Acrylic paint, soft pastel 50 x 70 cm | 25 x 35 cm
Exhibited at Sigtuna stiftelsen, 2022
On February 24, 2022, time stood still, and nothing will ever be quite the same again. War broke out. Since I have close family members in Ukraine, everything comes to a bit of a standstill – work, creativity, friendships. I am on sick leave in the forest. A cat resting, stretched out alongside my body. Pink evening sunlight filtering through the windblown pine trees. Warm daily showers. A book.
And alongside all this: air raid sirens, bombs, terror. Nothing can be understood. There are no words, and at the same time, all the words exist at once.
Despite everything, I have finally begun drawing creamy, wild church interiors on colourful paper. A kind of meditation on Tomas Tranströmer’s Romanska bågar (which I always think is called Romerska bågar, like the orange-flavoured chocolate). It is a poem that I know means a great deal to many people. For me, above all, it is a reminder that “You will never be finished, and that is as it should be.”
Learning to rest and learning to cope with all this darkness is a lifelong task. I paint church interiors with richly ornamented domes and think about private, inward religious practice as an all-encompassing source of comfort in the midst of darkness. It can take place beneath a dome just as well as beneath a canopy of leaves or on a dance floor.
Somehow, this is the only thing I can grasp amidst it all. The universal significance of suffering and the human capacity to endure nonetheless.