July 23, 2017

Oily Vertical Mischmasch; finished

Well, I've finished this rather vertical oil on a natural canvas (gesso'ed but not whitewashed) and might do better by letting it speak for itself. It is a jumble. Isn't life also?

The last details: Some kind of village, Spanish colonial style? -- made its way on the flowerpot. Why not. Why not Anything, Dearies. I remember it from Southern California (Santa Barbara, actually). I remember those houses had "bird stoppers". And hummingbirds fluttering outside. Perhaps I simply long to go Somewhere Radically Else.

July 16, 2017

Another Frog in Oil, as Company

There has been much on my mind and progress on the oil (see last week) is slow. But at least I've added some company to the frog that I mentioned.

It's an elegant amphibian for sure; might remind one a little of Mr. Toad in The Wind in The Willows. I don't know why they dress up like this. I think they will go croaking at a party. They might even be a little jumpy about it (sorry...) I wonder what a frog party is like? -- Your turn. What do you think they're doing?

They seem to like having found company anyway, in some tentative way.
(It's not easy being green, I guess.)

July 09, 2017

Frogs in Oil

...or rather, just one little froggie right now. I've had a little go on that oil painting that has been lying fallow since March this year.

It's a nice green frog, perhaps a "red-eyed tree frog" -- one of the two different species bearing this name (Wikipedia knows it all). Perhaps it's a crossover of mine. I don't think it's very worried about it. And it has such a nice scarf, or tie... Below you may see where it is situated in proportion to the rest of the painting:

I wanted to do a companion to our lonely little froggie but got no further than the head -- then it started to rain. So it goes. Ribbit, ribbit.

July 02, 2017


One of those who proposed this title in h*self became a burden; proving how prophetic subconscious painting can be. I really don't know why I insist on existing. What makes you tick, Madam, Sir, what's your reason? While I find my reason diminishing gravely --

For the moment being it's being good at what I'm doing.

But I feel less and less so.

The usual closeups for no reason at all.

Why does one draw at all?

Please tell me. The World and its Idiots remains vs. remain the same.

June 25, 2017

Signs of Summer...

...or at least one sign: I just had to give the marina (that asked me to do something in front) a little surprise. Something simple and summery on the back...

...with a sun in gold, goes well with the ornament around it, I think. The other colours are really meant for giving life to models, scale this and that (Ford Model T! A Spitfire! The Titanic!) (iceberg not included) -- so I hope that they'll stick for a while, being outdoors and all. There happened to be a lot after years of, well, model building. Mostly by father.

The letters on the other side were something of a nuisance but I didn't feel like covering them up. Too much effort. Otherwise everything went swiftly. I am constantly amazed that, for instance, a grey horizontal stroke hoovering above some thick vertical dash becomes a sailor when seen from a distance. (I hope that you can unsee the trickery now...) In a way, that's surreal too.

Finally, from the front. (Yes, it says "Welcome".) Father, the model builder, helped me getting the front done on time and it looks too well for further additions. One wants to enjoy summer instead. Sailing or so.

June 18, 2017

Shameless Advertising and Sketchwork

Dear readers, I'd very much like to have you taking a look at Etsy, where I have print-it-yourself posters for sale. (Yes, this was a link to the place where they're sold; just a few weeks remaining.)

Yours sinc. has been doing some work for money that sadly can't be shown to you; copyright and all that jazz. And while the work of the previous week isn't forgotten there has been little energy left for it. So I'll have to show you something else...

I don't know if there's any term in English for movies that merely move slightly; mostly stills but also some movement at times? It started out as a full novella that I never got around to illustrating completely, which I very much wanted to do (remnants might be found throughout this blog). Then I tried to make an animated movie -- took too much time. Presently I am heading for a slightly animated comic strip, something that looks good but isn't too demanding to draw. If possible. There would be music too.

Here we saw an artist dragging a portfolio. Sort of me but still not.

And well, this would be another scene. Working title: Selling Paintings, a surreal tale based on a few harrowing days when this naïve Whoever-I-was-back-then tried to do that. All over the town... And well, the weird things that happened then more or less made me a surrealist. I got to see the Shrinking Gallery, the Gallery With the Perpetual Waiting List, the Somewhere Else Gallery... You get the point. They were all hopeless. In a very interesting way. I might exaggerate a little. But not very much.

June 11, 2017

Odd Couple Engaged in Some Mysterious Activity

From a work in progress.

I've been informed that the creature riding on top is a Gnork and the other one is a Myrf. They are up to something, and they aren't alone. There seems to be several... -- You may take a nap to ponder this while I add a few technical notes. -- We are emulating fading ink on tinted paper, or perhaps the red chalks that were popular during the Renaissance (da Vinci and Michelangelo did some beautiful things with it). The filling colours had to be mild and not too far from those hues so that they didn't disturb the mellow lines playing (they don't want to be square and straight, they want to have fun.) -- You may wake up now. --

'Ere we go round the... well, there's no mulberry bush yet. Or anything. The other couples will become as absurd as the first one, I'm sure. Perhaps they're busy doing some kind of ritual. Or... they are manufacturing something pointless-that-must-not-be-questioned --- so many people do. I am sure there's some grave punishment, cruel and unusual, if indeed you would get going counter-clockwise into your head. Speaking of which...

