How do you feel right now? Are you comfortable? Don’t think about it. Listen.

What’s one small adjustment you could do [right now] to feel more comfortable?

Why don’t you do it before you continue reading this episode of disconnect?

Many times, I’ve had thoughts circling around:

Why do I make things unnecessarily complicated?
Why don’t I come up with something simple?

Most ideas I come up with naturally feel complicated. The main work lies in simplifying. I used to think it was supposed to be the other way around: you start with a simple idea, and then work out the details.

When I have an idea that excites me, I often have thoughts for days. I write down note after note after note until it gets—more often than I’d like—overwhelming. Disconnecting helps to stop these sometimes uncontrollable thoughts. Writing helps to evaluate them.

I don’t start with a foundation and build around or on top of it. I start with a messy room someone just moved into: loose, unarranged items everywhere. Boxes filled with more loose, unarranged items. My work? Tidying up. Until only what’s necessary is left. And everything is in the right place.

It took me about 20 years to understand this. I thought when you have an idea, you build on it. Not take away. Which is quite the opposite of one of the takeaways I wrote down recently, after rereading my Sunday reflections:

don’t reject any idea I like just bc I think it’s too challenging, complicated before even trying

Maybe it is the the idea of taking away instead of adding what seems complicated. What’s challenging me. What I shouldn’t reject?

On Sunday, 13 July, I returned to nbk to visit Reproductions by Ghislaine Leung. The exhibition I didn’t recognize as one 11 days earlier—because I had mistaken it for an inactive construction site. 

Instead of heading there directly, I wandered through Mitte, enjoying the slow late-morning atmosphere. I stopped at Les Pâtisseries de Sébastien to get the best croissant you can find in Berlin and a cup of Earl Grey. I sat down at a small corner table, set a 30-minute timer, and wrote down my Sunday reflections:

everything can be less complicated, less complex, than what I learned to think it needs to be
→ unlearn: good = complex 

I kept walking toward Rosenthaler Platz, passed through Park am Weinbergsweg, and watched a heron perched on a treetop, then slowly circling above the park. I walked west along Torstraße, past cafés filled with young people speaking different languages, having brunch, looking like they fell right out of a For You Page.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a pizza place I hadn’t seen before. Selling New York slices [something I’ve been missing in Berlin]. At first, I didn’t stop, because I had a second breakfast not even an hour earlier. But after 30 seconds of walking, I turned back. It was too tempting.

I entered Slice Society through a glass door with a dark green aluminum frame: Barely any seating. Just a few silver bar stools at wooden counters in front of the large windows. A triangular table with a triangular lamp hovering above it. The color, the materials, the layout comforted my eyes and mind. 50 Cent & Mobb Deep’s Outta Control Remix was playing. It reminded me of layup lines before basketball games when I was 13.

And the pizza? I wondered if it was good enough to excuse the cheesy name. I ordered a pepperoni slice.

Small pepperoni slices, their edges curled upwards, slightly burnt. Crispy dough. Tiny puddles of oil on the pepperoni. Yellowish melted cheddar, topped with finely grated Parmesan. Before taking the first bite, I folded the slice. Orange oil dripped onto the paper plate. A Drake verse I’d never heard was playing [act ii date @ 8 (remix)]. I took a sip of my homemade half-and-half iced tea/lemonade. For a moment, I forgot I was in Berlin.

When I arrived at nbk, i found the same scenery as last week: construction-site emptiness. I walked in and ließ die Leere auf mich wirken. The only ‘real’ artwork? A wall print showing the production costs of the exhibition. There was no one besides me and a man from the nbk staff.

I asked him whether people were confused by the nothingness. He said it happens regularly. I told him what happened the week before—how I walked by, saw nothing, and assumed there was no exhibition.
How excited I was when I realized that what I saw was the exhibition. He smiled. He told me how Reproductions came together—how they dismantled the previous show and left the space as it was.

I said: no matter how empty it seems, there’s always something that reveals itself. He pointed out patterns—where cables were ripped out, projectors removed—leftovers of the old exhibition, forming an unintentional artwork. He mentioned how it connects with the stairs symbol on one of the doors to the staircase. 

Many passersby assume this exhibition isn’t art. That their taxes were wasted on this. What they don’t realize: It takes time to reveal the power of this work. He walked to a lectern next to the entrance where leaflets about Reproductions were laid out. He picked one up and pointed out this sentence:

What is left is not nothing. It is everything.

Astonished by how perfectly this matched my reflections just an hour earlier, I thanked him for the chat, wished him a good day, and left nbk.

Have you ever gotten more after you took something away?

