I met Liza with a handshake at Rebel Wines, where she taught me to savor orange wine like my oma does — nose in the glass, eyes closed, pursing slurp that opened the liquid to every corner of my mouth. Between the vintage plates, Ukrainian halva, and quiet calm of Egelantiersstraat, we broke the interview walls somewhere between the smoke and the wine. She was generous, and I was in no position to turn her generosity away. I labeled it as nice, and she corrected me: "it's Ukrainian hospitality."

Welcome to Window Papers, a look into the lives of the creatives who’ve found their way to CLBHUIS.