Then, our first stage was created in an old abandoned boiler house in Berlin with no running water, no heating, and completely built by hand. It took four months to turn it from a storage-room-like situation into a space where you could actually work and welcome artists.

From deep-cleaning the space to scrubbing out old stains and covering up holes, to building the stage, and cutting out an enormous steel pipe running through the studio, there was no space for shortcuts.

None of it was about the space looking good for its own sake. Everything went into making sure the artist felt at ease and could be present for their moment.

From the start, it was clear the stage would have to be painted; a green screen wasn't even on the table. But actually doing it, artist after artist, was another story. So the first paint job was pushed until the day before the very first shoot.

A turquoise-green was chosen, rolled on, and the team called it a day. Then they came back the next morning only to find... a mess. The room was so damp that the paint had dried in blotchy, uneven patches. So it was repainted that same morning and dried with fans just before the shoot. Thankfully, it somehow worked out.

But after a while, as more and more artists wanted to perform on that stage, the constant painting became overwhelming for the small team it was back then, especially with everything else that had to happen behind the scenes: recording, editing, curating shows, and getting them released online. So in 2018, there was a short-lived attempt to switch to a green screen.

And while it worked okay for a few colors, it really didn't work for others. So it didn't take long to learn there were no shortcuts here either; it was never "let's just get it over with," but always "let's make it perfect."

Now, in 2026, artists don't perform in a box anymore, but in front of a giant wall, atop a platform, and the job of painting falls on Simon, our production assistant.

When Simon first joined COLORS, he had a pretty similar reaction to what many people would probably assume: "Wait... this whole thing has to be painted?" After seeing the size of the wall, his first thought was, "Oh fuck, this wall is huge… Why isn't this just a green screen?"

Then he painted it for the first time, and it clicked. Seeing the finished performance afterward, he realized just how much the painted stage changes the quality and also the feeling of the SHOWS.

That feeling is what allows the non-ordinary moments that become A COLORS SHOW to happen: the time and care put into the stage shines through in every brushstroke, and artists feel it the moment they walk through the studio doors, before they've even stepped on stage. It's that same feeling that pulls out their best in return.

Some weeks there’s only one paint job; others there’s four or five production days and up to six different colors, the stage going from blue to pink to yellow in the same day.

For Simon, painting is one of the more relaxing moments of his busy day on set. He opens the paint cans, puts on some music, turns the volume up over the speakers, and gets to work.

Once the rest of the team arrives, the studio comes alive as a COLORS production — the painting still drying on the walls. Team members go over to Simon's laptop, put on songs of their own choosing, and everyone starts prepping. Before long, the stage is set, waiting for whoever steps up next.

Then, after the last take is done, the artist's guard and tension tend to drop completely. That's usually the moment when the team actually gets to know them. Realizing that, in the end, the image that started all this was never really about the aesthetics of the stage, but about who gets to stand on top of it.