Enjoy your day [or night].

glg Soda Paapi

How do you feel right now? Are you comfortable? Don’t think about it. Listen.

What’s one small adjustment you could do [right now] to feel more comfortable?

Why don’t you do it before you continue reading this episode of disconnect?

Many times, I’ve had thoughts circling around:

Why do I make things unnecessarily complicated?
Why don’t I come up with something simple?

Most ideas I come up with naturally feel complicated. The main work lies in simplifying. I used to think it was supposed to be the other way around: you start with a simple idea, and then work out the details.

When I have an idea that excites me, I often have thoughts for days. I write down note after note after note until it gets—more often than I’d like—overwhelming. Disconnecting helps to stop these sometimes uncontrollable thoughts. Writing helps to evaluate them.

I don’t start with a foundation and build around or on top of it. I start with a messy room someone just moved into: loose, unarranged items everywhere. Boxes filled with more loose, unarranged items. My work? Tidying up. Until only what’s necessary is left. And everything is in the right place.

It took me about 20 years to understand this. I thought when you have an idea, you build on it. Not take away. Which is quite the opposite of one of the takeaways I wrote down recently, after rereading my Sunday reflections:

don’t reject any idea I like just bc I think it’s too challenging, complicated before even trying

Maybe it is the the idea of taking away instead of adding what seems complicated. What’s challenging me. What I shouldn’t reject?

On Sunday, 13 July, I returned to nbk to visit Reproductions by Ghislaine Leung. The exhibition I didn’t recognize as one 11 days earlier—because I had mistaken it for an inactive construction site. 

Instead of heading there directly, I wandered through Mitte, enjoying the slow late-morning atmosphere. I stopped at Les Pâtisseries de Sébastien to get the best croissant you can find in Berlin and a cup of Earl Grey. I sat down at a small corner table, set a 30-minute timer, and wrote down my Sunday reflections:

everything can be less complicated, less complex, than what I learned to think it needs to be
→ unlearn: good = complex 

I kept walking toward Rosenthaler Platz, passed through Park am Weinbergsweg, and watched a heron perched on a treetop, then slowly circling above the park. I walked west along Torstraße, past cafés filled with young people speaking different languages, having brunch, looking like they fell right out of a For You Page.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a pizza place I hadn’t seen before. Selling New York slices [something I’ve been missing in Berlin]. At first, I didn’t stop, because I had a second breakfast not even an hour earlier. But after 30 seconds of walking, I turned back. It was too tempting.

I entered Slice Society through a glass door with a dark green aluminum frame: Barely any seating. Just a few silver bar stools at wooden counters in front of the large windows. A triangular table with a triangular lamp hovering above it. The color, the materials, the layout comforted my eyes and mind. 50 Cent & Mobb Deep’s Outta Control Remix was playing. It reminded me of layup lines before basketball games when I was 13.

And the pizza? I wondered if it was good enough to excuse the cheesy name. I ordered a pepperoni slice.

Small pepperoni slices, their edges curled upwards, slightly burnt. Crispy dough. Tiny puddles of oil on the pepperoni. Yellowish melted cheddar, topped with finely grated Parmesan. Before taking the first bite, I folded the slice. Orange oil dripped onto the paper plate. A Drake verse I’d never heard was playing [act ii date @ 8 (remix)]. I took a sip of my homemade half-and-half iced tea/lemonade. For a moment, I forgot I was in Berlin.

When I arrived at nbk, i found the same scenery as last week: construction-site emptiness. I walked in and ließ die Leere auf mich wirken. The only ‘real’ artwork? A wall print showing the production costs of the exhibition. There was no one besides me and a man from the nbk staff.

I asked him whether people were confused by the nothingness. He said it happens regularly. I told him what happened the week before—how I walked by, saw nothing, and assumed there was no exhibition.
How excited I was when I realized that what I saw was the exhibition. He smiled. He told me how Reproductions came together—how they dismantled the previous show and left the space as it was.

I said: no matter how empty it seems, there’s always something that reveals itself. He pointed out patterns—where cables were ripped out, projectors removed—leftovers of the old exhibition, forming an unintentional artwork. He mentioned how it connects with the stairs symbol on one of the doors to the staircase. 

Many passersby assume this exhibition isn’t art. That their taxes were wasted on this. What they don’t realize: It takes time to reveal the power of this work. He walked to a lectern next to the entrance where leaflets about Reproductions were laid out. He picked one up and pointed out this sentence:

What is left is not nothing. It is everything.

Astonished by how perfectly this matched my reflections just an hour earlier, I thanked him for the chat, wished him a good day, and left nbk.

Have you ever gotten more after you took something away?

Enjoy your day [or night].

glg Soda Paapi