Did a lot more watercolours then usual this year but I never get the full hang of it no matter how many times I try. The below set contains some more “traditional” paintings.
The second set below are painting where I simply drew with the brush. I actually prefer this way of using watercolour keeping it simple and with a calligraphic flavour.
How do we choose what we pick up and get influenced by in this huge flow of information and impressions? In my watercolour paintings during the first half of 2018 I see a flavour of national romanticism. Is it a response to the current political mood in Sweden of rising nationalism and callousness? It has not been possible to ignore when who is a proper swede and who is not is debated in a language reminiscent of the 1930’s. Continue reading
She is standing on the porch. The wind is cool against her cheeks and moves her hair. She watches the garden in front of her with the lawn and the flowers. But the wind wants her attention. Nagging. It comes with the intent to unsettle.
She looks up and the grey clouds cover the whole sky. They move fast. She turns to walk inside.
The whistling of the wind follows her into the house and tells her to remember. Blows off the lid. Stirs up the dust that has settled. She mustn’t forget. The wind is eternal and it has no heart nor mercy. It leaves her tumbling and moves on for now. Eroding her a tiny bit with each passing.
So I have turned to making more realistic watercolours. Not really happy with that but I am not sure who is in charge. My last oilpainting went in the totally opposite direction which was not what I wanted either.
I have no comment on the election of Trump and the current rise of fascism and inhumanity than this.
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.