What are you currently working on—and what do you find particularly stimulating or challenging about it?
Right now, I’m in the final stages of preparing my exhibition ›Paradies‹ at Stiftung Kunstforum Berliner Volksbank. For the first time, I’m also stepping into the role of curator, placing my own works—dealing with the transformation of public space—side by side with selected cityscapes from the Kunstsammlung der Berliner Volksbank. As a born-and-bred Berliner, this is a very special project for me, since many of these works are closely tied to the city and vividly reflect its transformations during and after the period of division.
Do you have a daily ritual that gives you structure or inspiration?
My daily ritual is to spend about half an hour reading the news in the morning before heading into the studio—it helps me ease into the day. I generally try to keep my routine as structured as possible: during the week I usually start work around ten and head home by seven, much like a classic office job. If I don’t absolutely have to, I avoid going to the studio at weekends. I need those two days off for family, friends, and a bit of distance. And if I ever get stuck, I’ve put up a basketball hoop outside my studio. Shooting a few hoops helps me clear my head and usually gets me going again.
What kind of music do you listen to when you want to focus or reconnect with your creative process?
I came of age in Berlin’s club scene in the early nineties, so there’s still a lot of techno playing in the background. But I also switch it up with radio, features, and podcasts. Until recently, I couldn’t imagine working without some kind of sound around me; now there are days when I paint in complete silence, and I find that just as nourishing.
Has there been a book that fundamentally changed your perspective—and why would you recommend it?
T. C. Boyle’s ›América‹. I first read it about twenty years ago and came back to it again recently. The book feels more relevant than ever, especially in light of current debates around migration and the social consequences of inequality.
Is there a work of art you would love to have in your home?
I’d love to have one of those brilliant small portraits by Lucian Freud that he painted in the late 40s.
Which exhibition venue in Berlin inspires you?
I always enjoy visiting Das Minsk in Potsdam—it’s a striking example of how to engage responsibly with the architectural legacy of East German modernism. The long-abandoned building has been carefully restored and transformed into a place for exchange and encounter. Most recently, I discovered the work of Noah Davis there—an artist who was a real revelation for me. Now I’m looking forward to ›Wohnkomplex—Kunst und Leben im Plattenbau‹, curated by Kito Nedo, which opens during Berlin Art Week and will also include two of my works.
Is there an object that accompanies you and reflects a part of your identity?
In my studio, I’ve got an old coffee table that used to be part of the furniture in my student studio at Monbijoupark. It’s been moving around with me for 25 years now. By this point it’s completely wobbly and covered in scratches, but somehow it’s become a fixed part of my working world.
What keeps you going, even in moments of doubt?
The thought that the only way forward is to keep working. When you get stuck, it’s important to just stay with it and keep going; at some point, things shift. With experience, you realise there’s no need to be afraid of that. Doubt is simply part of the process.
Which personality would you like to have a conversation with—and what would you talk about?
I’d love to talk with Ruben Östlund and ask him how he manages to create such striking images in films like ›The Square‹ and ›Triangle of Sadness‹—images that so powerfully carry his biting yet entertaining commentary on the state of our Western society.
What do you look forward to when your working day comes to an end?
To my family.