It was a ‘hard no’ for Christine Sun Kim and her husband when they first toured the 1970s-style apartments of Berlin’s high-rise Leipziger Straße Complex. Despite the building’s location in the highly desirable Mitte district – and its status as an icon of postwar modern architecture – ‘it felt dark, cramped and full of walls’, reflects the California-raised artist Kim. After 12 years living in the endless hustle of New York City, the couple sought a new kind of energy: something sparse, almost bare. But a friend, Florian Geddart, insisted they reconsider, even drawing up renovation plans to prove its potential. ‘We’re so happy he changed our minds!’ says Kim. ‘Now, we get to wake up to the best view of Berlin.’
Today, the two-bedroom flat, overlooking the sun-dipped cityscape, has been gutted and transformed. After buying the property in late 2022, the couple knocked down the central walls to create an open-plan living and kitchen area, and poured in a sleek new resin floor. ‘It was one of the most stressful projects we’ve ever taken on,’ Kim recalls – ‘maybe also because our second baby was born around the same time. We had never made so many decisions in such a short period.’
The result is dramatic. Stepping into Kim’s home is like entering an über-cool, liveable gallery, where the brutalism of raw concrete walls is a blank canvas to showcase her friends’ work. Striking paintings by fellow Berlin artists Lars Fischer and Natalia Rolón hang in the living space. In the bedroom, the industrial minimalism of a curved-wood bed crafted by architect/designer Jerome Byron pulls in the eye. Another close friend, London-based designer Rio Kobayashi, masterminded the whole thing. ‘I first met Christine and her husband over ten years ago. She used to say that if she ever managed to buy her own home, she’d love for me to design it. Years later, it finally happened,’ he says. ‘It was a dream project, because she put a lot of trust in me.’
Certainly, this was a pivotal moment in Kim’s life. The space itself represents more than an apartment; it’s the birth of a home, a new belonging, that has sparked revelations across both her life and work. ‘After designing this space together, I finally feel rooted,’ says Kim, who uses her art to confront the systemic marginalisation of the Deaf community. Her latest exhibition, 1880 THAT, interrogates the concept of language as a home – asking, what does it mean to live with the threat of losing one’s language? Through installations by Kim and her husband, the conceptual artist Thomas Mader, it highlights the fundamental right to communicate, especially at a time when sign language is under threat (due to a lack of resources, funding and education). For example, in the UK, though BSL is the first language of 87,000 people, it still lacks full legal status, hindering access to essential services.
‘For years, we thought deeply about how Deaf histories have always been erased and not properly archived,’ explains Kim. In essence, the exhibition is about building a home for a generation of Deaf people who have long felt excluded. Notable works include NOT CROSS, a large brick wall exploring the disconnect between spoken and signed languages; and a video artwork, F on Eye, which examines linguistic vulnerability through the perspective of someone peering through a fisheye peephole in an apartment.
Playing on this idea of rootedness, shoji sliding doors separating the living space and bedroom carry the couple’s shared biographies. The structure itself leans into Kim’s Korean heritage, whereas the intricate pattern – inspired by the blue-and-white Bavarian flag – is a nod to her husband’s birthplace. The curved cherry-wood frame becomes their symbolic roots, emerging organically from the exposed cement walls. This kind of timber, which develops a rich patina over time, will mirror the young family as its members grow. Lightweight and easy to operate, the shoji door vanishes into the wall when fully open, making the whole apartment feel fluid. Another set encloses the bedroom’s wardrobe. Both doors feel so embedded here, it’s hard to believe they were made a thousand miles away.
‘It was an adventure I’ll never forget,’ reflects Kobayashi. All the fittings were built in Helsinki, where he stayed for two months in the dead of winter, working with cabinetmakers Onni Aho and, latterly, Tuomas Orispää. ‘We shipped some components and even drove a van on to a ferry to transport everything – every last detail was calculated and crafted accordingly.’ The precision and planning paid off; the team managed to install everything in under a week.
On the reverse of the shoji screen, Kobayashi included a small flap – ‘a spy window’ or ‘ninja trick’ – through which Kim can observe what’s happening in the living room without opening the whole door. This ‘ta-da!’ effect is also conjured beneath their feet; into the grey epoxy-resin floors, Kobayashi embedded coins from Korea, the USA and Europe. ‘It’s a playful little detail to discover,’ he explains. ‘Something small but meaningful.’
Creative freedom aside, were there any non-negotiables? Storage, shelving and space-saving solutions were essential for this family of four. ‘Efficiency is key,’ explains Kim. Arguably, the flat’s most eye-catching feature is its most functional too. Wrap-around cabinetry, constructed from painted oak-veneered boards, dances across the space. Its 1970s chequerboard-style figurations draw from the building’s façade – an endless repetition of boxes, each containing a multitude of stories and lives lived. Meanwhile, the door handles, like musical notation, are arranged spontaneously; a scattering of black, red and blue wooden orbs that disrupt the cabinet’s overall structure while riffing on the semibreves and staves that dominate Kim’s artistic creations.
Adaptations were also needed to make the space accessible – from mirrors that allow Kim to watch conversations happening behind her to a visual intercom. Working with architectural lighting firm Erco, she built a track system with strobes connected to the doorbell. ‘Whenever someone buzzes, the whole apartment goes into disco-party mode!’ says Kim.
As a Deaf person who uses sign language, Kim expresses the frustrations of living in a rigidly aural society: it’s like being ‘in a foreign country’, she explains, ‘blindly following its rules, customs, behaviours and norms’. Her family home, however, is a place of unity, fun and imagination – a place that’s irrevocably her own.
‘1880 THAT’, by Christine Sun Kim and Thomas Mader, runs at the Wellcome Collection, 183 Euston Rd, London NW1, until 16 Nov. For opening times, ring 020 7611 2222, or visit wellcomecollection.org
A version of this article also appears in the June 2025 issue of ‘The World of Interiors’. Learn about our subscription offers. Sign up for our weekly newsletter, and be the first to receive exclusive interiors stories like this one, direct to your inbox.
