Serafina: between pulse and precision
Night stretches differently in Berlin when you stop trying to measure it. Hours dissolve into motion, into repetition, into small decisions made in the dark that quietly shape entire trajectories. Serafina moves through that space without announcing herself, building momentum in increments rather than statements. What emerges is not a fixed identity, but a presence that adapts, listens, and gradually takes control.
Berlin doesn’t impose itself on her, it seeps in slowly through habit and proximity. The city’s rhythm reveals itself in long transitions, in patience, in the refusal to rush a moment before it settles. What she absorbs is less about sound and more about behaviour, about how a room holds tension and when it releases it.
“Since moving to Berlin my whole life has changed so much. It’s not just the clubs, it’s the people, the mindset, and especially the groove scene here that has really influenced me. I feel like groove is one of the few styles of techno where I can fully let go and actually dance and through that connect with people on a completely different level. I’ve honestly met most of my closest friends through this and I’m grateful for all of them.”
There is no clear moment where influence begins, only accumulation. Nights extend into mornings, conversations blur into sets, and something internal recalibrates without warning. The city teaches a kind of restraint, an understanding that energy doesn’t need to peak to remain powerful.
“I would say it’s been more subtle, something that just happened over time through experiences, long nights and the energy you absorb here. Berlin really teaches you to trust the moment and the crowd. I’m honestly enjoying every second I have here. I know this chapter won’t last forever but for now I’m just trying to take it all in and appreciate all of this as much as I can.”
By day, a different structure asserts itself, one that leaves little room for drift. Medicine demands precision, repetition, and sustained attention, a contrast that doesn’t cancel out the night but sharpens it. The coexistence of both worlds doesn’t resolve into balance so much as constant negotiation.
“Honestly, I don’t really know either everyone keeps asking me this, and all I can say is that I’m just trying to give my best every single day even when I have to fight my own thoughts to keep going as I’m finishing this year. Luckily I’m a pretty organized person mentally so I’m able to motivate myself when I need to. Of course some days are better and some are worse but somehow it always works out in the end.”
Support doesn’t arrive as abstraction, it takes the form of specific people who absorb the weight when it becomes too much. There are moments where the pace fractures, where doubt becomes part of the routine rather than an interruption. What holds everything together is not efficiency, but attachment.
“I also really have to mention my team, my friends, and my family. They’ve always believed in me, supported me, and understood my moods through all of this. It’s honestly not easy and even writing this right now makes me a bit emotional because this really means so much to me.”
A year of 125 shows doesn’t announce itself as excess while it’s happening. It accumulates quietly, flight by flight, room by room, until the body begins to register what the schedule refuses to acknowledge. Grounding becomes an active process rather than a passive state.
“Honestly what keeps me grounded are the people around me and my home. My apartment is in a really calm and cute part of Berlin and it gives me a lot of peace. I actually really enjoy being alone at home and just slowing down for a moment. My boyfriend is a huge support for me and so is my family. They really keep me stable through everything.”
Stillness becomes functional, not indulgent. Sport, routine, and small rituals operate as counterweights to the instability of constant movement. Even the idea of success shifts from outcome to propulsion, something that keeps her in motion rather than something to arrive at.
“Sport also helps me a lot and in a way also the feeling of success because it keeps me going instead of giving up. There is always some kind of reason to keep pushing even on the harder days. And yes I definitely question it sometimes maybe even almost every day. I think about how I am supposed to manage everything, how I will get through the next exam phase and how I will pass my state exam. It can feel overwhelming.”
Doubt doesn’t disappear, it restructures itself into something usable. Advice repeats internally until it becomes instinct, a quiet voice that interrupts escalation before it takes over. Progress is broken down into manageable fragments.
“But my mum always says that there is a solution for every problem and that you just have to take things step by step and work through it one by one. And somehow that always stays in my head and helps me keep going.”
Behind the decks, the language shifts again. There are no fixed markers, no obligation to maintain a singular direction. What matters is response, the ability to register subtle changes in the room and adjust without breaking continuity.
“I usually start my set with a groovy vibe and see how people react to it. I give them a bit of time to get into it and most of the time they follow quite naturally even if it is not something they are used to. I feel like I can catch people with that and bring them into my world. If I notice that the crowd is expecting something different I slowly start to switch my sound.”
Control exists alongside flexibility, not in opposition to it. There is a line between adapting and dissolving, and she moves along it carefully, making space for both herself and the room. Identity is not declared, it’s demonstrated through sequencing and timing.
“At the same time I always try to find a balance because I also want to enjoy what I am playing. Of course I pay attention to the room and what people respond to but I also want to show who I am as an artist. I do not represent one specific genre and that is exactly what I want to communicate. You can combine different elements and create a journey that tells a much bigger story.”
