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EDGE (edge-neuro.art) is not your typical collective. Founded in Berlin in 2017 by medical neuroscience students, it has since become an international platform curating exhibitions, workshops, and interdisciplinary encounters where science and creativity meet. Today, EDGE is active both in Europe and the United States, producing experimental projects that range from interactive sculpture at Burning Man to collaborative programs with the Mind Foundation in Germany, and most recently its monthly Nexus events exploring themes like neuroaesthetics, creativity and art therapy. 

Shaping this work is Tatiana Lupashina – a neuroscientist, science communicator, and artist-curator. With a Master’s in Medical Neurosciences from Charité – Universitätsmedizin Berlin, where she researched cortico-collicular circuitry and behavior, Tatiana combines rigorous scientific training with a passion for building communities at the intersections of art and science. As co-founder and co-director of EDGE — a registered association in Berlin led by four chairpersons, supported by a volunteer team of ten, and sustained by a community of over 100 “neuro-curious” members — she plays a vital role in creating spaces where artists, scientists, and the public can share knowledge, experiment, and reimagine how creativity shapes well-being. 

For Tatiana, existing “on the edge” is not always comfortable: it’s uncertain, dynamic, and at times messy. But it is also the space where new ideas, connections, and healing can take root. 

You’re speaking to me from Burning Man. How did EDGE’s journey bring you here? 

Yes, I’m in Nevada now! EDGE has always been about finding ways to bring science-art conversations into very embodied contexts, not just lecture halls. Together with artist and sculptor Philip DePoala, we developed Oculus, a massive interactive eye-like sculpture. It was inspired by visual neuroscience – how we process sight – but also the symbolism of the eye as a portal into perception, awareness, and imagination. We installed it in Berlin and at EDGE workshops, as well as at European festivals, where it became a magnet for conversations between artists and scientists. Visitors could enter the structure, project their own iris onto it, and literally “inhabit” their own magnified eye. It wasn’t a literal anatomical model but a hybrid of science, symbolism, and art designed to spark curiosity.  At Burning Man, the desert setting amplified the experience: people touch it, climb, use it as a gathering point. Bringing Oculus to such environments requires a lot of logistics like trucks, massive structures, weather-proofing for the desert storms, but that’s part of the challenge. It’s about letting science and art meet in the most direct, sensory way possible. 

You co-founded EDGE in Berlin in 2017. What was the original vision, and how has it evolved? 

The origin was simple: Amelia Young and I were studying medical neuroscience and wanted a space beyond the lab to share ideas with artists and curious minds. From the very beginning, EDGE was a science communication project, but also a creative platform. We started with an exhibition, and mostly a showcase of work from students in the Berlin Research Commons, which immediately showed us there was interest. That grew into workshops where neuroscientists explained complex ideas: vision, memory, consciousness, while artists created responses. It wasn’t about publishing in Nature or mounting a white-cube show; it was about creating spaces where people could talk, experiment, and actually make things together. Seven years later, the motivation hasn’t changed. We still describe ourselves as being at the border between neuroscience and art. What’s shifted is scale: we now host monthly Nexus events, expert speakers, collaborate internationally, and build large-scale installations. But the drive to build community, explore ideas across disciplines, and communicate science in new ways remains the same. 

Healing is the theme of this issue. Where does healing fit into EDGE’s work? 

It wasn’t our starting point, but it keeps emerging.

When you bring people together to explore the brain through creativity, conversations about well-being are inevitable. 

A clear example is our collaboration with the Mind Foundation in Germany, which researches psychedelic-assisted therapy. EDGE helped create the art section for their Insight conference, curating installations and performances that explored altered states of consciousness and their potential for healing. We’ve also run workshops like Sensoriality, a six-part series on the senses. Each session paired a neuroscientist explaining, say, vision or touch, with an artist interpreting it. Participants didn’t just listen – they engaged their bodies through movement, sensory exercises, even embodiment practices used in therapy. People described these sessions as meditative, grounding, even healing. So while EDGE isn’t a clinical platform – we don’t claim to be therapists – we see how community, creativity, and embodiment naturally create healing spaces. 

What’s your perspective on art therapy as a discipline? 

Art therapy is fascinating because it sits exactly at the border we’re always negotiating. It has clinical weight – in hospitals, rehabilitation, psychotherapy – but it’s also often dismissed as “not scientific enough.” At EDGE, we don’t prescribe practices ourselves, but we invite art therapists, researchers, and artists to share their approaches. Our role is to make sure integrity is maintained: if something is presented as neuroscience, it needs to be cited and accurate; if it’s artistic inspiration, that should be clear too. That distinction matters because blurring borders doesn’t mean blurring standards. The edge is only productive when there’s honesty about what’s fact, what’s interpretation, and what’s metaphor. 

And where does creativity fit in for scientists? 

Creativity is the glue. Many scientists don’t call themselves “creative” in the artistic sense, but science itself requires imagination. You need creativity to design experiments, think of new hypotheses, and see data in different ways. In recent years, social media has also opened windows into labs, where scientists share their artistic hobbies, visualizations, or crossovers. Twenty years ago, we wouldn’t have seen that side. EDGE gives space for this creativity to surface: whether through an artist building a sculpture inspired by neuroscience or a neuroscientist experimenting with sound or movement. Creativity is a common ground. It’s what lets people on both sides of the spectrum see their work through a fresh lens. And that can be healing, too – giving you a different relationship to the questions you’ve been stuck with. 

Who comes to EDGE events, the “Neuro-Curious,” as you once called them? 

They’re diverse. In Berlin, people often just stumble in, out of curiosity. In New York or San Francisco, it might be artists, researchers, designers, or people interested in mental health. I think art provides a softer entry point. Science can feel heavy, intimidating, or closed-off. But if you walk into an art installation that’s inspired by neuroscience, you feel invited to engage. That’s why we focus on interactive and participatory work. It lowers the barrier.  We want people not to feel like imposters in front of science. Art helps us open the door, and once inside, the conversation can go very deep. 

Finally, why the name EDGE? 

Because we are literally on the edge between disciplines. It’s not a place of certainty – it’s sometimes uncomfortable, even chaotic – but it’s where new insights happen. Being on the edge means holding opposing ideas without collapsing them into one.

Neuroscience values rigor, data, reproducibility. Art values ambiguity, symbolism, emotion. When you bring them together without forcing reconciliation, something alive happens. That’s why EDGE (edge-neuro.art) works: we don’t erase differences, we invite them into dialogue. And in that dialogue — in that space of uncertainty — people often find curiosity, connection, and sometimes, healing.

The name also carries a certain irony, because neither neuroscience nor art really has a clear “edge.” Both are vast, fluid fields that resist boundaries, which makes the metaphor even more fitting.