Studio
Come in.
This is where I work. On the floor, mostly.
I work on the floor.
Large paintings lean against every wall. Paint finds its way onto everything — the boards, my hands, the music playing in the corner.
It looks like chaos. To me, it’s the most ordered place I know.
This is where the not-knowing happens. Where I follow the work instead of leading it.
Walking in my shoes
Years ago, in Hamburg, I bought a pair of sneakers. Soft velvet. Perfectly clean.
Today they carry a drop of paint from hundreds of paintings. Every color is another day in the studio. Every mark remembers another work.
They stopped being shoes a long time ago. They’ve quietly become one of the most sentimental things I own — an artwork of their own. Irreplaceable.
A thought, for later
One day, I’d like a collector to lend me a pair of their own meaningful shoes. I’ll wear them while I make their painting. Those footsteps become part of the story. The shoes go home. The painting stays.