Care

Tuesday, 09 January 2024 00:00

With "Care" I feel that I go back to the roots of my love for art. Music was in the beginning of it all and now it's time to reconnect with it in a manner that feels complete. "Care" was a poem in the making that I had forgotten about for a little while and when I found it again I saw that it was more of a micro-song. It could have taken many forms, and I can definitely hear me screaming the lyrics in a different version, but this is how it crystallized (at least for now). The visuals were also brewing for a while in the background, with ideas revolving around time-lapses and chalkboards.

Care

I don't want you to care for me

care is for the hospice of emotions

I want your voice to burn like love

turn away from the care-ful cold

where feelings go to die.

 

Published in poetry

metaphors

Wednesday, 03 January 2024 00:00

 

Metaphors never cease to amaze me. They are often better and conciser at getting the meaning of the most abstract notions across than a simple description of a situation. As flexible molds, they shape and embody our individual thoughts helping us make sense of our experiences in a collective manner. In this piece different metaphors come together to express a sense of womanhood compiled by different experiential states.

 

 

metaphors

Men
I had three pens lying around.
None of them really worked.

Emptiness
She started counting her ribs. There, in the middle of the forest. When she came back from her walk, she called immediately her doctor: “I need to have an X-ray asap; there’s something wrong with my insides.”

Mother
She was picking the hairs from the floor, one by one, or in tufts, if they were clustered. With a sense of urgency. The same sense of urgency she had when the phone rang. Wired landline. Darting from the kitchen, running down the marble corridor, sometimes deciding within seconds at the kitchen door which phone to run for, the one in the living room (closer) or the one in the bedroom (more private).

Back to hair picking.

She would often go in absurd bowed circles, like a weird alien dancer. She would let you talk and in the middle of a sentence she would fix her eyes on a corner and, already bowing, she would go there straight to pick up the hair.

What does depend upon hair? I often wondered.

Not anymore.

Voltaire
I will not spend another night with you in my life, but we can still text if you like.

 

 

 

You can read more about the poetry issues project here.

Published in poetry

poetry issues #28

Wednesday, 27 December 2023 00:00

 

2023 is closing with poetry issues #28, clearly showing a direction that I am feeling increasingly comfortable with: The combination of sound and image, captured and edited in manners that make them compete poetically with the text they come with, and the integration of text into a vivid visual style. Painting and drawing are coming back into the picture, and I dare to be myself more than ever.

 


 

Call Me

The public phone booth, where generations have spent hours and small fortunes talking to friends, family and lovers, where tears were shed and laughter echoed, seems to be a curiosity of the past, a ghosted presence in the urban landscape. One of my plans for the future is to re-imagine the phone booth. For now, I present here the best example of a public phone booth's organic role for (and inevitably its integration into) lively subcultures.

 


This little jewel is handling many themes at once. I was fumbling with the topic of unrequited love in my mind for quite some time and then one day, one of the first nice ones, I was lying on a bench looking at the sky and there was this optical illusion of the pole falling while the sky remained still (of course it was the moving clouds). So then the two topics mingled, and more layers came, especially the broader one, of living in one society but in essentially different realities. I didn't use any elaborate phrasing but I believe the meaning gets across, all the more through the simplicity of the language.

 

Reflection

 

For a second I thought

we were two-gether

mirroring each other

sharing an understanding

of this world that is melting

like ice-cream on hot asphalt.

 


 

"Stubborn" is a commentary on roles, contemporary life, love and how looking up to someone shapes us. I enjoyed how the composition came together, through a mix of loose ideas and experimentation, and the result is highly personal but in certain ways also bigger than a mere obituary to a god or a father.

 

Stubborn

 

Dear father,

I am very ambitious

as I was made in your image and likeness.

 

It is true

that my goal is

to be successful in life

 

just as you wanted me to be

 

but my success is divided into late mornings

and long nights

into loves not watered down into potentials

patience, expectations and compromise.

 

Dear father,

I am living in a garden of steel

when all I ever wanted were flowers

and interactions free of roles:

Skirts and pants united.

 

I wanted to be rich

but my non-accumulative currency would be

the primary formation of meaning –

experience, as a principle.

 

For you, dear father, I still want to be

the perfect son

although I was born

a stubborn daughter.

 


 

Sicily 

 

 

I am changing. Growing. As an artist and as a person. This means that I am integrating and using the past as fertile soil for a happier life. In my artistic practice this translates into an organic approach to creation, less focused on a specific outcome. I let my artworks mature and grow too, which basically means that I give them more time than ever before. Still, I want my materials to be approachable and relatable, my process sustainable, able to be executed anywhere, anytime. Sicily demonstrates exactly this mindset. It is the outcome of a very strange, intense trip, and it incorporates elements of a personal journey, a greater cultural kinship, mirroring memories from across the sea (being Greek, Sicily bears for me a special weight) and an account of people's desires and often futile efforts against increasingly alienating environments. In my mind the piece has both melancholy and hopeful notes, peace but not resignation.

