Prelude to Venice

ne late, rainy afternoon in March, I traveled to the far end of Berlin’s Tempelhof district to visit the artist Song-Ming Ang in his studio. Located on the third floor of an inconspicuous building that houses everything from a car repair shop to a printing company, Ang’s studio resembles a small, immaculate office. Upon arrival, I found a neatly arranged computer desk, tables stacked with boxes and books, and canvases and framed prints decorating the white walls. His keys were conveniently hung left of the entrance, right next to a triangular ruler on the wall, hinting at the diligent, methodological practice of the artist. Only a pile of cut-up music sheets on the floor suggested the ongoing preparations