Leya Wüllner

by Franziska Judith Jürgens

A rainy Sunday afternoon, somewhere in a parking lot, somewhere in Münster. There is a loud “wham!” and then, everything goes dark around me. After a minute or so, the lid of the trunk opens, and there stands Leya, in a yellow raincoat, with a big smile on her face. And she begins to loosen the rope, which she used to tie me up into a neat little package.
I think it was on this Sunday afternoon that I began to understand what Leya Wüllner’s art actually is. Of course, you get to know each other over half a year in a shared studio. But the big picture can only be seen after you have been tied up in the trunk of her beloved – maybe a bit decrepit – Volkswagen Polo.
But I should start at the beginning. Leya Christin Wülnner. Well, first of all, that’s black, and a lot of it. But not a sad black; more a romantic and friendly black, fully in the spirit of Goth culture. That’s Nick Cave, Depeche Mode, The Cure and Siouxsie Sioux And The Banshees. Leya Christin Wüllner – that’s love for her Polo, the Ruhrpott and for everything that might be considered a bit dirty, frowned upon and maybe a bit negligible. The Holy Mary as a builder in a reflective orange vest is an example of Leya’s skill with the brush. Her “Talking Lines” unveil the inner workings of a courageous, sensitive young woman who is not afraid to talk about her fears – and to paint them right in front of your nose. And her car, of course. It doesn’t matter whether it’s me who gets tied up inside of it or the car itself. Or whether Leya becomes the car itself in the shower. It just pulls up on your driveway, again and again. And it wants you to get in. So, put your seatbelts on, we’re going for a drive. And Leya is behind the wheel.