Sebastian Hoffmann: I worked in the art trade for quite a bit, as a co-gallerist organizing exhibitions and programs. Two and a half years ago, two friends and I founded an interior firm called Tadan – we like to call ourselves “decorators”. So I’m surprised curating has remained a part of what we do and as important to me as before. The spectrum between decorating and curating is narrower than I thought. They’re really not the same, however, they’re both about relating things to each other and spaces, situations.

We’d done a couple of smaller projects before, including a loan for the brasserie upstairs – black-and-white photographs by the Latvian artist Edgars Gluhovs, of a wine tasting and paired with a quote from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”: “Anybody with their nose pressed against a glass is liable to look stupid.“ After that, I jokingly ended an email with: “Next up – the windows…”

That kind of joke you wish becomes a reality. And then, a few weeks later, they somehow picked it up and asked if we could talk about it. KaDeWe had collaborated with artists before, but I wanted to do something with no products from the store. Then we had the idea to align it with Gallery Weekend. That’s why all participating artists are represented by galleries involved in the festival’s program.

I’ve been going there since the ’90s – mostly with my grandmother. Whenever she said her lipstick had run out, I knew we were going to KaDeWe. In hindsight, it was probably just an excuse, no lipstick’s gone that quickly – but it becamone of our rituals. I live nearby now, still go often, even just to wander around.

Very much. They were in for all the irritation. And it works – if you hang around the storefront for 20 minutes, you’ll see all kinds of reactions from passersby and learn so much. Highly recommended!

Each window is a different case. Benjamin Heisenberg’s video piece, for example, runs on old TVs – like in a vintage electronics store. Isabella Ducrot’s large-scale painting functions like a stage set. Every window required its own approach.

You reach people who didn’t actively decide to look at art. Most come across this exhibition by accident. Sometimes one person stops and others follow, changing the dynamic entirely. That’s also why we wanted the windows to be as heterogeneous as possible.

Very thin – and that’s what makes it exciting and adds more potential to the works shown. Pamela Rosenkranz’s “Pour Yourself“, a set of Evian bottles could easily be mistaken for a product display. John Miller’s “Dress Rehearsal for the Revolution“ is a band consisting of mannequins, this band is entirely confusing in all their dead-pan glory. For this work, the project is a „homecoming“, somehow.

Some names and even works came to mind immediately – Josefine Reich, John Miller, Saâdane Afif who, with his ready-made approach, created a minimal yet effective work using reflective road sign foil – even the windowpane becomes part of the piece.

Artists like Warhol, Rauschenberg, or Jasper Johns worked with or for department store windows with creative freedom of sorts but always with products from the stores.

It’s a gift. The displays are especially striking at night – with movement, light, reflections. The city becomes part of the work. People are more focused, less distracted. The viewing experience is different at every part of the day.

New meanings emerge. Alexandra Bircken’s window shows a sculpture containing motorbike gas tanks, hair, fire – familiar but disorienting elements. It catches people and that tension between recognition and confusion creates engagement.

Optimism. The collaboration was smooth – with all the galleries, especially the artists and the store. And it’s a reminder: irritation is a good thing. It opens doors, especially outside traditional spaces.

People actually stopping, really looking – maybe even missing their bus. Or the father who came with his daughter three days in a row to pick a new favorite window each day. That’s the best thing that could happen.

Lunita July-Dorn: In Bonn, in Vienna, somewhere on the road, or in storage. Several works have been part of an exhibition at Galerie Judith Andreae, other and new works are being part of the Spark Art Fair next weekend. I usually work on multiple pieces at once, and they’re often out in the world before I’ve fully let them go. It’s almost as if the paintings move on by themselves, sometimes before I even consider them ‘finished.’ That might actually be a good thing — maybe it means they have their own energy, their own necessity to exist beyond me.

LJD: In a way, yes. As a child, I drew everywhere — on walls, cupboards, even bunk beds. My parents allowed it, sometimes painting over it, sometimes cutting sections out and keeping them. I liked that sense of freedom, the idea that I could shape my surroundings. But the road to painting wasn’t direct. I first trained in fashion design, then in upholstery, but neither truly suited me. The discipline of fashion felt too structured. I loved working with materials, crafting something tangible — but it wasn’t my medium. Eventually, I applied to an art school — and it worked out. That’s when I realized I needed a language that didn’t have to be functional. Painting was, from the start, a way to shape my thoughts without following rules.

LJD: It often starts with a phrase, a sentence, a feeling. Sometimes I have a title before I have a composition or motive. I take a lot of notes — sometimes even entire bar conversations I overhear. I don’t write them down to reproduce them exactly, but to capture a moment. Words stay with me longer than images sometimes. Then I mix that with colors I discover by chance. When I buy paint, I always pick a color I’ve never used before — to surprise myself. I don’t plan compositions. I start directly on the canvas, and the painting unfolds. Sometimes I think the painting knows better than I do what it wants to be. I just have to listen. I often start with a deep blue as a foundation, and by the end, it’s completely gone. I might have a vague idea at first, but in the end, the painting is always smarter than me. I also experiment a lot with different materials — sometimes I incorporate linocut prints, sometimes handwritten text, sometimes layers of glaze that create a strange depth. I like to allow things to emerge naturally.

