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 ...
The sofa is my favorite spot in our apartment. I sit there in the morning with a large cup of coffee and enjoy the slow start to the day. I love looking out the window, watching the clouds drift by or the pigeons on the roof across the street. Just ...
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 ...
There’s something quiet and grounding about sitting here. Here, I don’t have to be anyone in particular. I can just be. This place gives me space to breathe, to think, or not think. And sometimes, that’s exactly what I need to feel safe.
When I sit on my balcony in the early evening, I hear the birds singing. What a beautiful contrast: I see the concrete houses on my street and hear the birds singing at the same time.
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 ...
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 kitchen in my small apartment. The sun sometimes shines in. The newspaper, the bills. Everything is in front of me on the table. There’s a large fir tree outside the window. I like watching the squirrels climb up and down it. Especially in spring.
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 ...
