Dhe house in Weißensee, in the quiet north of Berlin, looks unassuming. Red facade, behind it a single room, maybe an old workshop, now painted white like a gallery. Hardly anyone in the old working-class district will suspect that cinema and music history is being written here. Behind the high windows, gigantic spirals hang from the ceiling, big metal objects, maybe sculptures? But they aren’t. The Icelandic composer Hildur Guðnadóttir works here with her team. The supposed sculptures are only there to sound.
“I just don’t sit in the same place behind a computer and a keyboard every day,” she says. “I want to remain very flexible when composing, open to impressions of all kinds. Anything else would kill curiosity.”
