Aditi/Mzngo

Welcome, Aditi. Thank you for being here with me. I'm super excited to speak with you today, after admiring you for so many years—starting out as a fan girl of your DJ sets. Now we get to talk more about your graphic design work and your recent move to Berlin.

Yeah, thanks for the sweet words. It's always nice to get a little push.

I'm really still a fan girl, hardcore, haha. Tell us a little bit about your background—where you're coming from and how you originally ended up in Leipzig.

I was born and raised in India, in the northeast. I come from a very small town. Then I did a bachelor's degree in architecture in the south, near Bangalore. I found that really challenging, which was nice, but also really exploitative as an industry. So I worked in architecture for a year and then decided I needed a change.

Then I started doing freelance graphic design projects and eventually found this university in Germany, in a small town called Dessau. There was a relatively new course, interdisciplinary design, and it was in English. And that was exactly what I was looking for—something that would welcome my background in architecture. It’s not really a classical way to enter the visual arts.

That's how I came to Germany. And I quickly realised Dessau might not be the best place to be. It’s full of Nazis. Some of the first things we saw when we arrived were protests against the police because a Black man had been burned alive while in custody. So it was a really hardcore place to end up.

But it was also an international course, in English, and that was the first time I was meeting people from all over the world, which was really nice. We became close friends very fast, and some of them are still my good friends to this day. We are really tight.

Then, after living for one year in Dessau, everyone was moving up to Leipzig because it was just too much. Some people went to Berlin. And I thought, let’s start with the smaller city first. Leipzig felt right.

Leipzig has a very unique creative scene too. Can you tell us about your journey into graphic design and working within the subculture scene in Leipzig? How did that evolve over the past years?

After my degree finished in 2019, I was just looking for work. I knew I wanted to do freelance because I like working on different types of projects and having some choice over that. You know, if you're in a company, you might not have much say in what you work on. So I chose a difficult freelance life early on, and so far that’s somehow worked out.

In the beginning, I did freelance work for companies that do commercial projects. I graduated and started looking for work. It took about six months to get my first gig. And then I got some projects in early 2020, and then the lockdown and the pandemic started. And, you know, they dropped the freelancers first and kept the employees. It was a company in Munich, a big company that does stuff for like Google and Mercedes-Benz and all that. The work was terrible, but it was in Munich, so it was well paid. And they dropped me just like that—snap. The lockdown was announced, and the next thing I see in my emails is HR saying, we cannot keep you on anymore.

So that’s something I learned about the corporate world really early on during the pandemic. You might have some sort of stability in terms of money from these companies—they pay a lot, they pay your insurance, sometimes you have employee perks. But that stability is actually really fragile. That made me never want to go back to corporate, actually, because I figured—if I’m going to be constantly insecure, wondering when are they downsizing?—I would rather just be insecure and be my own boss, you know?

That’s when I just started looking for freelance clients. The first step was just telling everybody, hey, I’m a designer. I did some work with DJs and for collectives. That’s how it began. A lot of it was unpaid in the beginning. I think a lot of people take this path.

Interesting. So since then, you've worked with and been a part of a lot of collectives that I know in Leipzig. How does collaborating with these subcultural communities influence your approach to design?

When you have people who are politically engaged—in collectives that talk about justice, empowerment, and liberation, and these kinds of values—they come with a different approach to work hierarchies. That was very interesting to me, that there was always this questioning. It’s more like a collaboration than an employment.

That was great because you need that sometimes—to feel treated like an adult, as opposed to like a child that they’re directing. You’re the boss of deciding and giving. That’s helpful for the design aspect because you come up with the problems together with the person you’re working with and find the solutions in the end. Some of the projects were really just people being nice enough to be like, okay, this is free. It’s a free field. Do whatever you want.

Working with companies, what happens often is that everybody has an opinion on the visual aspect. And then they give their opinion because they think they have this seniority or something, but that makes the designer feel like, okay, my expertise doesn’t really matter.

I totally hear you, and that makes sense. The values in subculture are so different from the values in the corporate world. The respect for what someone does and their expertise means so much more somehow. I mean, I think it’s also a bit generalised because, obviously, some people in collectives also have strong opinions about design.

