Luisa (lying):I feel safe when there’s no judgement, no envy, when there’s trust, support and a deep understanding. My safe space isn’t a place. My safe space is my Cemi. Cemre (sitting): Mutually, Luisa is my safe space. With her, I feel secure ...
My studio is also my safe space. The studio itself is part of my art. It’s constantly changing, adapting, and being readjusted. My safe space is part of my artistic output, and a prerequisite for it.
As a kid I liked to play „Island“ on sofas or armchairs, imagining the whole floor of the room as open sea. On the sofa I was unreachable, on my own, safe – ideally together with a friend and some tasty snacks. Today my bed is this safe space. At the end ...
Every time I visit Cologne, I return to the Lindenthal Canal. The tranquility there, and the harmonious interplay of water, trees, and inviting architecture, evoke a feeling of comfort and timelessness. To be precise, it’s a 1970s feeling I think I ...
The place could be anywhere. What I need is Bach or Brahms, or at least meaningful music. I actually prefer listening alone and at home, but the transition from mere perception to that moment when inside and outside dissolve and I feel like I’m ...
The drawing course. Every Tuesday in a group. At some point, I realized that the class had become important to me. That I had found something beyond writing with which I could express myself creatively. A blank slate lies before me again. And here, I feel ...
The small café is a quiet spot in the middle of the city. The regulars know each other by sight and take their time, while the passing crowd blends in with the atmosphere. The coffee is good and the service impeccable. I sit there—preferably with a good ...
On good days, my study transforms into my hobby room. Then I’m not sitting at my desk doing everyday tasks. Instead, I immerse myself in projects I’ve chosen for myself. The room becomes a cabinet of curiosities, filled with all the tools ...
The moment I first rehearsed here, I knew this would be „my“ place. That I had found a space here to develop my ideas. In winter, it smells of coal-fired heaters; in summer, I hear the rustling of the trees. Or the jazz music from the cafe ...
