top of page
I love the smell of old dust, to look through dirty windows, sneak into old cupboards, read left-behind-love-letters, climb breaking stairs, collect forgotten tools, open doors which haven't been opened for years, walk on fragile floors, run my fingers over crumbling wall paper, sneak through dark humid basements, to feel the ghosts from another time, to be alone in a forgotten building.
One day I was introduced to an old brewery in Berlin. After this visit, I came back regularly. New rooms appeared on every visit. The place had stories to tell, so I told some of them at an exhibition at the art academy in Copenhagen.
bottom of page