I think that you as a designer—at least in the works that I’ve seen and truly love—have a distinct style. Can we talk a little bit about how you developed your personal design style?

People do tell me that, that there’s something they recognise. But for me, I don’t even know if I have a style. It’s kind of like—nobody can see their own nose. Now maybe I can say that there’s a certain choice of color and form that I go for, that’s somehow my core, and I can’t really get out of it. And I don’t try to now—I accept this.

That’s something that really comes along subconsciously after years of working—this intention to have it be a bit colorful and a bit quirky.

I come from an architecture background, so I was really attracted to this monochrome style—mathematical, very clunky stuff. But that’s not really how it ended up being. It’s a bit more rounded, there’s balance, but there’s also chaos. A healthy amount of chaos.

Balanced chaos.

That’s something I’m really drawn to as an idea. I appreciate the randomness because of the different disciplines I come from. I don’t really come from a traditional background, such as having a bachelor’s in visual design. Classical artists—their names, for example—most of the time, I won’t know them. I mean, maybe in the Indian context, I know them a bit more. But I always had this feeling that I don’t have this traditional origin story. And this was a huge insecurity for me for a long time, but now I’m finally like, it’s fine.

I find that very relatable—that imposter syndrome feeling.

So we just covered the background about how you navigated to Leipzig and your work with the subcultural communities here. But recently, you moved to Berlin. I want to know—what drew you to Berlin after being so deeply rooted in Leipzig’s creative scene for so many years?

Deeply rooted is right. I had grown roots in Leipzig, I was really there, and at some point, I felt like I could never leave. I really just could not imagine living anywhere else. But a couple of factors made me move to Berlin.

First of all, a few of my really good friends started moving out. That changes the city. When they left, I was like, Well, this happens, you change friend groups, and it'll be fine. But then something about your day changes totally. Then you're forced to reckon with, Okay, now I have to make new rituals, you know?

Did these friends also move to Berlin?

Yeah, initially to Berlin. So that took the appeal out of Leipzig a little bit. And then, it had also been a long time that I was there—you know, six years. That’s usually around the time I start to get bored.

And in the last year, I have been coming to Berlin a lot. And then I found this small community of Indian friends here, one of whom is my oldest friend. We went to bachelor’s school together. And then Berlin suddenly had this pull because I just wanted to be around them. It had been so long since I’d been in a community of Indian people, or Indian and Pakistani people.

That makes a lot of sense—feeling pulled by a different subculture.

So let’s focus on that. How would you describe, or what is your feeling, about the differences between the subcultures in Berlin and Leipzig? Like you just mentioned one—obviously, you found a community of Indian and Pakistani friends, which you didn’t find in Leipzig. Are there other differences that stand out to you?

The key difference that I noticed right in the beginning was that a lot of the people involved in subculture in Berlin come from corporate jobs.

There was one person that I met recently who worked at Google and is now doing something with food. And just the way people approach subcultural projects—it is very, like, corporate marketing.

A friend and I have this discussion all the time—that it doesn’t feel real. It feels a little bit like they are testing out a product on you. Like they are researching a product or something like this.

The tools and methodology, the ways of approaching people—everything has this hangover from their corporate past. So, yeah, there’s a lot of that in Berlin.

Within this big subcultural bubble, there’s also a smaller bubble, made up of the older people who have lived in the city for a long time. They’re very grassroots. Artists who, for example, only perform at house projects. I think in Leipzig, for me, that smaller bubble was what I was always seeing.

Yeah, we really don’t have the corporate vibe here. Even in these bigger, more professional venues, like Duqo and Garage Ost, for example. These places are subcultural venues that have frequent events, and they still don’t feel commercial to me at all.

I mean, I have limited time spent in Berlin, so I don’t really have a deep feeling for the scene. That’s why I’m really curious about that difference you’ve noticed, after being plugged into and rooted in the creative communities here. Would you say that there are elements from Leipzig that you miss in Berlin, specifically around the creative communities?

Yeah, I think in general, I miss being connected to a lot of things—to people, to knowing what’s going on where.

On the one hand, it’s much bigger in Berlin. So, you can’t have a handle on everything that’s going on. But also, I’m new here, so I don’t know that many people yet. And I’m just a bit older now, and I like to keep fewer friends. In Leipzig, I was hungry for these connections, and I was always going out and being with people.

