This series manifest the spaces women created for themselves around the globe to work, create and develop their ideas. A homage to Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own, the book that taught us to find a room, enter, close the door and become.
My room is at my home, on the third floor in Frankfurt, Germany. It lays between the living room and the kitchen, and has two doors and one window. It tends to clutter and soak-in the belongings of the rest of the family. Every Tuesday I put things back to their places, and every Friday I clean.
I picked up this oversized wooden peg from my late Grandpa’s home office, when my family and I were clearing up the place. I love stationary and this one really symbolises office supply but with humour, which fits so well with how I remember my Grandpa.
It is hard to prevent people from using this room as a lost and found station. Perhaps because it is located right in the middle of our apartment it serves as an easy landing spot for various homeless objects, preventing it from being the isolated, private space I need for working.
Nowadays my recording gear is laid open and ready for use, whereas on normal days it is stocked on a shelf, waiting for special occasions, or to be carried to the next concert. Each week more concerts are being canceled and who knows when will we ever perform live again. Having a room of my own was never before more crucial. In many ways, the virus had brought a blessed need to be creative, re-evaluate our set of tools and learn new ones.
My room is rather small and occupied with various furniture, music instruments and scores. It sounds quit dry, but the wooden floor gives it a nice warmth so that it has the perfect acoustics for practicing: not too flattering, not too discouraging. When I play a low F, the old window frame goes wild and the whole room buzz.
My window is always covered with sticky notes and various lists. If I look above these and out the window I see mostly the windows of our neighbours across the street, and further away the skyscrapers of the city. During spring and fall, a couple of hours before sunset, the sun shines through the window in a colour that cannot be any nearer to pure gold.