Labels remain external, something applied after the fact rather than something she works towards. The set becomes a space where categorisation loses relevance, replaced by a more immediate exchange. Movement replaces definition.
“People can call it whatever they want. They can say she plays this or she plays that. In the end it does not really matter to me. When I am behind the decks, I always play what I feel the most in that moment and what I think the crowd can feel with me. It is about sharing that energy and enjoying the set together.”
That openness extends into the structure surrounding her career. What appears as growth from the outside feels more like continuity from within, shaped by relationships rather than milestones. The idea of belonging takes precedence over ambition.
“For me 240 is not really about ambition or proving something. It is much more personal than that. I have been around since the early days when it was still small, and it never felt like a typical agency to me. Through 240 I met so many people and my whole circle grew a lot. Some of them are now my closest friends. So for me it feels more like a family than anything else.”
Influence, when traced back, leads to something more foundational. Long before clubs and touring schedules, there is a model of resilience that informs how she approaches everything else. Strength is observed before it is adopted.
“For me it is mainly my mother. Since I can remember she has been working nonstop for us and for what she believes in. At the same time she is always there for other people. No matter how hard things got she never lost her will and she never gave up even though her life had many challenges. She is the strongest woman I know and she shaped the way I see life.”
That framework expands through family, through consistency rather than intensity. Confidence is built gradually, reinforced by presence rather than instruction. The idea of possibility becomes embedded early.
“My dad has also always pushed me and believed in me in a very steady way. He gave me a lot of confidence and always made me feel like I can do whatever I set my mind to. My sister is the same. She has always been there for me and supported me no matter what. I grew up in a very small but very strong female family. They all taught me that you can achieve anything if you really want it and if you are willing to work for it.”
Scale shifts with the ANL tour, but the internal process remains recognisable. Larger rooms introduce expectation, but they don’t fundamentally alter the way she approaches a set. What changes is awareness, a heightened sense of responsibility that sits alongside instinct.
“The ANL tour definitely feels like a new chapter for me. Everything is bigger and more intense but at the same time the process still feels the same. Now I feel much more aware of what I am doing and what I want to give to the crowd. My relationship with performing has changed because I take it more seriously now.”
Reflection becomes sharper as visibility increases. Mistakes are no longer private, but neither are they avoided, they are processed in real time. The tension between control and overthinking remains unresolved.
“At the same time I try not to overthink my sets but if I am honest I still do it a lot. Every mistake and every moment where I am not performing the way I want makes me reflect and question myself. But I think that is part of it and also what makes it real and human.”
In the studio, time behaves differently. The process is less structured, guided by instinct rather than expectation, with ideas forming quickly and often remaining tied to the moment they were created. It is a space still being defined.
“I have not been producing for that long so my process is still very intuitive. I usually just start somewhere and if a vibe catches me I follow it and often finish the track in that same moment. Because of my studies my time is still quite limited which sometimes makes it hard to fully dive into it the way I would like.”
What begins as something private expands outward unexpectedly. The transition from isolation to shared experience introduces a different kind of impact, one that is harder to anticipate.
“Playing my own tracks and seeing people sing along is a feeling I cannot really describe. It almost feels unreal in that moment and hard to fully believe. In the studio it starts as something very personal and then suddenly it becomes something shared with so many people.”
At a distance, the two paths she follows could appear incompatible. One grounded in science, the other in movement and sound, each demanding full commitment. Yet internally they align around a similar purpose.
“I always felt like I wanted to become someone and prove to myself that I can create my own path. Growing up I did not always feel like I could fully express my own will or be seen in the way I wanted. So now doing both of these things and receiving positive energy from people around me means a lot.”
Both disciplines operate through impact, though in different forms. One alters the body directly, the other reshapes perception, offering temporary release rather than permanent change. The connection between them remains intuitive rather than analytical.
“At the same time I genuinely love medicine. I always wanted to help people and be there for them in a real way. In medicine you can change someone’s life in a physical way and as a DJ you can give people a moment where they feel free and happy. Both have an impact on people just in different ways.”
There is no clear endpoint where one replaces the other. Instead, both continue to develop in parallel, occasionally colliding, often reinforcing each other. The tension between them becomes part of the structure rather than something to resolve.
“I honestly do not think I could do one without the other. Even if it pushes me to my limits I really love doing both. I started DJing during my studies because I felt quite bored and not fully fulfilled at that time. Music gave me a space where I could feel free, be creative and experience something completely different.”
What remains is not a conclusion, but an ongoing negotiation between intention and instinct. Paths diverge and reconnect, shaped less by planning than by persistence and openness. The idea of a singular direction dissolves into something more flexible, more personal.
“I have met so many artists and people along the way who showed me that there is never just one path in life. What really defines a person is having the courage to follow your inner wishes and actually turn them into something real. This inspires me and I hope I can inspire people this way too.”
