important to me.
The difference between you and other artists lies in your degree of realism. You don't create replicas, you don't recreate, but you create completely new visual moments. Your hyperrealism sharpens the senses and shows things as we would never see them with our own eyes. And you tell stories with your works. Whether it's the beetles, the passersby on the streets of Rome, or a captured dragonfly, you transform them into magical objects with your pencil. Do you use references in your work?
Yes, exactly, it's extremely important to me that my works go beyond representational realism. Realism is not the goal or the means to express something. Through empirical processing, I can understand things more precisely and build my own stories around them. It's not about painting something that already exists, that would be craft and technique. It's about revealing something deeper. For some pictures, especially portraits, I have to rely on photographs, but I usually modify them. Most objects, however, I have directly in front of me. That's why I like to draw chocolates, which I eat right after drawing. It could have been broccoli, but what can I say, chocolates are simply more beautiful
.
With your pictures, you draw attention to the most everyday things. Household items, insects, or the tip of a dress become almost reverent. One feels as if they have never looked at something so closely. Where do you find your inspiration?
That's a very nice question. I have a hidden box with about 500 sketches. Whenever I have an idea, I sketch something and put it in there. Most of the time, I don't take the sketch out again. Only a small part of the pictures I have in my head actually come to life. Most of the time, ideas just flow out, and I capture them fleetingly. I'm often asked if I arrange the objects so that they stand in analogies to each other. The answer is no. The pictures are created in my head. Most of the time, the pictures come to life while reading. I read many fantastic short stories. While reading, I place the stories in the old villa near Rome. This way, my past connects with what I read. One of the main inspirations is therefore literature. Another source is nature. When I look at a dragonfly or see a stone, a picture forms in my head, which I then put on paper.
At the moment, time seems to be racing for some, while for others it stands still. What role does time play in your work? More precisely, how long do you work on a picture on average?
Time is not a decisive factor. The pictures take the time they need. On average, I need 80 to 350 hours for the large pictures. The lady with the beetle and lace dress took 300 hours. That means a lot of time with oneself, which can be nice on some days and quickly become a burden on others. I can work best when I feel good. However, most ideas come from the less good moments. A bit cliché, but that's how it is.
Is there a statement or question about your art that you can't hear anymore?
Oh, of course! The question of whether they are photographs or drawings. On the one hand, it flatters me, on the other hand, it doesn't go beyond the appreciation of the technique. In an exhibition, we even had to put up a sign saying "Drawings" because people thought the drawings were beautiful photos.
If you could choose an artist to hang your work next to, who would it be?
Difficult question. For me, the maximum that has ever been achieved in drawing art is Klimt's erotic work. That is the ultimate for me. I do something different, but it's incredible how much sensuality and beauty he captures with these few strokes. These works need no explanation because they bring so much intensity that any comment becomes superfluous.
And finally, please complete the sentence: Art means to me...
It's hard to complete such sentences without them becoming cheesy. If I said, art is life, it would be so cheesy. But if I say, art is the passion of my life, then that's true. It always has been and always will be, even if I eventually stop being productive. Engaging with art takes up a large part of my life, and I find that beautiful.
Dear Flavio, we thank you for your time and openness.