 


 

Need

the green muddy sea is also a sea

and when the lips are thirsty

and when the skin is dry

you'll head for the water

muddy salty green

 

 

We have learned to live in a constant state of unsatisfied need. A lurking panic rules our lives. A kind of wild greed that doesn't derive from not knowing when to stop or from nothing ever being enough but from not absorbing something that might or might not be there – an asthmatic relation to the world. This greed is escorted by an abysmal fear of death, a vertigo caused by the lack of a full present moment that will defy and even invite and shatter death with its completeness.

Need is real. Not something we create in our heads. Maybe we can control it or forget about it, like a hungry stomach that you trick or lull to sleep, but it is still there. Need makes us compromise, which might not be a bad skill within a society, provided that everyone does so. But a need not met for long makes you vulnerable. In its best version, dealing with a deep need can be a humbling experience but more often than not and in the long run it's simply humiliating.

This piece aims to reflect the uncontrollable lengths we go to in order to satisfy such needs, the desperation that leads us to substitute their true objects with things that resemble them, things that will eventually not cover the needs they were brought in to cover, and might even harm us.

 


  You can read more about the poetry issues project here.

Published in verse

Need

Sunday, 03 December 2023 00:00

Need

the green muddy sea is also a sea

and when the lips are thirsty

and when the skin is dry

you'll head for the water

muddy salty green

 

 

We have learned to live in a constant state of unsatisfied need. A lurking panic rules our lives. A kind of wild greed that doesn't derive from not knowing when to stop or from nothing ever being enough but from not absorbing something that might or might not be there – an asthmatic relation to the world. This greed is escorted by an abysmal fear of death, a vertigo caused by the lack of a full present moment that will defy and even invite and shatter death with its completeness.

Need is real. Not something we create in our heads. Maybe we can control it or forget about it, like a hungry stomach that you trick or lull to sleep, but it is still there. Need makes us compromise, which might not be a bad skill within a society, provided that everyone does so. But a need not met for long makes you vulnerable. In its best version, dealing with a deep need can be a humbling experience but more often than not and in the long run it's simply humiliating.

This piece aims to reflect the uncontrollable lengths we go to in order to satisfy such needs, the desperation that leads us to substitute their true objects with things that resemble them, things that will eventually not cover the needs they were brought in to cover, and might even harm us.

Published in poetry

Stubborn

Saturday, 29 July 2023 00:00

"Stubborn" is a commentary on roles, contemporary life, love and how looking up to someone shapes us. I enjoyed how the composition came together, through a mix of loose ideas and experimentation, and the result is highly personal but in certain ways also bigger than a mere obituary to a god or a father.

 

Stubborn

 

Dear father,

I am very ambitious

as I was made in your image and likeness.

 

It is true

that my goal is

to be successful in life

 

just as you wanted me to be

 

but my success is divided into late mornings

and long nights

into loves not watered down into potentials

patience, expectations and compromise.

 

Dear father,

I am living in a garden of steel

when all I ever wanted were flowers

and interactions free of roles:

Skirts and pants united.

 

I wanted to be rich

but my non-accumulative currency would be

the primary formation of meaning –

experience, as a principle.

 

For you, dear father, I still want to be

the perfect son

although I was born

a stubborn daughter.

 

 

 

Published in poetry

Reflection

Saturday, 27 May 2023 00:00

This little jewel is handling many themes at once. I was fumbling with the topic of unrequited love in my mind for quite some time and then one day, one of the first nice ones, I was lying on a bench looking at the sky and there was this optical illusion of the pole falling while the sky remained still (of course it was the moving clouds). So then the two topics merged, and more layers came, and especially the broader theme of living in the same geopolitical space but experiencing essentially different realities.

 

Reflection

 

For a second I thought

we were two-gether

mirroring each other

sharing an understanding

of this world that is melting

like ice-cream on hot asphalt.

 

Published in poetry

#chapter I

Monday, 09 January 2023 00:00

The first in a series of illustrated dialogues, #chapter I goes wild in the combination of image and text embracing punk aesthetics and posing an important question: How important is the legibility of text for expressing its meaning and how much can we omit before the narrative breaks?

 

 

 

#chapter I

january 23

 

 The earth had turned upside down

so I woke up and saw the moon

where it had never been before

or was it me that had changed place?

 

No, no, you said

the world has turned upside down and 

I am sisyphus or maybe

it's the summer that's coming. 

