Elisa Breyer paints the overlooked, the private, the quietly radical. Her vivid oil paintings zoom in on the everyday fragments that shape our lives: an iron draped in fabric, a hair tie on a laundry line, chewing gum stuck to the sole of a shoe. She paints naked knees in a crouch at the roadside, a hot-water bottle tucked into a waistband, the way loneliness can look glossy under the right light.

Her practice is rooted in classical painting, and yet fully anchored in the digital-native mindset. She works exclusively with oil paint — no solvents, no shortcuts — in a studio next to her bedroom in Berlin. Often asked why she doesn't just take photos, she resists the question entirely: “Images today need to catch you in a second,” she says, snapping her fingers. “But unlike photos lost in the cloud, my canvases can last for centuries.”

Trained at the Bauhaus-Universität Weimar and the Akademie der Bildenden Künste in Munich, Breyer's visual style is informed by documentary photography and everyday aesthetics. Her titles — drawn from overheard conversations, song lyrics or her phone’s notes app — are as much part of the work as the images themselves. Paintings like “Do I have the covid or is it just a hangover?” or “Still at the pop-up in Mitte” reflect a generation negotiating burnout, irony, and the soft politics of intimacy.

Breyer's works don’t just depict — they feel. They’re vulnerable, funny, and sharply observed. What’s hidden becomes central. The personal becomes universal. In a future museum, long after news headlines have faded, her canvases might still be speaking of fashion and fear, friendship and fatigue, and what it meant to be 28 in Berlin in the 2020s.