LJD: Because it’s not about me as a person. Yes, I’m the subject, but it’s more than that. It’s about emotions, about states of being, about an alternate self — sometimes distorted, sometimes alienated. I can depict myself as an angel, or as a dark figure, or as someone shaking hands with themselves. I use my own image like a canvas. It carries something, but it’s not the theme. I think it’s more about identity than representation. Sometimes I see these figures as characters I play or as inner voices that I make visible. In a way, it’s a projection, but not a classic self-portrait. I find it more interesting to show identity as something shifting, something elusive. I love when viewers see something beyond me in the paintings. It’s strange, really — I’m so present in the work, yet I’m not the point.

LJD: Completely. I think my paintings are a conversation with myself. I often paint while asking myself questions I might not otherwise consider. I notice that certain thoughts keep returning. I believe emotions are universal — everyone experiences joy, fear, doubt — which is why people connect with the work. Sometimes it happens unexpectedly. A painting I made while feeling sad might mean something entirely different to someone else. That’s beautiful. I love the idea that art isn’t fixed, that it continues to exist in the thoughts of others. Also, emotions influence how I physically work — I paint differently depending on how I feel. Some days I work slowly, layering delicate details. Other days, I paint aggressively, covering entire sections, erasing, scraping away. The process itself reflects my emotional state.

LJD: Probably just that I exist in this time. I don’t think much about the art market or trends. I want my paintings to remain emotionally open, to affect people even if they don’t know why. I love when people say they feel connected to the work but can’t quite explain it. That means it’s working. I’m fascinated by what lingers — what images burn themselves into memory and why. I think it has a lot to do with what remains unsaid. Maybe the things we can’t quite name are the ones that stay with us the most. I also think a lot about time — how paintings can feel outside of it. Some of my works could belong to any decade, but then I add small, contemporary details — like a cigarette, a sneaker, a reference to a song lyric. These tiny moments anchor them in the present. I think that’s what makes something contemporary: not just being made now, but somehow reflecting the feeling of now.

Alexander Díaz Andersson: That’s a challenging question because we don’t always know precisely how other brands are positioning themselves. At ATRA, we’re more focused on questioning the longevity of design and exploring how we can create objects that not only endure but also nurture the spaces they inhabit. Design and vision are inherently subjective, but our philosophy is to craft pieces that stay relevant across trends and time. Our latest collection, “Future Relics,” is rooted in the idea of creating objects for a hypothetical future, exploring what might remain meaningful years from now. This concept started with our “2100” installation at Design Miami in 2021. Our approach is both playful and optimistic—imagining future possibilities and using that imagination to create pieces with purpose and intention. By blending contemporary design with traditional craftsmanship, we hope that our work can be a small catalyst for change, bringing a sense of nostalgia and timelessness into modern spaces.

The interior and design scene has evolved significantly over the past few years, with a strong shift toward sustainability, authenticity, and the fusion of art and design. Consumers now seek not only functional but emotionally resonant spaces that tell a story. There’s a clear move toward handmade, limited-edition, and artisanal work, contrasting the past’s mass-produced luxury. For ATRA, this aligns with our belief in timelessness and longevity. In the future, I see the most significant potential in creating spaces and pieces that merge luxury with sustainability and technology, designing for both beauty and endurance.

Inspiration often comes from cities and regions that blend rich histories with forward-thinking design approaches. Tokyo, Copenhagen, and Mexico City are particularly inspiring at the moment, with their mix of tradition and cutting-edge ideas. The convergence of art, design, and heritage in these locations resonates with ATRA’s commitment to timelessness and cultural depth.

A strong interior concept has to start with a clear narrative. For us, it’s about connecting the space to a story or an emotion we want to evoke. Usually, we begin with an anchoring theme or an iconic piece that sets the tone, building everything else around it to create a cohesive environment. This approach ensures that the interiors feel both harmonious and uniquely meaningful.

When designing furniture or interior pieces, we aim to create contemporary designs that preserve traditional craftsmanship. Each piece is crafted with a focus on traditional techniques, ensuring it holds a unique identity and presence while complementing a larger space. Balancing form and function is essential; our pieces are visually striking yet practical for everyday use. By blending modern aesthetics with heritage techniques, we’re able to honor the past while pushing design forward, creating furniture that feels relevant and enduring.

Integrating luxury and sustainability is about selecting materials responsibly, considering lifecycle, and focusing on quality over quantity. At ATRA, we emphasize working with natural, long-lasting materials that age beautifully and using processes that reduce environmental impact. Our goal is to create luxury that feels good both aesthetically and ethically.