I examine vegetable peelers, shape macaroni and eat crisps.

My studies have shown me how – following a principle that is almost archaeological in nature – I can peel away layer upon layer of the seemingly mundane and ordinary to uncover the underlying phenomena and connections.

It never ceases to shock me how matter-of-factly some of my male colleagues take up space – a lot of space. Design, in particular, seems to reinforce these so-called ‘natural’ gender differences. Through my work, I therefore seek to highlight these asymmetries and counter them through a critical artistic lens.

It is more like a sum of several scenes.

New dishes I have never tried before, old industrial buildings, and the Dadaist conversations that unfold with my sister over dinner.

My work takes shape within the four walls of my own home before it crosses the inevitable threshold into the public sphere: personally, a quiet little room with a coffee machine, a pen and some chewing gum is all I need.

Even when I am working on a project on my own, I never work without others, even if those others have no idea that they are working on something with me. But if they do know, it all starts with a spark; a thread that drives and inspires us. And then, together, we weave a tapestry that is free of distractions and frills.

I work almost exclusively with people I also socialise with in my private life. It is both a blessing and a curse.

A member of the Parisian avant-garde, as a guest at Gertrude Stein’s salon, enjoying a cigar and a whisky.

When I get up early in the morning of my own accord to work on my projects.

English weather and queer characters in Tatort.

The theme tune from Ghostbusters.

I am still finding my way, and I do not want to ever feel like I have ‘made it’. But to answer that question properly: a cook.

What question is never asked, but should be?