My Story
The spiral path that brought me home
A return to art, to self, and to the spiral of inspiration.
My name is Christiane Kritzer, and this is the path that brought me home — a slow unfolding through memory, color, stillness, and truth.
There was a time I believed art wasn’t for me.
In school, a teacher said I wasn’t particularly talented.
So I let the idea go—closed that door quietly, almost without noticing.
But something in me kept sensing, reaching, circling back.
At fifteen, I began collecting antique books—drawn not just to their pages, but to their stories, their textures, their essence. I wondered what they had lived through. What hands had held them. What rooms they had rested in.
This love of the past eventually led me to university.
I studied literature, philosophy, ethnology— chasing meaning, searching for depth.
But something was still missing.
Then one day, while visiting a museum with my brother, it hit me like lightning:
I love art. Not just as image, but as presence. As feeling. As mystery.
From that moment, everything began to change.
I switched to art history, immersed myself in photography—drawn to artists like Lee Miller— and soon felt the urge to go further. I wanted to understand the materials, the pigments, the layers of meaning beneath the surface. So I applied to a renowned conservation program.
I got in. It felt like a dream.
I studied the conservation of paintings and sculpture—where science and art meet.
I learned about color, composition, chemistry. And I loved being close to the works themselves.
But as time passed, I noticed a quiet pull toward something more open, more intuitive, more alive. The spiral turned.
Eventually, I joined an interdisciplinary PhD program, specializing in pastel colors, combining art history, conservation and art technology. It was an extraordinary opportunity, and I remain grateful for everything I learned and for the people I met along the way.
Still, I began to sense that my own rhythm didn’t quite match the structure around me. I realized I needed to explore art differently—through my body, my breath, my being.
A new path: slowing down
During a journey to Canada, something inside me softened.
It brought back memories of my childhood in New Mexico, where the land was vast, the colors bright, and my heart more open.
I followed that feeling and said yes to something entirely new:
I moved to rural Norway, to a place surrounded by nature—away from institutions and expectations.
A space where I could rebuild— quietly, slowly, on my own terms.
At first, the shift felt like freedom.
New projects, new routines, a new language.
But over time, I noticed something was missing again.
There was no time for reflection. No real depth.
And slowly, I began to disappear from myself.
I was doing everything I could to stay “functional”—but my body told me the truth. I was tired, disconnected, and depleted.
That’s when pastel returned to my life. And this time, it wasn’t about studying— it was about remembering through painting.
The return of color
Someone had heard about my research on pastels and mentioned an online course in France—one that blended drum journeys and pastel painting. It sounded unusual. And it sounded right.
I signed up. It turned out I was the only participant, so I received six weeks of one-to-one guidance.
In the beginning, I was hesitant—almost afraid to touch the colors.
I had studied them for so long, held them as something precious, distant, theoretical. then, without warning, a painting arrived.
I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t trying. I was just… expressing.
It felt like something deep inside had finally found its voice.
That moment changed everything.
Spiraling home
From there, the healing came— slowly, softly, in layers.
I began painting again. I met people who saw me.
I studied sustainable tourism in Norwegian and reawakened my love for reflection.
But the more I reconnected with myself, the clearer it became:
I needed to make a different choice.
One that would support my wellbeing, my creativity, and my truth.
So I returned to Germany, with two cats, an exhausted body, and a quiet knowing that I had to begin again.
Everything felt heavy. But I allowed myself to rest. To slow down. To soften.
I read. I wept. I sat with memories. I let go of old ideas of who I should be.
I faced grief I didn’t even know I still carried—from my youth, my childhood years in New Mexico, and the many ways I had silenced my voice.
And gradually, art returned.
In pastel dust and color. In old museum halls.
In memories of the painting that once made me fall in love with art history.
I reconnected with people from my past. I reclaimed parts of myself I thought were lost. And I made a quiet, unshakable decision:
I will live in alignment with my truth.
I will not rush. I will not silence. I will not betray the creative self within me.
And so — The Inspiration Spiral was born.
Not as a business first, but as a way of being.
A path that follows the rhythm of sensing, stillness, inner journey, expression, and offering.
A spiral of returning, remembering, and creating.
A soft space for those who long for meaning and creativity, but have been told they’re not good enough.
A refuge for sensitive souls, deep feelers, and those tired of rushing through life.
This is not about talent. It’s not about perfection.
It’s about reclaiming your creativity—your voice—your essence.
Whether through art, writing, gardening, or simply living with more intention—
there are many ways to spiral home.
This is mine.
And if it speaks to something in you, you’re warmly invited to walk alongside me—
as we each find our way back
to the quiet power within.
Ready to connect?
If this story speaks to you, I warmly invite you to explore the Let’s Connect page — whether to explore art, sessions, or just say hello.