Who I Am In Between: Moritz Krauth's Gentle Portraits at Moltkerei Werkstatt
Every transformation comes with loss. But it comes with new freedom as well. Moritz (Millennial, German) portrays one such transformation with a gentle, kind gaze.
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A motorbike is parked in the middle of the space. A skeleton rather than the fully functioning version. The cylinder broke apart and lies next to the bike; the red rear light is holding on for dear life. So fragile. It looks so tired. A red shirt hangs off the bike. A framed picture leans against it. I see a person in profile, applying red lipstick with manicured hands against a blank background.
The show does not consist of portraits but is a portrait as a whole. There’s Frank. And there’s Faafa. After I had a thorough look at the show, Moritz told me this person’s story. He randomly met Faafa out on the street, mesmerized by her aura. And as they got to know each other, he got to portray her. And by portraying Faafa, he portrayed Frank as well. It’s a separation through names, but not through bodies.
The first work on the wall, in chronological order, pictures Faafa pulling a camera out of its black leather case. Red press-ons contrast with a blue shirt, the reflection of which is visible in the camera lens. But there is no face. Faafa holds the camera in her hand. Not assertive. It’s not a firm grip. The camera lies in her hand as if offering it to me.
A pair of pale, slender legs in fish-net tights fills the picture plane of Brown Tights (2025). It feels uncanny to look at it for too long: Not the front leg is focused but the black panty and a bit of the thigh. Instead of staying at the closest spot — the knee —, my eyes are guided to too intimate body parts for my liking (Ion even know them like that). The skin resists the ochre fish-net tights ever so lightly, protruding from the rectangular openings into tiny fleshy cushions here and there. The color of the tights is warmer than the skintone. The even beige turns yellow, purple, and grey in some spots, pointing to the human instead of the fantasy behind the lens.
A spatial buffer separates that image from Caramel Legs (2025): The lens focuses a glass-blown mountain goat trinket surrounded by perfume bottles on a dressing table. The mirror reflection dissolves in the background. How adorable this delicate, tiny goat looks, trying so hard to look big and strong, stand tall and proud, while its glass hoofs slither apart on the glossy white table.
More pictures show Frank becoming Faafa. The gradual changes aren’t hidden. On Leather Seating (2025) shows Faafa/Frank sitting on a black leather sofa, legs crossed and lying back. One hand caresses a thigh while the other goes through the hair. The camera focuses on the tights instead of the face. Frank/Faafa closed their eyes, slightly turning away. Maybe just lost in thoughts. Maybe hiding through posture.
Rouge (Thinking About R.H.) (2025) depicts Faafa almost in complete makeup. Only the lipstick is missing. Her lips are pressed together. She slightly tilted her head forward. Her eyes are tightly shut, avoiding mine. It’s like she’s scared of my judgment, anticipating my possible reaction.
It’s constant looking and looking away. Self-revelation and self-protection can be one and the same thing and complete opposites at once. There’s several moments when vulnerability and violence, fragility and strength come close. I was irritated at first when I stood in front of Faafa on Green (2025), the only landscape format of the show. Faafa stands on a lush golfing green, holding a golf club and bent forward as if inspecting something on the ground. The sunlight hits her white, fluffy hair. There’s no horizon. It’s dizzying. There’s that sense of vulnerability again: She bends down, her face invisible to me as I look down at her. I stand tall. She is so small out of a sudden.
In other pictures, Faafa wears black and holds a revolver. She looks fierce. Faafa means business. Those shots could be stills from a mafia movie. And I wonder if that’s really her or whether she’s performing a persona within a persona. In Weapon (Thinking About M.B.E.) (2025), she’s confrontational, clasping the gun with both hands and pointing it right at me. I can’t see the face. The round muzzle and arches of the revolver cylinder resemble her silver rings. A gun probably is a girl’s best accessory.
In Demonstrating a Knife (2025), Faafa placed the blade with the flat side on her index finger as if trying to scratch something off her skin. The white, sharp edge looks so intimidating. Once again, no face. I can’t read the intention. Every time she holds a weapon, she disappears. The blade reflects the blue T-shirt in metallic gradients. It’s as if this masculine-coded blue highlights the danger, enhancing the literally sharp contrast between the red nail polish and blue shirt, between the feminine and the masculine.
Towards the end, the show returns to the dressing table. Surrounded by intricate vintage perfume bottles, a glass butterfly rests on one such bottle. I’d usually say the butterfly is cheesy kitsch if only this metaphor didn’t fit so perfectly.
And then the final portrait: No makeup, no jewelry. Just a bare face and again that dominant, masculine blue of his shirt: Frank Münch-Pfeiffer (2025). A diffused rosy background highlights the rosy skin patches and his purple nose. Moritz didn’t portray him fully frontal. Frank slightly bows his head forward, ever so slightly, looking upwards and right at me. Barely noticeable, his posture reveals vulnerability, just like in Rouge (Thinking About R.H). But this time, he doesn’t look away. Frank holds my gaze inquisitively, as if wondering what I think of this person after all I’ve seen. Who do I think they are? Sometimes, being invisible is the safest option there is. But to be seen is to be understood. And to reveal oneself to others takes courage.
Moritz Krauth: Schnappschuss — Meine Fragen sind geklärt, until December 13, 2025, at Moltkerei Werkstatt, Cologne.
Moltkerei Werkstatt e. V.
Moltkestrasse 8
50674 Cologne
Website
Instagram: @moritzkrauth @moltkereiwerkstatt @youmightalsolikeev
See you soon!!!
Jennifer
The Gen Z Art Critic