The Ochun Oxtra / Haffsårkestern

If you have a boat and name it the Ocean Orchestra and leave the spelling in the hands of a Muddler, you get it misspelled the Ochun Oxtra, or in Tove Jansson's Swedish, the Haffsårkestern. (You find it in her Moomin book Moominpappa's Memoirs.) We thought it was an excellent band name (or rather, the least not excellent name that we all could agree upon, having tried so many strange ones, from Wild Red Raspberries to Tante Bengtsonz's Band) and I thought that one had better have the boat redrawn (out of respect for Ms. Jansson, original works and so forth). The original pencil...

...led to this...

...and was made into a -- perhaps not perfect, but poster still, and I had to do this under full steam ahead. There'll be a good guitarist, two singing beauties and I'll tap the keys as usual. Anchors awheigh.

A Short Journey on the River Styx

Death, where is thy sting?

-- For a short little while, I was like dead. Exhausted, with a fever and a cold too, after having helped out at the shipyard (boats are heavy) with putting ships to sea and now waiting for my own last coating of varnish to dry... I fell asleep in my heat. I faintly remember how my fellow Sunday sailors tried to wake me up (they had quite a hard time). So here you find Yours Sinc. in Charon's boat (q.v.) down on the River Styx, surrounded by forces ambiguous or malicious.

But fortunately, friendly swallows showed the way.

Vernissage Concert Pencil and Other Musical Flowers

Happy times at Larry's Corner, where Anna Petraškeviča, Girilal Baars, Yann le Nestour, Sören Runolf and Mats Dimming played Discrete Comprovisations; mellow, mostly harmonious experimental music. In the background (below) you see the art of Mr. Ceder, who got an applause too...

Next Saturday, Yours Sincerely -- if he's still alive -- might host a musical night there with other fine odd people. The same rowdy gang might later be responsible for this little show on May 30:th (my quickie poster too)

...it is a little pity that you don't see all of the flowers in it; I drew the original freehand without having any roses in my life at all, so I don't think it's too bad. Pencil...

...and then a little digital pastel.

Sneak Vernissage Experimental Music Poster, finished

Most of these cruel experiments with instruments (for the poster mentioned before) are drowned in text, they were mostly completed for fun (and for you, dearies!).

Here goes; a wriggling recorder...

And an accordion; I made careful note not to try too hard to draw an accordion but Come What May, and it got quite accordingly accordion anyway.

And here's the completed poster... the day after, knock wood, I'll have my Vernissage:
Larry's Corner,
2 p.m.
35 Grindsgatan, Stockholm, Sweden,
May 16:th.
Cheers.

Environmental Pitch Fish

And this little fish is tired of swimming. It might have a bit with the gas mask to do. But above all it swam to a newly founded paper for Green News, where I knew the founder a little, but others knew him better, so swim on, poor little fish. Then it swam all across the Atlantic to a New York fanzine where pitching is encouraged. In vain. After swimming back to me it is now rather tired, and begs to rest its weary fins here on this blog. Voilà.

It Takes Two to Tango (or worse)

This little thing I threw together while waiting for the first coating of varnish to dry on my boat, shivering a little as the shipyard was rather cold and raw and windy... I don't know whether this visual thought is warming or not. I had a little fun. It's a dance macabre of certain nearness, but no matter how close or intimate, they never really seem to reach at all...

...many relationships work this way. The colours are happy anyway, even if the couple isn't (I don't know).

Partly Wooden Angel and Ceiling Perspectives on Beauty

This little thing (Photoshop pen, photo and Photoshop insanity) would fit nicely in the ceiling of a church or so -- or not. The wooden façade is stretching up to the sky. The angel -- if it is an angel and not a being orbiting lower trajectories, like the rest of us (and why wouldn't we unangels want glorification? we need it better) -- is made of the same stuff as the walls, obviously, and I see some kind of point in that.

Well, let's have a closer look. It strikes me now that there's a point too in not (I drew her on a whim) having a classic beauty. True beauty can be rather unclassic, real angelic imperfection.

Violated Violins, Slithering Zithers or Suchlike

From a poster in progress. They play experimental music, and gave me free hands to experiment myself...

Viola d'amore, obviously. (A little poetic license, but they do play the Viola da Gamba, cello and contrabass...) There's not too much room, making the already odd ideas odd in shape too.

The gang is in place (top) and the text roughly where it should, but there's no telling what might happen on the right side (you might hint an outline; soon subject to whim and change, not unnecessarily nonviolent). I hope to get surprised.

Suffering, Hope and Worn Messenger Pidgeons (Letrero por Dolores y Esperanza)

The wonderful thing about Dolores y Esperanza (the name on the letter) is that it means Suffering and Hope respectively, and it could be an actual Spanish name.

Being answered might bring suffering or hope.

Not being answered brings mostly suffering.

Happy Easter!

Dear readers,
Happy Easter!
(In Swedish and Spanish too.)

