The “Pasticci” editions by Hannah Sophie Dunkelberg, created exclusively for Edition VFO and Monopol, reveal how decorative resistance can be. Reason enough to visit the artist in her studio in the former Sarotti chocolate factory in Berlin.
In Berlin-Tempelhof, there is a place that still seems to carry a faint scent of chocolate, even though none has been produced here for years. Teilestraße was once the domain of Sarotti: the chocolate manufacturer produced day and night, around 300,000 bars daily – an industrial complex marked by the rhythm of machines and a patina of sweetness. In recent years, studios, workshops and small manufactories have moved into the former production halls. The studio of Hannah Sophie Dunkelberg is located on one of the upper floors, accessible via an old freight elevator that jolts slightly as the doors close. “Careful, the light barrier,” she says, and then it begins to ascend.
The studio of the artist, who was born in Bonn in 1987, is spacious, with high ceilings and a floor of red clinker brick. In the middle of the room stands a patchwork-style sofa, on which rests an orange wooden horse. Leaning against one wall is a large polystyrene relief in deep blue; there are cabinets filled with tools, stencils and spray paint cans. On a chair sit two BMW Art Cars in model format; one of them, the version by John Baldessari, is already masked off. Dunkelberg plans to rework it – unofficially. It is part of her own imagined series of Art Cars by female artists who were never invited, she explains: Joan Mitchell, Isa Genzken, Helen Frankenthaler. “I sometimes ask myself what their cars might have looked like. And then I just paint them.”
Shiny Like Candy Wrappers
In one corner stands a white horse sculpture without a head; on the floor, a floral gift box. It looks slightly kitsch: the cardboard is covered all over with tiny flowers, their centres replaced by smiling emojis. Dunkelberg lifts the lid to reveal numerous additional printed boxes inside – a matryoshka-style gift box. Some works in the studio stem from earlier series, such as the horse on the sofa: it was part of the exhibition “Müde Pferde”, shown in Berlin in autumn 2022.
At that time, Dunkelberg assembled painted wooden horses, mirrored floral reliefs and sofas upholstered in psychedelic fabrics – as if old heroic poses were collapsing, softly cushioned amid over-decoration and a hum of meaning. A closer look reveals a phrase on one section of the sofa fabric: “Chi dorme non pecca” – those who sleep do not sin. In keeping with this, a thin mattress lies in one corner of the room, a quiet sign of new routines. “It’s not usually here,” the artist says, explaining that she became a mother five months ago. And yet she continues to work. Between high chair and high gloss.
On a table, next to two transparent plastic cowboy hats, lie flat reliefs in yellow, blue and pale rose. They shine like candy wrappers. Lines run across their surfaces in floral swirls, somewhere between springlike ornamentation, classical motifs and a distinctly contemporary aesthetic. The works are titled “Pasticci” – an edition created exclusively for Edition VFO, the Zurich-based Verein für Originalgraphik, and Monopol magazine. They are prints in an expanded sense: delicate hand drawings are transformed through a multi-stage process of abstraction into polystyrene reliefs, which Dunkelberg then hand-lacquers.
Decoration Is Always Suspect
The industrial thermoforming process she uses originates in prototype development. Dunkelberg employs it as a kind of drawing machine: the image begins analog, first in a sketchbook, then with knife and stencil. Later, the material is heated, shaped and fixed. “For me, polystyrene is like an anchor to reality,” she says. “Painting, by contrast, is often strongly associated with illusion. You paint something and it remains flat – almost like an image on a computer. It takes you into another world, but it also requires a great deal of translation.” With polystyrene, however, a small bridge emerges: “It’s tactile, tangible – a material we encounter everywhere in everyday life. What fascinates me is this tension between abstraction and reality. The material is real; the motif I draw onto it is abstract. For me, both have to coexist – one doesn’t work without the other.”
Visible traces are an essential part of her work: edges, seams, holes, perhaps a bit of glue. It is not meant to be smooth – only glossy. “You can clearly see that the entire industrial process is imprinted into the work,” the artist says. “Some structures are created by spacers or pieces I use for thermoforming, like cardboard discs from discount stores. I simply leave them in place because they leave traces that I find interesting.”
“Pasticci” – the title of the edition evokes an Italian dessert, whipped cream and sugar glaze. In fact, the term refers to a wild mix of styles, techniques and influences – a fitting description of Dunkelberg’s method. Her art cuts, collects and assembles. It is decorative and resistant at the same time, and sometimes also biographical. “My grandfather was a rose breeder,” she says. The Adenauer rose is said to originate from him. Whether this relates to her floral obsession, she is not entirely sure. What is certain, however, is that the motifs running through her work are never as harmless as they first appear.
Decoration is always suspect, the artist has said. Ornament as resistance, decoration as camouflage? “The decorative often pretends to be simply beautiful, but in fact it lies like a surface over something that comes from somewhere entirely different,” Dunkelberg explains. “And that’s exactly what interests me. Because that surface can also conceal or protect something. Especially in domestic spaces, where everything is meant to feel cosy, there is often something darker beneath – violence, control, old structures.” The same applies to the horses: “At first they appear decorative, perhaps impressive. But if you ask where they come from, what they represent, you realise there is an entirely different story attached to them. That’s what I’m interested in: that things are never just beautiful. And that it often takes a second look to understand what lies beneath.”
As she speaks, surrounded by floral ornamentation, shimmering surfaces, teddy bears and cowboy hats, something seems to shift. The gloss turns into doubt; the cuteness no longer feels quite so innocent. On closer inspection, the smiling flowers on the matryoshka gift box seem less harmless than before – do they not smile as if they had something to hide? Suddenly, the horse on the sofa no longer appears peacefully asleep. And the reliefs, too, seem suspect, with their surfaces shimmering just a little too seductively. Like candy wrappers, after all. And yet, in the end, one still wants to reach out and touch them.