I explore how bodies move through and shape space, with a focus on urban and postindustrial landscapes. My work draws on the choreographic potential of everyday routines.
I can barely contain my happiness, so you're hearing it first: I'm moving into my new studio. Düsseldorf, the side streets by Stresemannplatz, a courtyard right next to Bar Elington.
Why even bother with a studio in 2026?
Adersstraße, my empty white-cube studio — a bit like a detective bureau out of the '50s
STUDIO TIME
Hey dearest Reader,
I don't really sell paintings, no sculptures, and rents keep climbing. But in my art I burn for narratives: sometimes I disappear into books for days, sometimes I write performance scripts, sometimes I'm just chasing the right light. You'd think a couch in the living room would be enough.
Last week I was in Tuscany, and I understood again why it isn't. I visited Tyler and her partner, who moved from London to a tiny Italian village. From there they invite the world in, because creativity isn't tied to capital cities. It was magical to see how art networks hold the gates open for one another — especially now, when conservative pressure is trying to shrink art spaces down to nothing. It won't work. Not as long as we keep meeting to exchange ideas.
Tyler's house in Tuscany, with palazzo frescoes
Among the kitchen utensils, a collection of Japanese pattern cuts for kimono prints
Draw a chalk square on the asphalt, one square meter. That's your new studio.
Step into it. Make an artwork from that perspective. It can become the manifesto for your coming weeks.
Take it seriously.
Alternative: sand works too — in Dakar, for example, at this quarry
My first studio from 2021, in action
In 2021 I opened my first studio: KARTELL in Derendorf, a decommissioned car garage. Inspired by the meaning of "cartel" — an agreement or coordinated behavior between many parties, working together.
I swore to myself: never hang anything permanently on the wall, never set up a workbench. The only fixture: the linoleum floor. I invited every dance community and opened the space for workshops. For two years, encounters happened here — no neighbors, full volume, krump battles and raves. In those years I finally dared to work with the material that has no limits: my body, in connection with others. The ground for my first pieces was laid here — you can see an excerpt from the performance S.O.A.R.
In 2023 we all had to leave. For a year my studio fit into a DIN-A4 folder full of drawings. I carried it everywhere — into cafés and airports, into dance spaces, onto park benches, talking with wonderful creative minds about work.
Today my studio sits in a courtyard straight out of Blade Runner, and I have the privilege of sharing it with my colleague Jessica Tille. Unlike a museum, a gallery, an exhibition, this studio is the place where every idea becomes scalable, independent of any frame. I carry two sentences in with me:
The square meters of the studio will never define the scale of my work. The studio must never isolate me — it should invite and shelter.
If you're in Düsseldorf: the door is open. Just write back.
SUMMER RESIDENCY
Hey Reader,
I've always loved climbing trees. Recently it struck me how long it's been since I last did — and I had to swallow hard. I think as children we instinctively search for absolute freedom, until later, in adulthood, some psychological pressure keeps us from simply acting on our simplest ideas.
When I dance with others, those forgotten doors open again. I love dance because it's the absolute now. Because it's the absolute action. Because I think with my muscles first, ahead of my brain's synapses.
tanzhaus nrw has invited me and my team for a summer residency. And because you're reading this letter, you're hearing it before anyone else: on 29 and 30 August we're opening the residency doors and sharing what we've found. Let's make a few of these forgotten wishes come true together, there. Please let me know if you're interested in coming by.
Insight from the DIN-A4 folder of my mobile studio, "The Parade," watercolor pencil, 210 × 297 mm, 2026
WORKSHOP ALERT
The workshop I promised you:
In the last letter I announced a new theme — now it's here. On 12 and 13 September I'm opening a workshop weekend in Düsseldorf-Derendorf.
There are still 5 spots left, €60 participation fee. Just reply to this email, and one of them is yours. That weekend we'll improvise with floorworks, to test whether our bodies can be part of an orchestra.
I explore how bodies move through and shape space, with a focus on urban and postindustrial landscapes. My work draws on the choreographic potential of everyday routines.
Summer Issue 19. June 2026 A month ago I boarded a train — Düsseldorf to Munich to Verona. Somewhere after Verona I went in the wrong direction. By the time I noticed, the hills had grown larger and a sign read Lago di Garda. No connection, no hotel, no plan. I spent the night in a village that didn't need a name, and stepped off at Santa Lucia station on an early Wednesday morning, the first day of opening week at the Biennale di Venezia. My first time. During opening week. Diary entry,...
Spring Issue 21.April.2026 mirror selfie at Hospitalfield in an 200 years old mirror Dances of Intrusion – when time stands still and bodies begin to shift it. Hey dearest Reader, Spring has arrived in the north of the UK and I’ve just returned from the studios at Hospitalfield. In March, I spent two weeks in an old castle on the Scottish coast as part of an interdisciplinary residency. Time there stretched quietly, allowing me to reconsider my studio routines and tune into my upcoming...