Some day it would be interesting to see how 9 to 5 alters the brain in the long run; in what ways our synapses have been deformed, how our neural paths must entangle and how seriously the signal substances have decayed due to this unnatural behaviour. But I digress.

June 04, 2017

Trump Leaving Paris (Visual Sarcasm)

I can think of one objection and one objection only for not portraying, or rather, caricaturing Trump. It’s too easy. Huge buffoons are already caricatures in themselves, and there are little that drawing people can do to improve them -- only Hitler has been easier. A certain Miss thinks that he looks legoish now, I thought rather Sponge Bobish, but it doesn't matter: Add a yellow wig on orange idiosyncrasy, and you're there.

We see this misplaced president leaving Paris after terminating the agreement to save our planet, how sweet. I've had bitter fun with the details; poison, oil leakage and how we're all kept hostage as Earth has a madman at the helm.

Would you like a copy? Not that it feels as important right now, but I'll let you download one at Etsy (it's not very dear, follow this link) for printing. Could be used as a decorative piece of reminder or so. Voilà.

May 28, 2017

A Few Lines

From my semi-vacation, with borrowed scanner (and very quirky web w. googlish paranoia in the way -- I said many ungooglable things) -- a few lines. Ink on paper. My dear Ms. J. thinks that it looks sad somehow. Are they tearing each other apart? Or maybe trying to stitch it together? Only you can tell.

And what are they? A few colours might make the scene clearer, and we'll see if I can get back to it. Or perhaps we just want to wander around the lines without undue explanations standing in the way.


May 21, 2017

Not Another Call -- a Very Tired Sketch

Being early morning, we'll see how far I get on this before 8 a.m., which I've just decided is Deadline, period. Here comes the sketch, collage on pencil w. contrast increased. Next there's a lot of text.

There's really no word for "sales fatigue" in Swedish. By which I do not mean shoppers collapsing with twenty-odd fancy little bags in a shopping mall but the far more serious condition when you've been trying to Sell, Sell, Sell for such a long time that you can't do it anymore. Please rather kill me. This is when your entire soul is cringing so much that you simply can't convince. The glory of past sales fade before the grey damp mists of no.

-- There's tons of advice out there, of course, everything from taking breaks (you can't; you'd just think of selling anyway) to standing in a power position (you're calling from your bed now) to smiling; smiling on the phone is to subconsciously upgrade the conversation somehow, and then -- no. Don't try. Smiling hurts.
Ah, yes -- there was this advice on "not thinking of selling", and sure, one can have a nice conversation and all, but sooner or later (all those heavy bills that come thumping merrily down in the mailbox while you're calling and "not-selling-but-selling" suggest sooner, man!) you come to the parting point when you have to get down to business. And then you get turned down.

There's more out there, including quite a lot of quackery.

I saw one idea that actually resonated with sense. One has to get one's "No, thank you" quickly. (Someone had better still tell me how this is to go with the advice to do slow and gentle bonding, though.) And then, get up in the saddle again! Go to next, and you'll get your Yes sooner! Good advice. Only reality stood in its way.

My line was to travel about with a barely portable piano and perform music at the "Old Folks' Home", mostly in company with a singer. This week I did my best and final shot, spanning over three days in a row. I got up early, started to call, then had nausea for breakfast, another call, suicidal thoughts for brunch, yet one feeble call amidst general exhaustment and then tears for lunch. Afternoons fared somewhat better -- I feel less suicidal in the afternoons -- but my customers were in health care. They're early birds. They generally know much more about health care than culture. And they quit early too.

Trying to cut my weary tale short, those early birds were hopeless. (I prefer to think of them in the past tense). More often than not, those responsible for music and other activities are not in any directory, one has to ask their boss (who doesn't want to handle such petty things really) or some nurse, the only kind of soul that is more exhausted and fatigued than the caller. If you're nice you get a number. If you're lucky they answer. If you're even more lucky, they agree to read your mail, listen to the demo. Then you have to reach them again -- answering phones seldom have any function there -- and ask if they read the mail, etc. etc. Then you have to be lucky again: You have to reach this point perfectly between We-haven't-planned-the-season-yet and We've-planned-the-season-already. If there's any between. Or you haven't stumbled across any other obstacle -- they are too many to mention here.

This is the first draft. I don't know whether collage improved it or not.
We're nearing 8 a.m. and there ought to be a good finishing line here. But I'm too tired. Thanks for hearing me out, though.
And as for sales, I think that I'm off it.

May 14, 2017

Bed Floating above Desert, or The Oasis of Sleep

The final result does look like something out of Le Petit Prince. (Or so the tired artist thinks.) It was dear Johanna who suggested this, actually, and the tired artist said why not: The bed as some sort of oasis in a desert, sleep as our only refuge.

