Marcel Winatschek

Small World

I stuck leaves all over the walls. Sounds stupid but it works—just grab whatever and plaster it everywhere randomly. Easy to add more whenever. I’m sure someone has some theory about creative spaces, but the real thing is when my head goes empty—and it goes empty a lot—I lean back and look up and suddenly there are ideas. Or I’m turned on. Both sometimes.

My mom still hadn’t seen the place, so I took photos showing where I actually live. The couch, the chair, work, Burger King on bad days. Just documentation of existing in a space. Before it happened.

I got drunk on the train yesterday and dropped the camera. Just watched it hit the floor and did nothing. So those are probably the last photos for a while. Last evidence that I was there, that the place was real.