The Tree Nursery

 ...at Riddersvik Manor, W. Stockholm, where the Bastards Presently in Charge want to grow houses instead of trees, thus provoking this little study. 

Knowing the ways of the charming people that I just mentioned, I have a feeling that they have, in their general enthusiasm, accidentally hinted that these houses would be affordable apartments where hard working common people might live and thrive. Ooops; No. But the rest of us shall still feel as participants in this grand, generous project when we're all invited to help paying for it. Don't worry.

-- Ink-and-Aqua as usual, slightly below letter size. 
  

Accusations of Manga -- Summer Fancy

Can I still call myself Surrealist -- this once shocking label -- or rather, Postrealist? There's nothing left to Surr- about. Reality has ceased to exist. In little Sweden, we've just had a case in the Supreme Court where a translator from Japanese was just this close to get sentenced for owning equally Japanese drawings of naked children. Or semi-naked. Very few people know. We're not allowed to see them. While the translator got away (but just barely; good for keeping others on their toes) the insecurity remains.

Svenska Dagbladet (major Swedish daily) quotes mangaka Natalia Batista who laments the "mental handcuffs" and general fear among comic artists that followed in the wake of this little scene, straight out of Franz Kafka. Do I dare to draw this and that? -- they wonder. Will I land in jail for holding a pencil? (I might not, in the future, be allowed to draw slightly melting houses as they aren't safe for the Toons to live in.)

This queasiness must be precisely what the Court intended. I'm not as optimistic as the accused, Mr. Lundström, who is now "relieved" that Sweden has not become "a place that prohibited certain expressions of the imagination". As I see it, the Supreme Kafka has jolly well tried, through frightening as many illustrators as possible. 

We must do the opposite -- by drawing (or writing, or composing, or simply thinking) yet more wicked things, increasing the general subversion, perhaps also perversion. When reality is no more (and it can't be said to exist any more when you end up in court for drawing pictures of imaginary crimes) it is up to us to decide which kind of reality we want; colourful or boring. 

Colour brings us back to surrealism, this excellent tool for subversion. Our young accordionist above (I still add a little on "City Lights" now and then) was inked with simple lines, with space for serendipitous subconscious at work; a classic surreal method. Now, in oil, she's kind of lingering between being clothed and not-- indeed, one might see hints of both, and I should get highly individual answers from my audience on which she is; the subconscious is a democratic thing. (You really won't know before the music stops...) Thus, what the artist does is but to set your imagination going, and I am beginning to wonder if certain officials are against "certain expressions of the imagination" -- or imagination on the whole. Shoot the messenger.  

--- I put a halt to my sad thoughts and take a nap, returning to the surface with a little summerly dream; Ink, light as a gentle breeze in June on paper, letter size. The houses (?) in the background (click/tap to look closer) are inspired by a delightfully disordered bookshelf, and so on. The meaning, dear fellow citizens of this planet, is up to you.

 ...perhaps, I think, it wants a little colour too?

Marine Art, Sort Of.

This time she didn't try to drown me. Otherwise, it's my favourite pasttime during the spare hours that I do not have to go out in Little Myy, the sailing nutshell. And Little Myy has had plenty of time buoyed in the harbour to scheme how to throw me in the lake. Last time, she tried to capsize when I raised the mainsail whilst sailing into the wind, which, I admit, was too strong really. (If you do that while running before the wind, you might end up just anywhere -- on a bank or running into the large sand barges, which is precisely what she wants.)

But on this day the entire lake lay still, a blank, just slightly bulging mirror. I had to row (got tired of waiting for wind) and a few nautical miles away from "Civilisation" I moored very gently in the reeds. 

They're very practical for this purpose. The trick is not getting too stuck in them. I began to sketch, 

...et voilà:

Click/Tap to resize.
(c)Joakim Ceder 2013.

Let's call it The Imaginary Castle of Färingsö, as this is the part of my little study (rather light, as the heat allowed) that isn't entirely real. I found the little manors and cottages dotting about afar in the most boring way, and ordered them to cling in one place: You should climb each other. Try to tower a bit...

Hm. That's better. Hold it there. 
 -- You should never care more about reality than reality cares about you.


 

Fanfare for A New Portfolio, with Neolithic Exhaustment

Ta-daaa... 

...at last finished, for now; the brand new Portfolio with my favourite works that I've been struggling with for so long.

Not only have I been picky and choosy -- amputating the bulk of my oeuvre -- nor was it enough to sharpen it all 'til my eyes cried exhausted rivers. (The oils in particular -- miniaturesque details on relatively coarse grain -- are painfully unphotogenic.) No! All had to be done in the hammer-and-chisel-like, neolithic method known as HTML coding. 

It was all because of my old homepage. I made it when we all still lived in caves. With the primitive yet adequate brains that I had, I reasoned: 

     Artist wants website.

     Artist doesn't want to pay programmer.

     Ergo: Artist has to fathom the meaning of, for instance

td valign="top"
div align="right"
font face="Georgia, Bodoni, Times, Serif" color="#ffffff"
span style="font-size:13pt"

Learning how to speak Machine killed 50% of my brain cells and the other two hurt, but they've lasted until this very day and so has my antiquated homepage (won't look good in your average smart dumbphone, I'm sorry -- nothing past amoeba complexity ever does) and on this page I could build, tweak and distil, Oh sing: 

body bgcolor=#bb9977,
table valign=top width=90% align=center, 
cellspacing=5 cellpadding=5 border=0! 

    Chorus: 'So now we have a portfolio!'

As I said, you're very Welcome.

Now please excuse me while I go massaging my aching neurons; the left one first, I think.