Do you plan to maintain these connections that you’ve built here in Leipzig over the past six years while still building a presence in Berlin?

I have a strong connection to Leipzig. And I have nice connections with creative people there—you, Barbara (Niño), then several other people who I work with from time to time.

I might be doing a workshop with Barbara next year, if it gets funding. It’s a graffiti workshop, like the ones Barbara does with kids, and it might end up in a little zine or something. And that’s my part of it. So yeah, there are things that we are planning, for sure.

And then there’s GfZK, which has been a nice institution to work with. We’ve done two projects together so far, and we have talked about doing more in the future.

I like maintaining these connections. There’s some possibility of things happening. The connection is naturally happening, you know, which is the best part about it. It’s easy to maintain these things because it comes naturally, and people understand how each other works. In Berlin, it’s a bit harder.

You’re just starting out. eos archive is also just starting out in Berlin! So maybe we can, like, work on this in tandem somehow. I would hope that the eos archive page can also help you, and people in your situation, discover collectives, designers, and spaces that you might find interesting to check out and collaborate with. Do you have any dream projects that you would love to pursue as a designer this year or in the future?

Yes, actually, I would. I’m thinking more on a larger scale now than just a project with a defined time. I’m thinking of art residencies. And really, I’m missing this thesis feeling—you know, when I came up with an idea, and I had this time to develop it, and I had feedback over it, and this kind of stuff.

So I’m looking towards an Art Residency Program where I take an idea, develop it, and maybe exhibit at the end of it. And yeah, there are a few collectives and a few places that come to mind. There’s one called Slavs and Tatars, and they’re in Berlin. They’re very, very cool. But I’m not sure if that’s open for everybody. They seem to be a bit more Eastern Europe-focused.

Okay, yeah, with the name Slavs and Tatars.

Yeah. You should definitely check them out.

Funny thing—I learned about them while I was in India. In the south, in the state of Kerala, there’s the Kochi Biennale, and they were exhibiting some of their works there. That’s how I learned they’re in Berlin.

I love the reference, and I’ll definitely look into their collective. And an artist residency—that sounds exciting. It also sounds like maybe you would be open to a long-term collaboration on a project. Or do you really specifically want to have this feeling of studying a specific topic for yourself?

Yes, a long-term collaboration is definitely very attractive to me, because it also means that it would be like a slow, sustained kind of research. This is something that I feel I can do.

That also means maybe a deep dive, like a super deep dive. I’ve been interested in ethnomusicology for a while. I’ve been discovering stories that are about sound recordings, for example. In the region where I come from—there are a lot of hidden stories in the music that’s typical to this region, and specifically to women. Women-only spaces, women’s songs—quote-unquote folk songs, which is a very debatable term now... but yeah, hidden histories of women in these songs.

That’s something that I’ve been researching. But because I don’t have an end date—to exhibit it somewhere—it just keeps going on and on.

I can definitely imagine that combining all of your interests—music, DJing, the graphic visualisation of a story—would be fascinating. Personally, I think combining sound and visuals is emerging more and more in subcultural events these days. The visuals are just as important as the sound design for an event. Maybe one of the last questions, or two more questions. For a designer who wants to work with a subcultural collective or in the independent scene, how do they get started?

I think what comes to mind immediately is that such a person should be able to critique themselves a lot. Self-critique of your work is important—to see, okay, this could be a bit better—and to push it to that level where it feels complete.

I definitely feel like I should have done that more when I was younger. Because in these kinds of fields that promote free expression, that’s nice, but I think it’s important to develop your critical faculties early on. So that you can say before anybody else says it—why this is not working.

Especially working freelance—when you’re often working alone—I would recommend always showing your work to your friends who are designers. Or even to people who are not designers.

I would even recommend freelancers to form small working groups where they discuss each project as it’s developing. I wish I had done that when I was younger. I know a lot of people who did this early on, and I think they became the best designers because they developed these various ways of looking at a work.

That is such good advice. I feel like that applies to anyone because imposter syndrome can make sharing work super scary. Like, when you’re just starting something, and you know you love it, you’re passionate about it, but you don’t want to share it with others because you’re scared of feedback. When really, that feedback can just fuel your creativity and help you feel more confident.