A little Easter egg for you, as thanks for keeping your eyes on Paintstakingly :)

You're very welcome to spread the image above -- just promise to keep it precisely as it is -- as your very own surreal Easter greeting!

(And below, voilà, you find 6 eyes only 4 your eyes only...)

Colourful Water Croquis, an Interlude

As my round oil wasn't staying in the same place as me this week, little progress has been made... Instead please allow me to serve you some croquis, from two different settings.

I've recently discovered the fun of using watercolours for this, adding the thrill to this already little odd situation (someone you don't know standing naked before you for arts' sake) that you can't correct or erase. I've found it to be good practice and education -- this way you have to draw correctly from scratch. Indigo, used for the quick poses, is particularly difficult to wash out, delightfully smudgy, very easy to do shadings with...

The most difficult thing -- as I'm no regular croquiseur -- is to think of the body merely as a body -- one attempt failed miserably as Beauty and Artist momentarily got accidental eye contact; quite distracting...

Getting Around to a Round Oil

A round, canvas coated cardboard with a bit of The Borrowed Garden in it; snowdrops, crocuses, a Blue tit and suchlike. My plan -- as there's no clear up or down, I really don't want any -- is to work spiralling outwards. I expect the underground towards the edges to be less sweet.



I've got no further than inking and (not) thinking. (Pencil goes too smudgy at once. But Ink seems to stay; nor does it interfere with the oil. Or at least it hasn't before.) Life is a little complicated right now with new music shows ahead, as well as an exhibition -- everything in May -- and as to getting this roundel finished I'm in despair. But we'll see.

Of Two Minds

Some people really can't decide. They give you the most different signs and signals, 'my heart is fixed, my mind's made up' -- there's only that actual decision left... They're Of Two Minds.

Ball point pen, Photoshop and for some pesky reason more butterflies. They had better tell me what they want now.

As humans, we're entitled to making decisions. We are not allowed to know beforehand where the decisions will lead; one might question if there's choice really. Of course there is! I am considering making a poster out of this, and you'll get our friend in many different combinations -- the one below is just one example, and if you can't choose, buy several. However, to increase the anxiety of choice, there shall only be one each, they shall all be unique. You're bound by choice. You're doomed to be free. You don't get away.

The Pilgrimage, with Nervous Butterflies

Dedicated to Ms. Titti

Dear readers;

In the line of Surrelism, or not, this won't be explained too thoroughly; for Life Quirketh and Turneth, and befoere you knoweth, you have grander problems than before...

This might be a butterfly...

And this one I don't know really...

Varia

Yours Sinc. has been quite busy in the service of Music this week -- upcoming concert -- and hasn't spent too much time painting. I've attended a croquis session -- might show you the result later -- and after that I got mildly criticized for posting small stuff, doodles and the like and not much in the way of masterworks -- it is not possible to do masterworks weekly. And one good thing about blogging is the continuity. So this, gentle reader, is Varia, or A Muddly Bit of Everything that I found lying about.

At least you haven't seen this: Ink-and-aqua on paper, half letter size; Mr. Ceder Introducing Himself.

Detail...

Why do they say Dog tired and not Cat tired? I think I am Cat tired. And this, I think, is a cat. Ball point pen -- they're underrated.

Doodling is good on the whole. That's how ideas are born. Here's the boat Little Myy (Lilla My) and a sea monster, made in the margin of something -- can't remember what now.

And with that we'll call it a day. Next week I'll bring you the masterwork... but I gravely doubt it.

Scull and Work Ethics

Woke up, and thought:

"No, Not now again!"
(It's no cheerful way to start a day.)
"Yet another morning, for no reason.
Yet another day in the unnecessary life of an artist.
And I'll go to bed hating the regular, normal-flawed society, in all flavours of hatred, and it'll hate me back, in all the currencies of hate."

And later I might think:

"Either they give us Citizen's Salary aka Basic Income Now.
Or they'll have to start selling Vodka Bag-In-Box.
Or else I don't know how to stand it anymore."

But first I had to draw this. Voilà.

Half People

(Sorry, poor lighting. I'm no photographer. And Swedish February is no lighting...)

This little oil I finished now on the most heartless Valentine's imaginable, it follows Friday 13:th nicely. It measures some 8x8'' sans thick edges, is named "Half People" and it was tossed off in the middle of this still ongoing exchange of notes between me and this dreaded Ex who is currently learning the art of stalking, including harassing my friends. (She had better stop...) It adds one dimension, though, to the halfness and loneliness -- we are all lonely, in one way or another -- reminding me of an expression in Yiddish that I happen to know (from clarinettist Messrow's wonderful book) and it is: Sei a mensch. Behave like a human.

I try to do, despite having to exchange black spades whilst others exchange red hearts... There are hints of swallows on the side -- utterly impossible in a winter landscape -- and try to stay calm. Impossible too. Some people aren't even half.