Collecting the Antihero Generational Narratives in Contemporary Art

CH Your collection is often described as a reflection of your generation rather than a traditional private collection. When did you first realize that collecting could be a way of articulating a generational mindset, not just personal taste?

LJ I clearly remember the moment when I first encountered Thomas Liu Le Lann’s Soft-Hero at LISTE in Basel. This depiction of a depressed hero who has withdrawn from the world resonated deeply with me in the aftermath of the pandemic, during a time marked by isolation and uncertainty. It reflected a particular emotional state shared by my generation. In retrospect, this was one of the first moments when I understood that collecting could be something more: a resonant space for collective conditions. This realization became more defined while preparing an exhibition of my private collection at Villa Merkel in Esslingen am Neckar, opening this March. It became evident that the motif of the antihero runs like a red thread through many works in the collection. The antihero represents figures who fail, hesitate, disguise themselves, or reject classical heroic narratives. In doing so, he becomes emblematic of a generation living between resilience and exhaustion, between digital hyperconnectivity and social fragmentation. Our contemporary heroes are not triumphant—they are ambivalent, overwhelmed, and multifaceted.

CH Many young artists today move fluidly between disciplines, platforms, and identities. When you encounter a work for the first time, what signals to you that it truly belongs to now, to this moment, rather than fitting into an existing art-historical category?

LJ Often, my first encounter with a work is marked by a strong sense of disorientation. That was certainly the case when I discovered the video works of Rindon Johnson. In I First You (11/11), Johnson constructs a hovering virtual landscape in which voices speak of intimacy, loss, and political upheaval. The text was written on the day of Donald Trump’s election victory—a turning point that, for many, marked the beginning of a new reality shaped by violence and uncertainty. Personal experiences, such as the arrest of a loved one, intertwine with broader social ruptures and point to the political vulnerability of queer lives. The work’s visual world— floating cattle, avatars, a bed, an octopus releasing black ink, a diver—did not immediately reveal itself to me. Having grown up playing computer games, I was particularly fascinated by Johnson’s use of a game engine to develop this visual language, which ultimately led me to acquire the work. Today, I regard the installation as an exceptionally powerful piece that engages complex questions of identity, skin color, origin, and language.

CH You’ve spoken about collecting as a long-term commitment rather than an act of accumulation. How does responsibility shape your approach when acquiring works by young artists who are still developing their careers?

LJ With every new acquisition, I ask myself whether the work is exemplary of the artist’s existing or evolving oeuvre—particularly because I regularly present the collection publicly. For me, including a work almost always involves personal exchange. I want to understand the artistic practice, build relationships, and, where possible, offer tangible support. Especially for young artists, the acquisition of a work—particularly an installation—can serve as meaningful encouragement, both ideologically and financially. As a young collector, I am more interested in growing alongside artists than in focusing exclusively on established positions. Responsibility, therefore, also means asking what contribution a purchase actually makes. I value works that critically engage with contemporary issues and contribute to a reflective, progressive society. This strikes me as far more compelling than acquiring a glossy multiple by a blue chip artist as a webshop investment. What I find particularly fulfilling is immersing myself deeply in emerging oeuvres—and later sharing these works, whether in private settings or in public exhibitions, lectures, or receptions in my apartment near Freiburg.

CH In conversations with artists, do you see yourself more as a listener, collaborator, or critical counterpart—and has that role evolved over time?

LJ From the outset, I actively sought dialogue with artists. A central focus of my collection is installation art—perhaps because such works inherently invite conversation. Many installations shift depending on spatial conditions and the presence of viewers. One example is Gabriella Torres-Ferrer’s cloud installation, an interactive work that responds to viewers via motion sensors and reconfigures itself in each exhibition space, reacting even to factors such as temperature and humidity. Co-creating exhibition spaces with artists is not only part of the process for me but also a recurring opportunity for exchange. Over time, this collaborative approach has expanded. When I needed new press images, for instance, I commissioned Joschua Yesni Arnaut, who created an extraordinary photographic series in his studio in Offenbach am Main, clearly informed by his own artistic practice. His works often stand in the tradition of the self portrait, exploring themes of self-staging, persona, and ambivalence. Even when it comes to book recommendations, I gladly rely on artists—and so far, I have never been disappointed.

CH Many emerging artists are highly conscious of visibility, social media, and digital circulation. How does this awareness influence the way you collect, preserve, and present their work?

