Life

Scars

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”
―Khalil Gibran

Heart

We’ve all got scars – on the inside, if not on the outside.

It’s been a rough week. I thought long and hard about what I wanted to write about – decisions, depression, death – but I want to try and end this week on a more upbeat note. I know, Dear Reader – scars aren’t the most upbeat of subjects, hence the more part.

Lately, I have been spending a lot of time in self chosen isolation, pondering my life and what I have to deal with. As I wrote last week I’ve begun (or rather restarted) a difficult project that has me revisiting a lot of painful memories – wounds inside of me that have yet to heal. I’m hoping that by end of this I will have turned them into new scars instead. Scars are a good thing, really – they are proof that we have healed and recovered, stronger than what was before we were wounded. Every scar comes with it’s own story and it’s own lessons, helping to shape who we are. Many cultures have used scarring in one form or another as rites of passage; proof that the person carrying them has matured into a new role – as an adult, as a member of a certain tribe, to fulfill a certain function in society.

Scars have power.

Most of my scars have been on the inside, until recently. As part of my healing process – and as a rite of passage of sorts – I chose to display my inner scars on my skins in the form of a tattoo (a small part of which you can see above). That step has really helped me work through things and move forward, a visualized turning point in my life.

Regardless of what wounds we have suffered in our lives – physical or psychological – the important thing is that we have survived them. We’ve dealt with the pain, gone through the healing process, and we’ve moved on. We’ve changed. In some cases it has made us stronger, in other cases weaker, but in all cases it has made us wiser and more experienced.

So whether you show them or hide them, whether they are on your body or on your soul or both, be proud of your scars. They helped make you who you are.

Portrait: Robin Williams

“Other people have left the room, but rarely has the room been left so empty. “
―Frank Menser, on the death of Robin Williams

RobinWilliams

Robin Williams Portrait

I never had any plans of creating this portrait – it had never occurred to me that Robin Williams may have been part in shaping who I am. Silly me.

My first memory of him is from the sitcom Mork & Mindy. I must’ve been around 9 when I saw it and it definitely left an impact. To this day I can remember scenes from several episodes, storylines, and a surprising amount of detail from the show even though I haven’t seen it in at least 25 years. Possibly more. After that he appeared in several movies I found entertaining but not remarkable – Popeye, Moscow on the Hudson, Baron Münchausen. It wasn’t until I saw him in Good Morning, Vietnam that I really started to appreciate him, I think. As I grew older, and I saw Dead Poets Society – an amazing film that remains one of my favorite movies – The World According to Garp, The Fisher King, Good Will Hunting, Hamlet, Insomnia, One Hour Photo, etc, etc and I realized that his genius shone brightest in his serious moments.

The news of his death reached me at a time when I was more vulnerable than usual, but it still surprised me how affected I was by it. As the news spread across the internet I was left in awe of how many people felt so strongly about him, and I think nothing sums up the loss as beautifully as the quote at the top of this post – words uttered by a friend of a friend. Without a doubt he was one of our most beloved actors and comedians.

Robin Williams was an expert at portraying haunted, wounded men – no doubt because he was one himself. He was fairly open about his struggle with addiction and depression.  I chose to portray him this way – in contemplation, with the Red Knight behind him – because he urged us to remember both the good and the bad when a person dies, to not mythologize them. He fought against his inner demons all his life, bringing joy and happiness to so many people. In the end he may have lost the fight, but he fought well and he fought hard. That’s the way I want to remember him – as a man who stood up against his dark knight, persevering and rising to greatness in spite of it.

Mr Williams, your table is ready.

Into Darkness…

“The more suffering that I go through, the greater character I’ll have. “
―Mindy McCready

TunnelBorder

I crashed – big time.

After weeks of inadequate sleep – induced by heat waves, back problems, thunder storms, alcohol and exploring some of the darker tunnels of my mind – my body finally gave up. Coming home yesterday I took a nap on the couch and woke up with a headache. Figuring dehydration and sleep deprivation, I drank a fair amount of water, made some food and settled back on the couch to doze off to the first season of my favorite show. I barely managed to finish my meal before the headache escalated to migraine levels, cold sweat broke out on my brow and nausea kicked in. An hour or two and multiple rushed trips from the couch to the bathroom floor and back, I drifted off.

