Autumn sun

Autumn is here, and in the beginning of October the lack of sun hit me. Nature was falling asleep, and my body just wanted to join. It got difficult to get out of bed, follow a routine, and really do anything of what’s necessary to stay healthy.

Since then, I’ve had a bit of a breakdown – stayed inside too much, been a bit sad, and almost failed school assignments. That was the culmination really, a weird week where I needed to hand in a text, and I felt like I couldn’t. It’s in times like that you notice how you’re really doing. When you try fighting it. It was such a good week as well, a bunch of great things happened, but I’d been down for so long that it didn’t help.

Anyway. After that, things looked up. Because they had to. A bit of a sad rock bottom, and now I’m doing really well. I’m buying some extra good food for myself, go to the gym, subscribed to the paper edition of the newspaper. Small stuff.

So that’s how I’m doing, how are you? And remember that even if the world is in a certain mood, you don’t have to feel the same.

During class

The good thing about having most of your lectures over zoom is that you can upgrade from sketching in the margins of your notebooks, to spreading out brushes, paints and papers over the whole kitchen table. Watercolors are perfect for this, because they work best in layers; but I usually get too impatient and mess everything up. Having my attention divided helps me slow down a bit, and suddenly I’ve just made something. Here’s a few things I made during my lecture about.. something.


Landscapes, kind of.

Today I had coffee with a girl in my journalism course here in Stockholm. I told her that I don’t know if I have the energy to build new social circles again. But even just saying that to her was a starting to build; a good day’s work.


The yearly rhythm

Around New Years I try to live,
and I succeed exponentially
as the sun gets brighter
and gives more heat.

Then I collect myself.
About this time each year.

Some pieces have ended up folded over folding chairs, next to drying bikinis and worn, unread books.

I feel like I’ve left limbs:
the excited wave of a hand,
my feet over worn down stones,
my heart over again,
to shore after shore,
meeting after meeting.

The confetti glitters

until it’s caught by the gravity of fall,
and it sinks back down to me,
all out of order and organization.

I need to make everything big enough to fit inside me again.

The clean up happens when the evenings turn dark.
This is the inwards speaking,
writing down, painting,
time of making this experience make sense.

I pick up each leaf and look at it.

A post in Swedish

For my childhood home.

Skrivet sista kvällen.

För det du har varit.
För ormbunken.
För skogen.

För de döende träden som höjer sig över mig när jag går den mörka vägen fram. Himlen är mörkblå. Gräs och löv mörkgrönt. Ljust i ljuset, svart i skuggan. Jag går längs den gamla cykelvägen och väljer en plats att vända mig om och titta, och vägen bakom mig frågar om jag är redo att gå vidare. När jag svarar ja och vänder mig om kollapsar den in bakom mig, döende träd och solnedsgångsstigar och barndomskojor där vi letade efter de första blåsipporna varje vår. Det sväljer sig själv. Gatlyktor och måne och träd blir om intet. Och i dess plats, i samma ögonblick som det försvinner, stiger ur samma intet det gröna gräset tillbaka, vått av dagg i morgonen, i det stiger knoppar, babyblå och rosa, som försöker ta sig till solen – blomstrar till små blommor – unga som dagen vecklar de ut sig; vackra som allt tungt de inte behöver bära.

Och så överlämnar vi barndomen till någon annan.