Right now I realised that this pen is wonderful in combination with these paints and this really nice paper, and so I made a certain kind of little paintings. But it’s not really my style. Or is it? I wonder how long I’ll feel like I’m in the developing stage of who I want to be as a painter.
Anyway, my style or not, I’m really happy with these portraits.
Adding another face:
(Also, I’m in the midst of moving back home to Sweden (from Germany) but for some reason I just want to paint? Maybe I’m processing something.)
You can notice what your mind is orbiting by observing what happens when you try to stop thinking. Go quiet for a second, and see what automatically pops up in your brain. Or if you start doing something brainless, like vacuuming, what is it that you start thinking about? It can be work stuff, if you’re in a productive flow, it can be problems, or it can be something completely removed from your own life, something from a book or tv show (as it often is for me).
What are you orbiting?
And then, once you realise it, what do you want it to be? And how do you change, or control it?
Through this: What you focus on becomes magnified in your life. It starts to take up more space. It becomes something that’s there in the back of your mind, even when you do other things. So, take your attention and choose what to aim it towards. Make sure it’s the right thing.
To me, it’s a bit like a solar system. I’m planet earth, and I close my eyes and think about what I’m orbiting.
Life is a little bit like the stairs up to my apartment.
I walk up two stairs and come to a big window, where I can see half the sun over the roof of the building next doors. Then I walk up a couple more stairs, and by the next window, the sun is shining golden in my face. I feel it in my back as I continue walking. But it’s darker on the next platform, always a little bit darker on the platforms by the doors until I turn around again and take the stairs up to the next window. And finally by my door, I open it and walk through the corridor. And suddenly I’m in the living room. And suddenly I can sit still for a bit in the sunshine.
That’s what it’s like to deal with things. They get better, but then it gets a bit darker again. We see more light, but then we keep going upwards and it feels like we’re moving away from the sun. But we’re just moving higher, and as time goes on we’ll end up in a place where we can see it better than ever before.
(But even then, being healed does not mean always seeing the sun. It just means dwelling in that high place and knowing that we all have our own ways of moving through light and darkness.)
This is the first in a series of paintings that I’ve made on book paper. The book is one that I bought second hand in Germany, and it’s about plants and natural remedies (well, as far as I can understand).
This painting is “ein Herz”, a heart, with small flowers growing out of it and the word “ein” in the middle, for wholeheartedness.
~ Get a page for you or someone else, carry with you a part of the bigger story ~
You learn more from the sky if you study it as a poet than as a scientist.
(That’s a sentence that just kind of “sound good”, but I mean it very seriously. I chose an extra astronomy class in school as if it would bring me deeper into the mystery of open space, but most of the lectures were spent memorizing complicated mathematical formulas that described the distance between stars, and I got answers in amount of light years, but it wasn’t really what I was searching for.
I was thinking about it lately, because I was looking through the Narnia books and read this:
“In our world a star is just a big ball of flaming gas.”
“Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is, but only what it is made of.”
And I was thinking that stars can feel so non-romantic when we’ve learned their chemichal/biological components. But on the other hand we know that people are mainly made out of simple H2O, and that doesn’t seem to take the magic out of us. We know that we’re more than what we’re made of. Maybe it’s the same with the things in nature that science seems to have taken the mystery out of.)
I guess because it’s what poetry does, it doesn’t try to erase the mystery, it tries to carry you deeper into it.
Faith is sassy. It wears a smile. It’s similar to confidence, except that it’s not confidence in your own characteristics and abilities, but in Gods. It’s similar but with another source. A better source, an unending one. And faith does not contain fear, it’s not passivity in fear of disappointing God, it leads to activity together with Him and for Him, in confidence in who He is and confidence in who He has created us to be in His kingdom. It’s walking and acting and creating, it’s choices and future and an ability to dig into whatever we’re feeling today, because we have an unquenchable hope for the future.
What if we all would stay
a little bit longer
before we leave our moments
before stepping into the next
(Then maybe we would stop)
leaning awkwardly against our own ribs
instead sinking into the armchair
of every moment that makes up our lives.
Lately I’ve been trying to stay ‘a little longer’ in every moment, just before I do something new. And I’ve realised that it’s easier to wait an extra 60 seconds before you go on your phone than it is to decide that you won’t even look at instagram for a whole night. And it proves to you: your own self control – in case you want to not look at your phone the rest of the night. You cut off habit and make an actual choice.
You sit down in your bed, pick up your phone, and then you put it down again. Stare straight ahead. Think a little bit. Be with God, be with yourself. Maybe close your eyes. And then you can pick it up again.
Let every moment linger. Think a bit. Realise something new, write something down. More starts growing in your mind. Such is the nature of the sitting down.