Wednesday, 2 July — the hottest day of the year in Berlin so far. Going to a museum or gallery felt like the perfect way to escape the heat. I decided to go to nbk, where I hadn’t been since last September, when Pamela Rosenkranz’ Spill Retina rebooted my nervous system.

When I arrived, I encountered emptiness. Through the large windowfront, I saw two exhibition rooms—one entirely empty, the other with several large office ceiling lamps lying on the floor, and a young man sitting on a chair. Absorbed in his phone, most likely supervising this construction site where nothing was being constructed. At least not at that moment. I assumed the space was closed.

A flatscreen in the window showed a slideshow of current and upcoming programming. According to it, there should’ve been an exhibition running between 7 June and 3 August: Reproductions by Ghislaine Leung. 

Slightly confused, I decided to take a walk on the nearby cemeteries I had stumbled upon after my visit to nbk last September. I walked between the tidy graves and tombstones of the Französischer Friedhof, under shady trees, inhaling the calm atmosphere, all the way over to the Dorotheenstädtischer Friedhof.

I passed the graves of many historically important Germans and barely encountered anyone. Just three people, probably tourists. A blonde woman in a red polka-dot dress holding a city map, and an older couple in hiking sandals with bike helmets clipped to their backpacks. No one else.

The merciless heat made the day more peaceful. The quietness of the cemetery only deepened it. After maybe 15 minutes of walking, I sat down on a bright purple bench. I paid attention to the sounds around me: A few distant cars. The tram every 5 minutes or so. Leaves rattling in the wind. Nothing else.

Rare stillness in Berlin-Mitte, just a few hundred meters from Friedrichstraße, on a Wednesday afternoon, around 4PM.

I looked at a statue of a man holding a book, in front of a mausoleum, about 7 meters away. I wondered who he was. I’ll check later when I get up. I opened my Sunday reflections notebook, which I had brought with me even though it wasn’t Sunday, and flipped to a page. The wind picked up. I felt comfortable. 

[couldn’t find out who the statue guy is — the mausoleum belongs to Familie Stargardt]

reflection 017 - 2025/05/03

WHAT

making art daily. living as and being an artist/myself.

WHY

to be at peace. to live a life that’s truly mine – based on my needs, my rhythm.

As I read this, the wind blows stronger again – it feels like this comforting, cooling breeze confirms/agrees with what I just read.

HOW

disconnecting. following my inner voice.

‘showing a path by walking it’

→ I’m offering the space, not the rules

I turn a few pages.

reflection 020 - 2025/05/25

WHAT

life = art
[how I move through the world]

HOW

disconnecting. listening to myself.
[my compass/way of navigating]

WHY

to be at peace. to live a life that’s truly mine – based on my needs, my rhythm/pace + helping others to do/be the same
[my polaris star – and, it’s not a destination, it’s a path/zustand]

‘i live what i invite others into’

→ my life = my art

noise. depth.

→ i want to create a quiet movement

‘create and live in your own world instead of trying to fit in’

Last year, shortly before releasing Out Of Office, I started thinking about my intentions for the next project [which turned out to be 40 Nights in Toronto]. Not just what it should sound or look like, or what message I wanted to convey, but also: Who am I making this for?

Something I’d never asked myself before.

I decided not to actively attract a new audience. I wanted to see who was already here.

You.

I wanted to get to know you. Understand what resonates. Nurture that, before reaching outward.

Now, for the first time, I finished a project without compromising my vision to external expectations, without adapting what I do to what I think people might want. And I felt how deeply it connected. With you.

I’m convinced that what I do deserves to be seen. Not because it’s louder or more spectacular. Because it takes you into a world you haven’t seen before.

My world.

But the truth is: very few people are seeing it.

Why?

Because I barely tell anyone about it. 

Because I rarely enjoy talking to people.

I know my message can help create a better world. I know it needs to be shared. I’m just not sure how.

I’m not a radio, always transmitting. I enjoy silence.

Most of the time, I want distance. I want space. I want to be alone, in my own world, at peace.

When I observe people in public—couples, groups—I often feel relieved that I’m not part of it. That I don’t have to participate. And when I see people who are alone, I feel a sense of connection. I’m happy for them, that they’re in their own world.

It’s not that I never want connection. I just want solitude to be my default. Then, if I really feel like it, I’ll leave it.

But it leaves me with a contradiction: How can I spread my art and message if I want/need to be alone?

Is it possible to cut through the noise without making more noise?

Fast forward to Thursday, 10 July. I’m editing this episode. While typing this, I checked the nbk website to confirm the exhibition dates I couldn’t remember. What I saw blew my mind. What I encountered last Wednesday was the exhibition. The photos on the site showed exactly what I saw: an empty space, a few lamps, smeared windows.

I was amazed. 

Just the impression of nothing had made me assume it was closed. I’ll definitely go again. Maybe I’ll write about it.

Think of a moment where you noticed something because it was less noticeable than everything else.

What was it?

Let me know, I’d love to hear.

Enjoy your day [or night].

glg Soda Paapi

PPS: If someone came to mind while reading this, feel free to send it their way. Maybe it’s exactly what they need right now.