For the first few hours, sleep was interrupted by feverish dreams and threats of having to run to the toilet again, as well as the 30 second loop of dvd menu soundbite. I regained coherency long enough to mute the tv, move the wet towel from my face to the table and pull some blankets over my still shivering-but-sweating body, then I passed out.

Seven or so hours later the alarms in my bedroom roused me from sleep. Stumbling in there and turning them off, I passed out on the bed instead and slept heavily for another three hours.

Today I feel rested but weak – my insides too big for my body, my brain not quite wanting to cooperate.

I have managed a bit of thinking between yesterday and today though, and I found what I was looking for in the recesses of my mind: the splinter that has been poking at me for eighteen months now. I still have no place to put it down, therefore I will create that place. This will be a difficult process Dear Reader, so please bear with me – I will spend a lot of time in this darkness. I’m far from seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, but I am fairly certain I know the way back out. I have 113 days. I’ll get there.

Now, I have work to do.

Portrait: Martina McBride

MartinaMcBride

48 years ago today, Martina Schiff was born in the small town of Sharon, Kansas.

She grew up with music all around her, listening to country albums after school and performing with her family in their band ‘The Schiffters’. In 1988 she married John McBride and the two moved to Nashville to pursue careers in country music. John, a sound technician, became the concert production manager for Garth Brooks and Martina went on tour with her husband.

Her professional career began while she was selling t-shirts on tour with Garth. The country star was sufficiently impressed with her that he offered her the position as his supporting act if she could get a record deal. Martina recorded her demo with the help of her husband, put the tape in a purple envelope and sent it off to RCA records – boldly marking it as ‘requested material’ to ensure she would be heard. It worked like a charm. Martina signed with RCA and released her debut album ‘The Time Has Come’ in 1992, following up with a more modern sound on ‘The Way That I Am’ the year after. That’s when I first encountered her music.

In late October of that year I was sitting on the floor in front of the TV – an angsty soon-to-be unemployed 18-year old with no real direction in life – lazily channel surfing to pass the time. I flipped to CMT Europe just as the video for ‘My Baby Loves Me‘ began, heard the opening chords, and suddenly Martina’s larger-than-life, impossibly blue eyes filled the screen. I was transfixed. The very next day I went out to buy her record. A few weeks later I sat on a bus in Stockholm, looking out the window and my eyes fell on a concert poster. As fate would have it Martina was the opening act on Garth Brooks’ upcoming world tour, and they were coming to Sweden! I had not heard of Garth Brooks at the time, so I bought a ticket solely to see Martina.

On April 23rd 1994, five months after first hearing her, I sat in the middle of the 4th row and saw her perform live – it was a wonderful show, and besides playing songs from her albums she did an absolutely beautiful rendition of Patsy Cline’s ‘Crazy’. That summer – 20 years ago now – I joined her fan club (member number 828), and I have been a devoted fan and fan club member ever since, watching her career develop from up-and-comer to established country super star. Sadly, I have only been able to see her live twice more, and so far I have only met her once (at the Merritt Mountainfest of 2002).

Over the years she has released ten studio albums, one live album, and three compilations – and she has appeared as a guest on many more records, and she has performed with a number of great artists and won many awards. Martina has always been aware of social issues – many of her albums have included songs and videos raising awareness about everything from drunk driving to domestic violence to breast cancer, and she has been active with a number of charities and fund raising auctions. I really admire that quality of not shying away from uncomfortable issues, speaking out about difficult things through her music and her fame. I won’t go into further detail about her life and career here though, Dear Reader – that information is easily available elsewhere on the internet for those of you who are interested.

The decision of how to portray her here was a very difficult one, and it has taken me weeks of thinking and considering different approaches. In the end I chose to depict her as she was when I first discovered her, twenty years ago, and to just keep it simple and clean. The original is A4 size, charcoal crayon on paper.

Martina McBride has without a doubt been one of the most important artists I’ve listened to in my life, and I can safely say that I would not be who I am today if I hadn’t discovered her music when I did. So on that note:

Happy Birthday, Martina – I hope I get to follow your career for another twenty years!

I Do Not Want You To Like Me

“Don’t compromise yourself – you’re all you have.”
―John Grisham

EyeRainbow

Yes, you heard me right, Dear Reader – I do not want you to like me!

That’s not why I’m here, not why I am doing what I do. It’s not why any of us are here, really. To be liked. Don’t get me wrong – I have a need for affirmation just like anyone does. But being liked is not the important thing. Being true to myself is.