LJ As part of the exhibition at Villa Merkel, director Sebastian Schmitt had the compelling idea of presenting the viral video of Evgenij Gottfried’s cordless hammer alongside the installation itself on a smartphone. The video amassed over two million Instagram views within a short time and evolved into a meme; showing it on a phone directly reflects this digital circulation. I was particularly struck by how the work sparked widespread online debate—even among audiences with no prior connection to contemporary art. The comment section is highly entertaining. Even the hardware store chain OBI referenced the video. Similarly, Karla Zipfel gained visibility through TikTok. I observe that social media allows young artists to reach entirely new publics. While digital visibility cannot replace institutional mediation, it has become a serious site of artistic impact. For the exhibition at Villa Merkel, several mediation films by Martin Mannweiler are currently in production. I am convinced that such formats create new points of access while also serving as meaningful forms of documentation.

CH Was there a moment when a work challenged your own assumptions about art, success, or even your position as a collector?

LJ A work I frequently reflect upon is About Ordal by Neckar Doll. I grew up around extreme sports—my father is a passionate motorcycle collector, especially of Harley-Davidsons, and was a bodybuilder. This fascination with the extreme has remained with me. In About Ordal, we encounter a postmodern warrior figure assembled from the remnants of a biker: a scratched motocross helmet that originally belonged to the artist, and blood seemingly transformed into an energy drink. The work references the medieval trial by ordeal and translates this principle into a present shaped by risk culture and extreme sports. Doll draws a romantically exaggerated parallel between chivalry and the pursuit of adrenaline, asking why we almost need to destroy ourselves to feel alive. As sociologist Ulrich Bröckling describes in his essay Postheroische Helden – Ein Zeitbild, a post-heroic narrative emerges here—not as triumph, but as tragedy. This work fundamentally shifted my understanding of heroism, risk, and intensity of life. I am grateful to Neckar Doll for opening this new layer of insight.

CH How important are alternative platforms such as KUBAPARIS compared to institutions, fairs, or galleries?

LJ I discovered Karla Zipfel through KUBAPARIS during her first feature there. Platforms like this make emerging aesthetics visible at an early stage and significantly influence digital visual languages and new artistic movements. Especially outside major metropolitan centers, they provide orientation and points of comparison. At the same time, I observe that many galleries now document exhibitions at a museum-standard level and distribute them online via these platforms. Curated submissions create an additional layer of qualitative filtering. Nevertheless, fairs remain central nodes in my collecting practice. Particularly LISTE and ParisInternationale are indispensable dates firmly anchored in my annual calendar. The most exciting developments occur where symbioses arise between fairs and digital platforms—these reports often provide early indications of positions worth closer attention.

CH For a young audience interested in collecting but unsure where to begin: what matters most at the start—intuition, context, or community?

LJ For me, it was primarily local institutions and art associations. My first meaningful encounters with art took place through the art association in my hometown. There, I experienced community, exchange, and accessible contact with artists—connections I still value today. Art associations, especially in Germany, function as protected spaces where one quickly becomes part of a community and often finds an entry point into collecting through affordable editions. Institutions such as the ZKM | Center for Art and Media in Karlsruhe also shaped me profoundly, particularly through their integration of research, community engagement, and collection. To this day, I spend many free Sundays in the ZKM library. They even offer a format where visitors can meet a new “art buddy” through a speed-dating concept during an exhibition visit. Wonderful, isn’t it?

CH Looking ahead, how do you envision the Jakob Collection evolving? Should a collection age visibly with its collector, or can it reinvent itself entirely?

LJ I collect positions that engage with the time in which they are created; accordingly, the themes will continue to evolve. Recently, I have been deeply engaged with the motif of the antihero particularly post-heroic masculinity, doppelgängers, and alter egos. I wrote an essay on the subject and exchanged ideas with sociologist Ulrich Bröckling and literary scholar Rebecca Heinrich. This research also led me to literary references such as Hermann Hesse’s Steppenwolf and Han Kang’s The Vegetarian, whose quiet resistance inspired me to explore the South Korean art scene more closely. I would like to continue working in this interdisciplinary way—at the intersection of art, sociology, literature, and biography. It has deepened my understanding of the collection. For now, I am very much looking forward to the upcoming exhibition at Villa Merkel in Esslingen am Neckar.

CH Finally, if you could offer one piece of advice to young artists and emerging collectors navigating today’s ecosystem, what would it be?

LJ It is well worth taking a closer look at the program curated by Mohamed Almusibli at the Kunsthalle Basel.