Tag Archives: art

Kenya Art Journal – 0/13

Posted on by under Artwork

This notebook has a surprisingly long story. I wanted one for years, and you can’t get them in Sweden, but I saw that they had them in a physical shop in Sarasota. And I remember thinking ‘hey, that’s where that school thing is, what if I actually go there one day and can buy one.’ And I did. I forgot about the notebook though. Until I needed a new one after a couple of months and actually found the link to the store in the old bookmarks on my computer (ah, that time before Pinterest). And I discovered that it was a 20 minute bike ride away. So I went there, it’s a GORGEOUS shop, and found a little stand with all of the notebooks from this brand. It’s weird how life works out.
And I got one. One that I brought with me to Kenya, to have as my fancy travel journal (I had a moleskine as well, for all my messy thoughts), and so I thought I’d share some pages from it over the following days.
Also, this is not a review, but let’s appreciate that this notebook literally fell into the ocean. For some unknown reason I had it, together with my bible and other notebook, in a plastic bag inside my normal bag. I really don’t know why (one of those things you can call luck or God). But when it fell in the ocean, my other notebook and bible were just a little bit damaged and this one was completely fine. Which testifies to how good it is with watercolours, you can apply as much water as you want, and the page will still lay flat.
I’m (not) sorry, but I’m just really passionate about this notebook.

image

(Btw, it’s this one: http://www.stillmanandbirn.com/beta.html !)

The Change

Posted on by under poetry

Nothing ever changes but I always feel like I have to be going.
Move on, get better, take steps and make sure that they’re showing.

But I am still myself.

I like abstract ideas more than I like reality.
Not as much how things actually are – but in my head – how they’re supposed to be.
When I look out at my imagined timeline I see an open future of daydreams and hope, but I don’t think about the fact that I’d have to carry myself there, like a backpack of stones,
I’d have to bring these spinning atoms, these empty doubts, these worn out bones.

I am still myself.

Sometimes I manage to get rid of it all,
all the fear and failure, every sadness, every fall
I rinse it away with new water, leave it behind in black footprints that I forget even were mine,
but then I learn the same things every time.

And in between I hide in the songs that make me wish you’d pity me,
I shut myself in and dream of being seen.
I’ll glare at you but you won’t see it because in comparison to my heart my voice will always be lesser,
because I am a hopeless people pleaser and I walk in pink hair and cute dresses.
And that’s the drawn out prelude of the end, because I am a ticking bomb,
but it’s all internal so it will never unfold.
I just have an itching soul with nowhere to explode.
I’ll slam my fists against stone cold floors because you were supposed to make me better.
You were supposed to fix me.

If you want me. You better make me better.

Still. After this, after all. I am still myself.

If you want to know why I run like this
It’s because I have fear dripping out through my fingertips.