There’s little to be gained in trying to be what other people want you to be; no real reward from doing what other people think you should do. Striving to be liked will probably get us friends, some benefits, maybe even a lot of good things – but we will be empty, worn out, thin. Like butter scraped over too much bread. If we choose that path, we will leave ourselves by the wayside and arrive as less than we were to begin with. Saint Augustine, 5th century Bishop of Hippo and Christian philosopher, once said “Attract them by the way you live.” That sentence holds a lot of truth for me. People will largely ignore what we say if our words do not match our actions. The way we live acts as an example for everyone we meet, for better or for worse – the people we want to be are largely irrelevant, except as a standard and a goal for ourselves. Other people rarely care about that, though.

Instead of striving to be liked, accepted, welcomed, I feel we should strive to be better versions of ourselves. We need to take others into account, of course – a society where everyone thinks only of themselves is doomed. No one likes a selfish bastard. We only have this lifetime to build our story and our reputation in the world – when we are gone from here, our actions and personality will live on in the memories of others. Or be forgotten by them.

I’m reminded suddenly of a poem by one of my favorite poets, Lord Byron – written in 1803 when he was only fifteen:

A Fragment

When, to their airy hall, my father’s voice
Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice;
When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride,
Or, dark in mist, descend the mountains side;
Oh! may my shade behold no sculptured urns,
To mark the spot where earth to earth returns!
No lengthen’d scroll, no praise-encumber’d stone;
My epitaph shall be my name alone:
If that with honour fail to crown my clay,
Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay!
That, only that, shall single out the spot;
By that remember’d, or with that forgot.

I will not strive to be liked – instead, I will strive to be the best Me that I can (and probably fail by far in reaching that ideal – I’m only human, after all). I will try to let my actions and my work speak for me and give testament to the kind of person I am. Show, don’t tell, as the old writer’s adage says.

I do not want you to like me, but I hope you will. More importantly I hope you will like what I do. Or that I will at least affect you in a positive way.

Never again…

“Our lives are defined by opportunities, even the ones we miss.”
—F Scott Fitzgerald

SummerSkyA friend of mine nearly lost ten days worth of writing this week when his computer crashed and took the latest back-up with it. In the end his work was saved by extracting the hard drive, but the computer was beyond rescue.

If you’ve payed attention on here you may know that I am all too familiar with that deepest circle of digital hell into which malfunctioning computers can bring us. I wasn’t as lucky as my friend. Not only was my computer beyond rescue, it took the entire back up drive with it. Over three hundred poems, thirty short stories, the first draft of a novel and several works-in-progress had been turned into unintelligible strings of random letters, symbols and numbers – the occasional recognizable word thrown in for good measure. As if to remind me of what I’d lost. To add insult to injury I then lost a notebook containing eight short story manuscripts.

I was devastated.

For years after that I did not write any prose or poetry worth mentioning. At best I managed repetitive journal-like entries, character descriptions, and snippets of story ideas. I knew I had most of the poetry and a lot of the short stories in my notebooks, at various stages of completion. It would be easy to just open the books and turn them into finished works again. But I waited.

Slowly I began writing again, jotting down first drafts in long hand and noting down story ideas and even some outlines, but I refrained from typing them into the computer. Years passed – some of what I had written was lost as notebooks disappeared or were damaged – and I starting typing again. Saving things. Completing things. Eventually I decided to make use of all the material I had left from before ‘The Tragedy’. That’s when I came face to face with the magnitude of the lie I had been telling myself.

563078_10151583411406147_91892759_nYou see, Dear Reader, what I had recalled as near-complete drafts were barely outlines, what I had thought to be finished stories turned out to be a few hundred words at most, what my memory told me were detailed story ideas often ran no more than a sentence or two. A lot of what I found didn’t even make sense anymore, and some of it was written in a hand I barely recognized now – words, sentences, pages I could only guess at interpreting. A complete outline that I knew was in one of my more recent notebooks was nowhere to be found.

I have spent the past year and a half meticulously going through all of these pages to hunt down the broken, unfinished, stillborn stories hidden within. I’ve marked where everything is, sorted through it all and made decisions on what to salvage and what to leave behind. Only the prose, mind you – I won’t even think about touching the poetry. It’s been painful and I have learned my lesson.

