Trees, Aqua.

A little ink. A little aquarelle. A little thing whilst waiting for life to happen, if ever it does. But it's fall time. Leaves fall, bright and yellow and red. Illusions are falling too, what colours I do not know.

"So it goes", as Kurt said. While painting this I had to move several times, chased as I was by a shadow of a tree. It was cold.

Angels and Wails for a Song

Now and then Yours Sinc. writes songs. They are written (mostly in Swedish) not in order to make Instant Money but rather as a protest against this world where money is so sorely needed and all that; humoristic but bitter ditties that I intend to put out on the web with sounds and lyrics and all. And something to look at while you endure that. So this one I'll use for a song about a soul who wanted to be something and do something but does little else than to tend to three children all day long. Voilà:

The despair is soaring high...

...up to the celestial regions, where an odd Angel Band is chiming in happily. They seem to be of small discerning regarding music.

I intend to use that sheet for the title of the song.
(It won't sound like celestial music, I can promise you that.)

Half the Man I Used to Be

The title, of course, is stolen from Paul McCartney -- it fit so well.
And as usual I believe that the meaning, the truth -- if these things do not contradict each other -- is in the eye of the beholder. (You decide what it is.)

(No, meaning is not truth. We need to interpret, simplify, let the impressions sift thoroughly through the Synapse Labyrinth and what emerges in the other end is something we can understand and thus isn't true anymore. But I digress.)

And as it is well past midnight I had better stop there, finding nothing wiser to say. "Yesterday came suddenly"...

Splutterfly

"I want a butterfly."
"A butterfly?"
"Yes. It is to be drawn in this position [he showed me the position and mailed it to me] and in this manner [I had to take a picture of the screen where various, very spluttery, runny aquarelles appeared, not my normal style but, all right then!] and in this colour scale..."
"Okay [said I, a couple of days later] -- here you go."

"This is not what we agreed about."
(Oh man, yet another obnoxious bastard.)
It was, but but it didn't look as he didn't imagine.
Let me explain:

Our trade is to work with our imagination for people who don't have any.
"I know perfectly what it looks like", they would say.
But can you draw it?
Can you do anything that even comes near it? No? Then you actually don't know. In this lies the problem. People without any imagination can't imagine that they have no imagination. They are wholly insatiable and I guess that normal people won't work with them. Then they come to me. Be it love or business, I should be very, very wary when people come to me voluntarily. But my imagination only serves me in the Arts.

Vernissage Coming in October!