It was one of those warm autumn days when the air feels soft. The kind of day when the sun doesn’t burn but gently lingers, making the city feel like it’s taking a quiet breath. I was walking alone, the streets alive with the slow hum of people going about their day, but I kept to myself, letting my steps drift without a real destination. Autumn in Berlin isn’t always sharp or cold. Sometimes it’s like this, gentle and a little hopeful. Leaves crunched underfoot.
I found myself standing in front of König Gallery almost by accident. I saw outdoor sculptures, placed at the entrance wall. The sign next to the door, Johanna Dumet — FOOL FOR A LIFETIME.
Dumet’s paintings looked like moments paused between stories. In the emptiness of the large room contained twenty-two oil paintings and one sculpture. Each one a quiet world, a chapter from the old story of the tarot’s major arcana.
Hidden in the layers are fragments—tiny glass beads from India that catch the light like distant stars, French religious medals that carry the weight of forgotten prayers, worn playing cards that have traveled through time, ribbons collected like memories, and pieces of jewelry once close to the artist’s skin. Each object settles into the canvas like a secret, a quiet voice in the larger story.
I stood there longer than I meant to, caught between wanting to understand and knowing I never would. It felt like looking into a mirror that didn’t show my reflection, but something stranger—something I was both afraid and curious to see.
When I stepped outside, the world seemed softer, a little less certain. The warmth of the day stayed with me, a quiet companion for the fool I am.