 

 

 

Published in poetry

poetry issues #26

Friday, 16 December 2022 00:00

 

Poetry issues #26, the last poetry issue featuring many works, was published in five parts between March and December 2022. It's a body of work that largely attempts to take poetry issues to the next level: The pieces are steadily leaving the 2D world, more dimensions (eg. audio and video) are being incorporated into the work, and the visual elements mingle more than ever with the text. And since this is just the beginning, I have decided to stop working in bundles of poems and let each piece grow on its own, and be published as a separate unit.  

 


 

Part I: Our Lost Babies (poem), Mirrors (artwork)

 

A "lost baby" is anything we dreamt of and didn't flourish, everything we strived for but lost in the end. Creation and loss are main themes in this piece, but closely connected to letting go and moving on.

Mirrors is a larger assemblage piece (95x60), the first one in a series of worlds. Every box is its own small world but they are all connected and constitute a single piece, like a mind with its several thoughts and ideas. 

 

 

poem and visual piece

 

For more detail:

 


 

Part II: Distance, a handmade book (and a song)

 

My own handmade paper, colored and illustrated with a mixed media technique, integrating collage elements, handwritten text and lots of color, that I always love.

 

 

handmade book

 

Distance

 

The howling of the wind

triumphant in the space between us.

 

I just want to sleep

imagine the death of the wind

silence under the yellow sun

children's laughter roaring

a happy dog's bark.

 

That's how you tolerate loneliness

how sadness becomes sweet.

In a dream you held my hand

and led me through a dancing crowd.

In that dream you were my man.

 

An impression of the physical book:

 

Also, here's a link to the digital flipbook or, if you prefer, to the .pdf.

 


 

Part III: A Fight (video with sound)

 

A closer blending of text and image. In the video, the text is spoken and the image is moving. Everything changes a little in benefit of the whole.

 

 

A Fight

 

You were afraid that winter would come

and it was true: the days were getting shorter.

You longed for that last day on the beach

but the weather had already changed. 

 

The end, most of the time, doesn’t come with a bang

but as an echo of thoughtless words or as an aftertaste

of dry, bitter grass.

 

It’s crazy how the weather changes

faster than my mood.

Anyway, I believe we’ll make it 

through the winter.

We both haven’t been really good

at being weighed down by reality.

“Lightness” has the word “light” in it. Light is spring. 

 

The last day on the beach I was alone.

I found in my bag a kernel of corn 

that you had given me. It was stale

but I ate it ceremonially. It was late

it was cloudy and I was cold. 

I set our messages of fire. We’ve had enough

sun for a summer. Now it was time to step back inside.

 


 

Part IV: Appropriation

 

I appropriated this piece in the same way man appropriates nature, in the same way that I am appropriated, boxed, controlled, tamed: the victim becomes the perpetrator.

 

mixed media collage

So, I made sure

the animals

would graze

behind a wire

fence.  

 


 

Part V: tinder date

 

More on the playful than the profound side, using the same superficiality that it comments upon, "tinder date" is the result of careful observation of the online dating world. I view my character with empathy, but of course my viewpoint is almost never a flattering one.

 

assemblage collage

My tinder date

I shaved my balls

I rode my horse

I did my best

She never came

Now who will save me?

 

 

You can read more about the poetry issues project here.

Published in verse

tinder date

Friday, 16 December 2022 00:00

More on the playful than the profound side, using the same superficiality that it comments upon, "tinder date" is the result of careful observation of the online dating world. I view my character with empathy, but of course my viewpoint is almost never a flattering one.

My tinder date

I shaved my balls

I rode my horse

I did my best

She never came

Now who will save me?

This project ends the 26th volume of poetry issues and the poetry issues project itself comes to an end. A new cycle begins, of course, but as I am turning artistically towards more three-dimensional representations of the text and as every visual and every text project become intertwined, I feel that they grow on their own and not as part of a bundle. I want to give them thus the right to exist more than ever apart from each other.

 

assemblage collage and poem

 

If you are curious, you can read more about the poetry issues project here.

Published in poetry

Appropriation

Saturday, 12 November 2022 00:00

There's a nice story behind this piece: My very good friend Alex bought this print as a present for me, as a souvenir of my visiting her in Sweden. The paper was quite old and it had lost its plasticity. As a result, the print didn't make it whole on the trip back home. "I will restore it", I said to Christian. "Why don't you make it yours?" he said. And so I did. This is half the reason why I named the piece "Appropriation". The other half has to do with man treating nature, even when it comes to his own kind, as a commodity that he owns. Under the same principle, which might be called 'efficiency' or even 'evolution', nature, and man as part of it, suffers boxed, controlled and tamed:

So, I made sure

the animals

would graze

behind a wire

fence.  

 

 

 

You can read more about the poetry issues project here.

Published in poetry
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