In no specific order:

Fiction:

She puts down the container of pecan-flavoured ice cream on the coffee table still holding a chunk of ice cream in her mouth. She leans back her head letting the cold cream melt down her sore throat. xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx x xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxx xxx xxxxxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx x xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxx xxx xxxxxxxx xxxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx Anyway, she thought to herself, with life comes death, with belief comes doubt and with no one to make proud comes indifference. Where to go after these realizations xxxxxxxxxxxxx? She blamed her eagerness to learn new things, to constantly add and stack information in her brain so that the voices had nowhere to go but to tell her to doubt. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx Not to inquire or pick on the scalp that covered the wound. The seed of sadness was to be kept in dry soil.

She cleaned her workspace wiping off dust from the tables and arguing loud in her head about her disorganised mess (that only looked organized on the surface). Another empty box was filled with little gadgets and tools, another box in a row of boxes that contained more or less the same mess of things. One day, one day when there is more time there will be order, she thought.

- One thing I will teach my children is not to get anything. As soon as you start to own things you are owned, she said out loud in an irritated voice. People who have order in their lives don’t have enough interesting thoughts. This being an opinion she would never say out loud. xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx x xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxx

The empty tables were filled with a heap of textiles from her storage of non-exhibited collections of dyed fabrics. They were oozing of frustration and unleashed emotions but what could she do, they existed. The heap would be used in a new body of work, xxxx xxxxxx, the gallery organizing the show was a small one. She was already disappointed. Sketching out the works in her notebook she was already in content. But the answer was there – xxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx x xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxx xxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx How is it possible to produce a work that you know from the start will be like a monkey on your back for years? But the voice in her head disagreed.
– You decided that everything is something. Failure is valued by the experience.          
– But also predetermined failure? Isn’t that just idiotic?

And so the answer and question started chasing each other like the chicken and the egg. xxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxx

5.5.2016

Reality:
xxxxx xxxx a few weeks ago I was talking with a friend about writing. (She is the one that has the brain that creatively and poetically best matches mine). I asked her what she had wanted to read from me. She answered

– About creativity.

xxxxx I was disappointed. I wanted to tell you about all the xxxxxxx xxxx xxxxx  things that have happened to me. xxxxxxx into the dark corners of my mind where there is xxxxxxxx never up. I wanted to tell you about my indefinitely xxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxx xxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx and never be alone anymore. I wanted to be completely egoistic and narcissistic and I want you to be there with me xxxxxxxxxxxxx. But – so, no, I will try to make this about creativity xxxxx.

6.11.2014

Fiction:
I remember I made a collage xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx on a xxxxxx xx rectangular cardboard, stretching out the human life span. From photos of new-borns to rioting teenagers, to loving couples to old looking people to obituaries and death. Xxxx xxxx mostly faces in the collage. I then asked one of my brothers to stand in front of it while I took a photograph. Xxxxxxx developed the roll xxxxx in the lab of my high school. My brother is looking away from the camera trying to look pretty and model like. Developing the photo it for some reason turned out too dark to show any clear details.

The house we lived in was too small for the amount of people we were. There was not enough space to create privacy but trying to I made myself a room in the basement. I decorated the room so that it looked like a mix between a 1920’s lounge and a hippie home from a 1970’s movie. Here I xxxxxx some space to be creative, devoting myself to my fantasies. Because the room was the passage to the laundry room I had to hide away private things (in order to avoid humiliation by my siblings) but if you weren’t supposed to do laundry (an activity reserved for my mother) you had no business passing through xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx . Here I could stay up as late as I wanted without being noticed. Knowing they were sleeping two floors up I could make xxxx xx noise without anyone hearing xxxx.

Just outside the entry of the room was the basement exit. It was a door that led not directly outside but to a small concrete culvert. By the top of the short staircase leading outside there was a heavy steel door in an almost horizontal angle. (Just like the one you see in older American movies that people in countryside rush down taking shelter in the cellar when there is a tornado approaching.) If you wanted to exit this way you had to use all your force to push the door with the top of the head, shoulders and hands to make the door move and open. In the small culvert my father had built a crude wooden shelf where apples from our  xxxxxx x trees were stored. They were xxxxxx xxxxx xx giving off a slightly sour smell. My father would sometimes xxx xxxx xxxx come down and collect a few apples to enjoy. The xxxx x apples xxxxx xxxx xx were the ones that we called cooking-apples. They had a rough peel, sour meat and were impossible for any child to enjoy. One bite would turn your face into a grimace as if you’d xxxx take a big bite out of a lemon. I think my father knew and almost treasured this insight, he knew those apples were his and that xxxxxx x keep us away. I think that insight made the apples taste sweet to him.

