A Lungful of Air
I think we can all agree: this winter was a bit much, even by Berlin standards. It was too cold. It was too grey. The kind of grey that feels permanent, like the sky just forgot how to do anything else. Everyone I know was complaining, fair enough.
But... after 10 years in the grey Northern-Europe I developed a defence mechanism for winter: I curl up, slow down, get into hibernation mode and wait for spring. Like, in a positive way. Enjoying the anticipation because I know what's coming next. And the harder the winter is, the more I enjoy the spring.
And when spring is finally here, it has this feeling like you held your breath for a really long time—and you finally take that first full lungful of air.
Everything feels a little better.
Finally, we can breathe again.
The city has completely transformed. Everything is deep, lush green. The smell of lilac is everywhere. People are smiling to you on the street. And I feel like taking pictures of every flower on the side of the road, every lady bug, every bee. I'm cherishing every second of it.
Naturally, this energy has invaded my work. I've been printing a lot of flowers lately, and reaching for colours I usually ignore. I even did something slightly out of character: I thrifted a few pairs of very colourful pants for the summer.
If you know me, you know that my pants drawer includes "50 shades of denim", so this is a significant plot twist. Apparently, this spring is demanding I match the tulips.
It feels like the studio is finally shaking off a long hibernation. I've spent the last few months behind the scenes—recalibrating, planning, and organising. It was a necessary "quiet work", but it was very internal.
Now it's time to put on sunglasses and get back out there. The workshops are back in the calendar, market season is starting, and I'm welcoming it with arms open.
It's time to go out! See you in the sunshine? (I'll be the one with the bright pants).
