Carita Schmidt was born in Güstrow-Germany in 1958. She studied at the Dramatiska Institute in Stockholm -Sweden, the art of mask-making along with stage make-up for cinema, theater and television. During the same period she attended workshops by the artist (sculpture, painter, environment-artist) Björn Lövin (1983-1986).

Since 1988, she lives in Kavala-Greeee. She spends her time between art-making and teaching art to school children.

SOLO EXHIBITIONS:

1991 Union of Friends of Letters and Art, Kavala.

1994 Goethe Institute, Thessaloniki.

Municipal Tobacco Warehouse, Kavala.

GROUP EXHIBITIONS:

1991 Open Air Eleftheria, Municipality of Kavala.

1991,92,99 Micri Pinacotheca Diagonios, Thessalonlki.

1993 Aenaon Art Gallery, Athens.

1993 Lazariston Monastery, Stavroupoli, Thessaloniki.

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Her artistic process rhymes the creative evolution of nature. In its own way it takes out of context the marks of history and the flutter of the artist's spirit.

Nature's transformations define the eternal and undeniable cycle of birth, growth, deterioration, death and rebirth.

Her subject matter -tree trunks burnt to ashes, fiery cores in dimensions tantamount to those of nature conveys the essence, through the simplicity and frontality of the planes, as it passes from a natural organic element into an artistic form.

In her encounter with "lumen naturale" the artist touches that vital vehicle of existence, the perennial spring of visual and aesthetic concerns -nature- and creates optical vibrations which free color from the confines of representation.

Dorothea Konteletzidou, Thessaloniki, Greece, November 1995

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� .. et lux tarde discedere visa

praecipitatur aquis et aquis nox exit ab isdem.

Ovidius, METAM. IV.

and the (sun) light that they thought

was late in diminishing, sinks into the waters;

from the same waters the night comes.

Ovid, METAMORPHOSES IV.

Late at noon the sun and the burned mountain have a painful conversation (between me, who is the punisher, and my small son, who is standing punished not far away from the broken glasses). Late at noon the sun burns the burned mountain I mean to say, the peeled peak of the landscape.

At that time I play and the sun is the clockwork orange. A deadly game with the raised eyelids when it leaves the sky. An awakening tune for the fallen eyelids at the moment when it arrives.

People have thousands of cares. (me, a secret one; his nude little feet). But I shall not let another agony capture me. How can another agony capture me? Since the night obliges my vigilance of the transcription of death. And the day forces my sleep to the memorizing of life.