I haven't tried to make it the least bit realistic. One might photoshop something like this with live palm trees, a live actor and all. But that's not the kind of inner realism that I am interested in and would be sort of missing the whole point.

May 07, 2017

Celestial Spiders

I'm not reliable. I might change the title later. But here's the finished work of last week with spiders and all. Perhaps I feel a bit ensnared, or enwebbed, to draw a thing like this.

It might interest you that the celestial bodies around our spider planet are made out of a rock, a fine piece of smoky quartz and spots of dampness on a bathroom ceiling corner, inverting the latter into negative. The background was made out of a thick bunch of reeds that grew in a stream. I shot them last year, I think. The most dense fragment of this I now twisted into a pattern... Lastly, when a certain papyrus feeling had been reached, I tinted it deep sky blue.

April 30, 2017

Spiders in Progress

For a little something that I'm working on... The fur is made out of hair from Yours Sincerely and dear Ms. Johanna -- who was just done colouring her hair. (The legs were made out of her skin too, shot while still stained with red hair dye).

I myself don't find spiders particularly yucky (flies are much worse) so here comes another.
(As for the whole picture, it's not done yet. All in good time.)

April 23, 2017


The irony that I am loosing sleep over this... but dear Johanna is making such a nice dreamcatcher for me and this is the spiritual counterpart: The same white feathers, and so on. The late hour made me keep the number of details down; we get something slightly more stylized but that can't hurt. And now as I write this I had better get some sleep. Enjoy!

April 16, 2017


Despite not having any time really I got back to my oil a little while ago. And here we have a hand (obviously) from which a landscape might unfold for the H*** and * of it. (Sorry for the photo quality as usual.) Hues close to the background (natural colour canvas) give the hand a somewhat transparent, perhaps dreamy feeling, and... why not. Life is but a dream.

So it goes. And here one might buy my Sylvia Plath poster for easy download to your happy printer, and see a movie if you don't feel tempted enough...

April 09, 2017

Stockholmian Resilience -- a Work in Progress

It feels odd, being somehow mentally prepared for the situation. I already knew down to the marrow that madmen exist; one who tried to kill me last summer and one who might've done me in anyway last spring. (Most readers know this very well and I add this for the record: What happened last Friday was that a lunatic raced with a stolen truck into as many pedestrians as possible, killing four and maiming several others.) Yet yesterday I saw sadness, consternation on the people going by -- but no trace of real panic. People were wonderful on the whole that Friday; caring, helping strangers in all possible manners. (Many couldn't make it home that evening as all public transit shut down, but others opened their homes and hearts.) They Kept Calm and Carried On. I see it as a Win.

(Here's as far as I got. We lack colour and depth, possibly texture too. But we do have something solemn. And that famous city hall tower, for some reason.)

There were flowers enough for thirteen St. Valentines' on the spot. A friend thought that I should paint the scene for History, roses, all the people! And all. But I thought it better to draw something symbolic (if anything at all) and there we are.

I hope that this sober spirit is to remain. As I write this, very little is known. Yet already, and it's no surprise, the Far Right wants to have it an act of terrorism. Far Left equally much wants it to be Not Necessarily A Terrorist for the same reason (preferably not at all) and I am not looking forward to the upcoming debate. I'd very much prefer the Calm and Carry On that I saw yesterday to remain.

On an entirely different note, I've made some little progress on that oil that I mentioned the other week. (I'll show you next week, I think?) Life goes on. It actually does.

April 02, 2017

A Loud Mask of Silence

Hussssh. There's not much to say. We're behind a mask. Perhaps it is only here, as Nietzsche said, that we can be true. As usual I don't know what it says with its ever so expressive silence (it shares this tendency towards silent loudness with most of my output) -- perhaps you can hear, you who hear well?

I am happy that I captured how all the letters are bustling under the skin, throbbing, longing to get out. They would love to become words, explode as syllables and perhaps even whole sentences before they die, but they're being held captive within our bodies and we don't let them.

No wonder that the face looks as mad as it does, eyes cold, sharp and dim. As if it thought;
"I know, I know painfully well, but I can never tell.
Particularly not in front of myself."

March 26, 2017

And They Stuck Me Together with Glue

...I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue...

-- From Daddy, by Sylvia Plath

The rest of the poem is vastly more complex than this, and I can't say that I understand it. But the image stuck, and here we are; glued together, and not very well either.

The textures are all borrowed from the County of Småland (and my semi-vacation) but tweaked quite much; a wall, the bark of a tree, another wall, a Småland forest and even a wee bit of a local cat. It's a joy to go hunting for good textures (the iPhone did well enough) and see where they end up.

March 19, 2017

Green Space Being with an Orange Pet

No oil painting this week. My hands are resting in the quaint little County of Småland. Before that I made this little digital of some sort of alien with its orange pet.

I did not get around to making any Standard Extraterrestrial Backdrop, planets, pink volcanos before green dual sunsets... etc etc. I might pester you with this next week if I don't get any better idea.