In the beginning it was like a little laboratory-cave, because we didn’t know much about glass. We had to invent our own colours, our own reactions, our own ways of dealing with the super slippery surface. We were always so curious, how would it turn out if we made this colour? What happens when it dries? So we used to eat here, sleep here, and wake up in the morning to check it. It was quite intense.

Already in 2015, there had been a big sell-out all over Berlin, and it was hard to find studios. A friend offered us this space. It was big, it was affordable, and we could reach it by bike easily from both of our homes. The first time we saw it, we almost ran away in fear. It used to be an old GDR care home for the elderly, and it’s this super ugly building. But inside was a space with double-height ceilings and super big windows that used to be a kitchen, which became our first space. 

Inside, you don’t have the feeling of being in Berlin. It’s quiet. And the whole house has its own community. The kitchen became a very important symbol for us, a place where people come together and meet.

It’s in Lichtenberg, which means ‘the lit mountain’, in the former east part of Berlin. There are some studio spaces around the corner, and big galleries have their storage spaces here, but it’s not super gentrified, like other neighbourhoods. If you want to grab a cafe latte, no chance! You would need to go to a petrol station. But that means you don’t get distracted by other things. You’re really here.

In the beginning, we had one room we shared. But little by little we got more tools, and it became more professional. Now we have more rooms, and each room has its own function.

We find them and then we place them at the centre of our works to give them the visibility we think they deserve. In all of our works, the authorship of the others is important. We call it ‘shared ownership aesthetics’, because the people who used this stuff before us already left their trace. Basis Rho is the climax of that idea for us, because it’s made using remnants found in the ovens of glasshouses, left by other artists and architects. For technical reasons, they cannot be used anymore, but they are as beautiful as gemstones. We give them another life, because we paint with them. They become our colour palette.

We were drawn instinctively to glass. We really like the polarity of the material. It is connected to the inside of architecture, and to the outside. Think of your phone: you touch it from the outside, but then there’s so much inside. There is no fore- or background. In architecture, you don’t even realize that you see glass, some of the time—you just see what’s in front of and behind it.

Maybe it’s also a reference to us being women. Being active in this world, it’s not the easiest! Glass is so feminine—because of its beauty when it’s reflecting and mirroring. Because of its slickness and sleekness. It’s soft, but at the same time it can be sharp, and harm you very easily. It’s challenging. It can enhance you, but you have to be careful with it at the same time, because it can break so easily. It’s an opponent, in a way.

Dusty! Of course we have a special tent for sawing the glass, but you cannot avoid the dust.

They are our pieces, or pieces by friends. The pictures we have hanging change frequently, depending on the guests we have or who we are collaborating with. It’s like a playground. Everything can be a canvas. A room itself is a canvas, you know? It’s an art piece—how you arrange things in a room, how you move around them. For us, the studio is a canvas, with all these objects inside. What piece should be where is fluid and negotiable. It’s all a process.

We have been cooking together every lunchtime since the beginning, creating that time to sit down, eat, speak. No work-related things. It’s just about pleasure, and taking care of our souls. We’ve also started a yoga class here, with other artists, that takes place once a week, and that’s an important ritual for us. It changes the energy for us. When you’re a parent there’s not much space for oneself—especially if you are a mother. We both realized how little time and space is left if you don’t fight for it, if you don’t create it. That’s what we are always trying to do, every day.

When we arrive here in the very early mornings, let’s say between seven and eight, nine, maybe, the main studio is completely flooded with light. Whatever our stress level is, we press the pause button the moment we enter the space. It’s so bright, and the light catches the glass everywhere. The paintings activate the room differently each time. It really slows down time. This one moment, I would say, is enchanting for both of us.