Many years ago, I moved out of Visby, as the studio there had become too small. In Stenkumla, just a mile south of Visby, I found a place full of atmosphere. Over the years, I have expanded the studio, transforming it from a space solely for painting into one that also houses a lithographic studio and a framing workshop. This is where I create my artwork, both painting and graphics. The studio is an integral part of my gallery and gives visitors a unique insight into the art of creation.
My work is based on days by the shoreline. The landscape, the light, and the rich birdlife provide the foundation for my artworks. In my art, I also weave elements of my life with the natural world, blending personal experiences with nature. This approach moves beyond traditional wildlife painting, delving into deeper, more abstract connections between life, nature, and memory.
It is morning, and it feels like any other painting day. I don’t dwell much on today’s project as I sip my morning coffee. Afterward, I descend the stairs, traverse the corridor, and unlock the studio door. The scent of oil lingers from yesterday’s painting session. The subject dries against the wall, facing away from me, like all the other completed pieces. It’s a fresh morning with a new subject. There are no distractions, just a blank canvas waiting to be stretched onto the frame before the day’s work can begin. There’s always a direction, but the content remains somewhat elusive. The uncertainty, the unspoken, or rather the unpainted, adds a certain tension that fuels the creation. In a few hours, I hope to find myself in a state of “flow,” transforming today’s effort into yet another painting.
And so it goes, repeating tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.
There’s a scene in which the canvas, pigments, and brushstrokes are the actors. My hand and mind try to be the director, shaping an image that resides within me today.
The pen moves, and the impressions change. The way the pen moves transforms the image. Lines are formed, blurred to some extent by the pigment that fills the paper’s surface. The paper dries and weaves everything into a picture.
Lying there on the sofa, totally exhausted. I have given everything, and what remains of me is drying in the studio in a shimmer of oil.
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