Contemporary Artist Joana Bernd
April, April, keeper of pollen and leaves and the slow extension of light. The clocks have been turned; the tables not yet. I travel from Cologne to Barcelona to hold my first in-person workshop. Ever. I am excited, I am calm. I do not really prepare. I worry for a second—then decide, consciously, to trust in my ability. I am in need of sitting with my tender, broken heart—and so are many. As with any first time, this workshop opens something I did not yet know was possible: I can hold space. I can guide people back into their own creativity. Three more bookshops to visit. Pigeons to watch. Confused thoughts to think in a new environment. You always bring yourself into every space you inhabit (your fears, your worries, your hopes, your blessings: Invisible luggage). I am a few days away from returning to my life, and I find myself afraid of it, almost suspicious. I feel like a glass key that, if placed wrongly into a lock, might shatter into pieces.What shape have I left behind, and wi