Xxxxxxx space xxxx x left by the shelf xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx I made a little arrangement with a wobbly chair xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx and a little round steel xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx that needed xxx bricks to support one of the legs xxxxx so the table wouldn’t tip over. In one of the corners x

Xxx xxxx xxx   xxxxxx x xxxx xxx   xxxxxx  made a hiding for an ashtray. Here I would sneak xxx in the middle of the night, sometimes lighting a candle, sometimes in complete darkness xxxx xxxxxx   Xxx and smoke cigarettes. I would sit there intensely listening for sounds of human activity in the house and to the sound of spiders and beetles crawling xxxx xxxxx xxxx. Here I would sit and pretend I was alone.
16.4.2016

Reality:

Finally I’m here, xxx xxxxx. Xxxx xxxx xxx xx I intend to avoid attending any events, preferably not to talk to anyone and not to get involved romantically with any xxx men. I feel exited and depressed at the same time sitting here with a freshly brewed coffee in front of my screen. I had some great xxxxxxxx the last days. My stay is paid for and is going to last for, at least, three months, I’m free and I finally have the time I’ve wanted for the past few years. So now what? (I met a man).

6.11.2014

Reality:

I thought; this is xxxx summer; as a fly came humming through the open window.

I leaned out the window. Looking down I noticed the dead rat. 

19.6.2016

Fiction:
You were sleeping and dreaming about an artwork. You took photos of the most alluring, sparkling garments You could find, close ups of the shiny sequins photographed with a flash so that they sparkled even more. You then photocopied the pictures onto cheap copying paper in black and white. You cut them into squares. The squares are then sewed together using black thread so that there are threads left bare between the squares but kept them hanging together… just by a thread. Rows of pictures are then sawn together so that it forms a giant collage that xxxx xxx show materiality and, xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxx xxxxx xxxx xx You see the collage as a gigantic overwhelming mass that will be twisting and turning xxxx xxxxxxx xxxx xxx xxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx. Xxxxxx xxxx You went to an exhibition of xxxxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxx xxxxxxxx xx and saw an artwork xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx x It was a paper that had been drawn up in squares and then painted on with, from what You can remember, yellow paint. Xxxxxxxx You understand this work was research on a mathematical level, xxxxxxxxx abstract of course.

You woke up thinking that must be the worst idea for an artwork You have ever thought of.

6.11.2014

Reality:

When I was in art school I received free haircuts as a hair model at a well-known hairdresser. I was a stage model and my job was to sit in front of a class while they were taught cutting and I was cut. This xxxxx xxx xxxx meant that I was also learning, listening and observing the cuts being done on the other stage models. I would get layers of makeup smeared on my face and horrible clothes that were meant to match the style of hair they were into. I had to sit still for hours on a strongly lit stage being viewed from every angle. The haircuts were often terrible and the colouring jobs done xxxxx awful. Or pretty and cool depending on your taste. After the sessions I would walk on the side streets back to my apartment, afraid that anyone I knew would see me and when I got home I had the longest hottest showers rinsing the looks and the compliments off me. After some weeks my hair rebelled back to itself and often after a month or two it actually looked good.
During a cutting session one of the hairdresser’s xxxx xxx told a story about a self taught colleague of his. This hairdresser, that he talked about, xxxxx xxxx xxxx was talented and had a promising career but revealed that although he started his cuts well he would often end up with a hole in his clients hair or a very bad cut. What he then did for the rest of the cut, unknowingly to the client, was to use his time trying to fix his failure. Xxxxxxx xxxx xxxxx xxxx In the end he somehow always made it. From all my years as a hair model this story left an impression on me; break it and then start trying to fix it, xxxx xxx as a perfectly accomplished method.

18.10.2014

Reality:
My fingernails have grown long, not in a pretty way. Xxxx xxxxx cut my fingers.
19.4.2016

Fiction:

Resolve

Photographed

everything to each other

last days

Riot on an empty street

xxxxxxx xxxxxxx

abstract and experimental

text

tease it

well…

I do

passion behind reason

xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxx

very irresistible

from the same mother

sprawling romantic landscapes

Hello

Corrections

xxxxxxxxxx

Its better to be yourself than a poor version of someone else

sometimes things go past without us noticing

xxxxxx xxxx xxxx

walk, don’t run

No wonder

after traipsing about in the wilderness

Coming

It’s more than fashion

One day I’ll grow up, xxxxx xxxx xxxxxxxx

game plan

mother of invention

No speed limit

the future is today

second skin

this side of winter

the hidden message

trance

Im much, too young

xxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xx

get behind me

apologies

content

don’t throw it away throw it back

Heart is where the home is

xxxxxxxx xxxxxx xx
the way you move

xxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxx xxxxxxx xxx…

I’m lucky I know, but I wanna go home

xxxxx xxxxxxxx

Please drink sensibly

things I love

I’ll show you the world in my eyes

For your pleasure

48 hours ago I was just another guy

Somebody asked us once what our worst fear was. We said losing control

Because we want to

Domestic goddess

xxxxxxxx xxxxxx

Your pretty face is going to hell

the bigger the better

it takes two to make it out of sight

xxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx

take it and run

The adoration

it’s no game

The thrill of it all

xxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx
recommended

wish you were here?

now and forever

the shock of the new

just do it again

the space between us

we’re one but we’re not the same

he’s family

the self issue

The unbearable lightness of being

Anger is an energy

I could have stayed at home and gone to bed

My family are the embodiment of beauty

xxxxx xxxxxxx
Funny how time slips away

How I see it

You’ll find me in my house keeping busy while I wait

Just a bit on the side please

It’s quite easy to do yourself

Whisper before I shout

It’s only words

If you want to enjoy the scenery