The first time Rauch travelled to  southern Europe was in 1990 after the Wall fell. One of his early destinations was Italy, where he saw many classical Renaissance masterpieces that shifted his perspective on art. Most notably, he recalls seeing the frescoes at the Basilica of Saint Francis Assisi attributed to the pre-renaissance painter Giotto, an experience which changed his approach to his work. 

On a trip to Venice, the artist and his son saw landmarks such as Palazzo Ducale, that had featured in Mosaik. “It was then I realised that they were actually real places,” he says. And while the comic series influenced the very early stages of his painting, it was the classical masters who helped him hone his practice; he says that the way he painted before was “uncultivated and wild”, and lacking in structure. This changed after he discovered Giotto and early Renaissance artist Piero della Francesca, whose work “made [me] appreciate a sense of order; the arrangement became more settled, organised both in terms of colour and composition.”

Rauch has a come a long way from his first picture, a drawing of a woodpecker at the age of two. His complex tableaux-like canvases rose to critical acclaim and commercial success internationally in the late 1990s. Shortly after, in 2000, Zwirner started representing him. His body of work has slowly evolved, charting subtle differences—a “metamorphosis over time” as the artist puts it. Though devoid of a clear narrative, his paintings certainly contain meanings and messages, especially when displayed together, bring to mind old fables and tales. Aesthetically, the paintings recall illustrations from old editions of German fairy tales, though Rauch claims his initial source of inspiration was comic books.

He also credits Loy with bringing structure into his life. “She’s more rational, [while] I trust my gut more. She’s the more practical person, and I’m more the dreamer. She’s very organised and I need that, because I’m not; I can just trust her for anything.” This trust extends to critiquing each other’s works.

“We invite each other to come over [to each other’s studios] to make corrections or changes,” Loy says, adding, “only when we are invited, though. If you’re as close as we are to each other, it’s very dangerous to make a correction that goes over the line or too far—it can be painful. We mostly comment on compositional changes, like drawing in a head or a foot that was missing. It’s always technical.” She continues, half-jokingly, “In the beginning, he used to paint knees a little bit bigger than they should have been.” 

Loy adds that Rauch has influenced the technical way she works and paints in terms of composition and colour. More generally, she says, “I’ve tried to learn how to be more slow from him, but I haven’t finished learning yet.” 

While Rauch and Loy’s respective aesthetics complement each other in terms of their whimsy and sense of colour, there is a sense of ease and being uplifted that emanates from Loy’s paintings. A distinguishing feature of her work is that she solely paints female figures, in a distinctly feminine way that reflects a sense of empowerment and freedom. 

Occasionally the couple exhibit their work together, and their most recent joint exhibition, Flowers on the Border, ran from November 2021 to January 2022 at Space K in Seoul. The show laid bare the connections and contrasts, both subtle and blatant, between their work. Like Rauch’s work, Loy’s paintings bring to mind illustrations in old fairytale books: with Loy, it’s through the way she depicts her female figures, whereas with Rauch, it’s from the distinction between the various scenarios that are present in his paintings. Loy attributes this fable-like presentation to a childhood filled with storytelling: “If you grew up listening to and reading stories as we did—so many books and fables—your mind is capable of thinking in pictures.”

Rauch is a painter’s painter; you get the idea he would stay in the studio painting all day if he could. When he paints, he works in what he calls a “state of flow” to execute his vision; his process is intuitive but intentional, and there is always an obscured narrative, should the viewer choose to unearth it.

Take Feldzeichen (2023), for instance, a seminal work on view in the Hong Kong show. Literal signs are the prime subject of works in Rauch’s Hong Kong; signposts, signals, agricultural signage, such as tools and territory markers. Tools, such as a spade made from rusty iron, have been depicted as larger than life compared to the figures in the painting, and form the central focus. “If these figures would want to use these tools or signs, there would be a strong disproportion and they might be overwhelmed by the sheer size of the signs,” explains Rauch of the symbolic relationship between the figures and objects. On the right, a man and woman are sitting across from one another and speaking in front of a window. The landscape as seen through the window is dramatic: smoke from the horizon and an apparent fire are seen as a small but significant sign, as is the object that the male figure is holding and is preoccupied with. “She might be warning him that there is danger, but he can’t see it. The way he thinks and feels is small,” says Rauch of the size of the sign compared to the man. “He doesn’t get the full picture; he can’t feel the danger because he’s in a bubble.” 

“He’s a typical western guy wearing ridiculous clothes and busy playing with his toy-shaped field sign in his hands—he’s lost in his own little world.” Rauch further explained that the “bubble” could also be interpreted as a screen: that of an iPad or a smartphone—things we immerse ourselves in and so perhaps miss many of the signs happening in our real lives. In this way, Rauch is addressing themes of delusion and a general lack of awareness. “He’s lost in his own little world, but the woman is aware of the danger, and encouraging him to take the risk and be strong and be a man and break out of his illusion.”

Rauch says his way of depicting women has changed over time, influenced by his wife’s work. “She only draws women; she puts a lot of love in doing that,” he says. “And that helps me put more love into drawing women in my paintings. People have observed that the ladies look more and more beautiful, compared to those in my early work.”

Loy characterises their mutual influence as organic and subconscious. “If you live together for a long time in one room, you are in the same bubble,” she reflects. “And even when couples don’t speak to each other, they have a look and know what each other are thinking in that moment.” But the pair didn’t realise this synergy for years. “We were working on our own paintings; after decades we found out that our paintings really have harmony,” says Rauch. “Sometimes there is more harmony between our paintings than there is between us,” he jokes.

The couple met each other at a party at a mutual friend’s house 40 years ago. It was a carnival-themed event and Rauch distinctly remembers Loy “being dressed in green from head to toe. She looked like a plant.” While incredibly playful, a natural (and expected after 40 years of companionship) sense of comfort and depth emanates from their interaction, not unlike that found in their paintings.

“We met what feels like a 100 years ago, more than that,” Loy jokes, laughing slightly as she glances back at Rauch. “We know each other without words.”

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