Not yet an adult.
Nice to colour with pencils freely.
Leker med tuschskisserna och en gammal tidning.
Two pages in my sketchbook. Pencil, ink and watercolour.
So many horrible incidences have happened in such a short time that one’s own ordinary everyday life feels surreal. Like a thin layer of varnish over chaos.
I brought a sketchpad and an ink pen with me to the beach. Back home I used the black and white sketches of my daughter digging in the sand to do a watercolour. But instead of blue I remembered a tube of chinese orange goauche I bought when I lived in Jordan almost 20 years ago. Then the sky and sea turned gradually more red. The white sand became dark and sticky mud. My daughter digging tirelessly unaware of the fires burning around her.
This is to remember Nice, Munich and Kabul. A failed coup in Turkey that might give Erdogan the hands he needs to pull the rug under the Turkish democracy. May we still all come out of this year with the capability of instilling hope in each other and not be swallowed by a tide of ugly nationalism and hatred.
As long as I can remember I have been a fan of Hendrix. My father, a guitarist, would play his records over and over and then as a teenager so did I.