Definitely. I think the best artists—or at least the ones I admire the most—are people who just show their work really easily. Like, they might say, this is something I’m not really sure of, but they still show it.

Do you have any artists or designers that really inspire you—people you go to for inspiration?

Yeah, definitely. My friend Tonia Kozlova. She’s a very prolific designer—really, from the start. When she started, she worked with very important typography companies. Now she works at Studio Yukiko, which are basically like superstars.

Oh yes, I know them, of course.

Tonia’s work is super experimental. She’s definitely learned through experience. She doesn’t come from a classical art background either. But she just has a very keen sense of form, color, and balance. And a very wild style. Like, the limits of experimentation in her work are very far out, but they’re there, you know? You can still sense that structure.

Well, now I’m excited to look her up. Okay, last question—if you could share one insight about the importance of subcultural spaces and how design helps to foster these spaces, what would you say?

So, the answer to this is kind of linked to the previous question about inspiration and design.

There’s this theorist from the 70s—he was a designer, a design educator, and a fierce critic of design. His name was Victor Papanek. He was Austrian but lived most of his life in the US, and he taught at Purdue University. He put forward a really scathing critique of design as a field, and it was very ahead of its time—because this was in the 70s.

He said, Designers are a very dangerous breed. And this is something that I go back to all the time. Because, I mean, look at our world right now—it’s super visual. Marketing has gone completely out of control. So I kind of see it this way—we need to be really aware of how we are representing things. Like, before an event even happens, people can be talking about its impact—before they even experience it. You see the poster, you see how it’s represented online, how its Instagram looks. And it becomes more about the vibe.

I think that the visual expression of an event, or a space—it’s obviously important, but it cannot be more important than what’s actually going on at the event. Or what its lasting impact is. Or how people feel being in the room. Because the design is actually a very small part of the whole thing. But I think that’s just a symptom of our world becoming more and more visual. And what does that mean for us?

I think there’s a lot to be critical about here. And I think a good designer is someone who is critical of their own role in that space—realising that there’s an impact there that cannot be easily measured.

That’s so important to consider. And tying it into the eos archive project—the vision is that in 10–20 years from now, there’s this huge archive of event art from these subcultural spaces, collectives, and designers. And in that time, in the future, that might be the only thing that remains—because these spaces are changing all the time. They’re ephemeral in a way.

But the graphic image stays. Potentially, it will be preserved for decades. Therefore, it’s so important that it actually represents what was. That it’s not misleading or disconnected from the physical space. Because that might be the only artifact that remains from that space in the future. And it happens—where there’s such a nice piece of event art, and then you show up at the event, and the event is not good. Or the space is not what you thought it would be. It’s not represented by the event art.

Yeah, I think there’s really something there about people going for a crazy designer to do the design for the event before they even think about what the event actually will be.

I think that’s true. Also, just the fact that, as a designer, recognising that responsibility—recognising yourself as potentially dangerous—I love that.

If you ever get a chance, read Design for the Real World. There’s a paragraph in the foreword that I’ve practically memorised. It talks about planned obsolescence, misrepresentation, and all of that.

Basically, he presents this critique of a world that’s run by designers who are completely misguided. Who are being taught in design schools with really high fees. Who sell things to people who don’t need them. And to people who can’t afford them.

And I think it’s the same with events and experiences. They are products that are being marketed.

And from what you said in the beginning about Berlin—you see this even more with that overarching corporate vibe. Like, everyone’s coming from corporate, and they’re still holding onto that in their creative projects.

Somehow, yes.

Damn. I have loved this conversation with you. Very full circle for me—from hunting down these underground parties where you would be DJing, to now inviting you for this conversation. I’m really inspired. And I’m excited to look up all the references. I’m definitely going to check out that book. Thank you so much for joining me, Aditi.

Absolutely. Yeah, thank you for inviting me. I’m so glad that we met, and I’m sure that we will collaborate in the future.

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This conversation for eos archive was hosted by the project's founder, Micky Arratoon. Micky looks forward to hosting more conversations with those who are shaping and redefining subculture in Leipzig, Berlin and beyond. Get in touch to say hello@eosarchive.app.