Oliver Westerbarkey: Nature Reimagined
A couple of weeks ago, I found myself at a wedding in Austria. It was one of those perfectly idyllic situations—beautiful bride, stunning scenery, the whole nine yards. The bride is a close friend of mine, and her brother-in-law is a German artist named Oliver Westerbarkey. Now, I’ve been following his work for a while, but having him there gave me a rare opportunity to talk to him about his work directly.
Of course, trying to discuss art at a wedding reception, with the clinking of glasses and the constant threat of a conga line breaking out, is never easy. Add to that the fact that English is not his first language, and suddenly you have the makings of an interaction that felt a bit like playing charades, but with more lofty concepts like “human survival” and “the ambiguity of reality” on the table. But we got through it—sort of. Enough to spark a deeper curiosity about what it is he’s doing with his dioramas.
Oliver’s art, in essence, transports us into a world where nature rules supreme—independent, thriving, and not particularly interested in whether we’re there to witness it or not. His diorama-like works explore the uncomfortable truth that while nature can flourish without us, human survival is inextricably linked to the environment. This isn’t a lecture; it’s more of a nudge—a subtle twist in how we usually see the world. What appears most alive in his work—lush green patches of grass, a perfectly formed leaf—is, in fact, artificial. And there’s something both unsettling and profound in that realization.
Westerbarkey’s dioramas are analog representations that evoke a sense of augmented reality. Not the kind with an app or virtual goggles, but something more tactile, more real. These dioramas exist fully in the physical world, which means they engage your senses in ways that a screen never could. His works blur the line between what is natural and what is fabricated, creating an experience where you’re never quite sure what you’re looking at—and that’s the point. It’s as if nature has been reassembled by someone who understands the rules but enjoys bending them just enough to make you question whether you’ve been paying attention to the world around you at all.
What makes Oliver’s work particularly compelling is the ambiguity it embodies. There’s no one truth waiting to be uncovered in these pieces, no correct answer. Instead, the truth emerges through the viewer’s interpretation. For some, his work might evoke a sense of nostalgia, pulling them back to a childhood memory—running barefoot through a forest, perhaps, or that weird time you collected rocks and kept them in a shoebox under your bed. For others, the dioramas might feel more like archaeological finds, remnants of an ancient world carefully preserved for us to contemplate.
But here’s the kicker: the duality in Oliver’s work—between natural and artificial, past and present—encourages us to reflect on the delicate balance between humans and the environment. His art underscores a fundamental truth that we’d all do well to remember. While nature will continue on its merry way, indifferent to whether we’ve sorted out our recycling, we as humans are deeply tied to the earth. We can’t afford to forget that. The artificiality of his "living" elements is a gentle reminder that in an increasingly tech-driven world, we can’t lose sight of our deep-rooted connection to the natural one.
One of the things I love most about Oliver’s work is how it highlights the small things we so easily overlook in our day-to-day lives—the texture of soil, the quiet persistence of moss growing on a rock, the intricate patterns of tree bark. His dioramas preserve and imitate nature, but they also force us to slow down and pay attention to the details we usually breeze past. In a world dominated by quick fixes and instant gratification, his work feels like an invitation to pause, reflect, and remember that the world around us is a lot more complex—and a lot more beautiful—than we often give it credit for.
Ultimately, Oliver’s dioramas challenge us to reconsider what we take for granted and to recognize the delicate balance that exists in the ecosystems we rely on. His work is a testament to the enduring power of nature and a reminder that, while we may try to control and replicate it, the natural world operates on its own terms. Whether we like it or not, we’re just along for the ride.