These days I keep between three and seven copies of everything I store digitally: one copy on the stationary computer, one on the laptop, one on a usb stick I carry with me almost everywhere. Each month I also back everything up to an external drive which remains isolated from my other systems when I don’t use it, and anything i finish also ends up in my web mail and other cloud services. Some of it even goes on the removable memory card in my phone. Never again will lose all of my work in one fell swoop.

Never again.

The ties that bind…

“I must lose myself in action lest I wither in despair.”
—Lord Tennyson

Night

So here we are again, Dear Reader – another week, another post. Once again life has kept me occupied enough to neglect the things I do not have to do. Mostly, the distracting tasks have been things like money making and friend tending, so I’m inclined to say I haven’t actually wasted much time. That does not change the fact that I haven’t accomplished what I felt I should. We are most likely to complete tasks that are expected of us – I’ve spoken before of the dual edged sword of deadlines – and so I thought it high time that I bind myself to Your expectations by outlining my goals here, in public, to You.

When I began updating this blog on a regular basis, my goal was a modest weekly post on what was going on with me and my creations. Back then, I did not really have any readers at all (nor did I really expect them). Needless to say, things have changed. To keep your interest as well as my own – and as a stepping stone to finally catching that elusive beast I call Routine – I aim to uphold a loose goal of 3 posts a week:

  • ‘Word of the Week’ – shall remain on Mondays, although I may be mixing it up occasionally and may try to make it a little more interesting.
  • My weekly ‘Life’ update, complete with quote and recommendations – I’m not sure if I will keep this on Fridays, or if I should move it. Time will tell, I guess.
  • In addition to those regular installments, my goal is to post some other content each week, be it in my ‘Portrait’ category, a presentation of a drawing or mini story, or maybe something completely different. But something, at least.

In addition to this attempt of creating some predictability and pattern to what you can expect from me on here, I will also try to maintain monthly goals for my creative endeavors. Each calendar month, I aim to write a minimum of one short story (or the equivalent for a larger project) as well as produce one piece of art (drawing, painting, sculpture or the like). Meanwhile, I will also try to make this site grow by adding more content.

So there you have it! I have now bound myself to You, Dear Reader, by my word and on my honour! Please use Your new-found power over me in a kind manner…

…I know who You are.

Independence

“The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new.”
—Socrates

SunTree

On this 4th of July in the year of Our Lord 2014 I celebrate my own Independence Day.

Once again my home is entirely my own (for good and bad) and I am Master of my own time (also for good and bad). Given the new routines imposed upon me by sharing my home with a lodger – one of my best friends, actually – I think I have a better chance than ever of carving out a proper use of my time. I know, Dear Reader – I said ‘better’; which is not necessarily the same as ‘good’. It will still take effort and discipline to avoid falling back into my old ways, but my plan is to seize this opportunity and step up to the challenge.

I visited my favorite tree today – a massive horse-chestnut. It sits in the corner of a graveyard here in central Stockholm, thick long branches reaching high into the sky, massive roots digging deep into the earth among the graves. It has borne witness to many of the twists and turns in my life and its shade is a place of meditation and reflection for me. I can spend hours reclined on the bench beneath it, just staring up into the crown, mulling things over; gathering strength. I like to imagine that it carries the essence of those buried beneath it, its branches, leaves and flowers a noble extension of their lives. I love trees. There are few living things on this earth than can aspire to the longevity, usefulness and quiet powerful grace of a tree. So many species of tree stand for centuries – even millennia – while us humans mill about beneath them. In comparison, we are mere day-flies.

From the viewpoint of a massive oak, our lives are short and meaningless. Any change we can bring about in our brief existence passes in the shedding of a leaf. Then again, nothing ever really changes anyway, only the way we look at things. To change anything significant in our lives we must change our view of the world first. Being witness to (and part of) the beginning of independence in the life of another is both inspiring and sobering. If we can do it in our early twenties, why not later in life as well? We can all take those first steps toward something new and different that gives our lives direction and a fresh start. All it takes is the courage to build momentum and make that leap. Sure, we might fall – but maybe, just maybe, we will fly…

TreeCemetary

Godspeed

“Can miles truly separate you from friends… If you want to be with someone you love, aren’t you already there?”
―Richard Bach

Godspeed

As some of you may know I have housed a lodger for the past two months – one of my newest and dearest friends. Today marks the end of that arrangement, as she is getting the keys to her own place. The move itself will likely stretch out over several days to a week and might keep me a bit busier than usual. My aim is to try and keep up my schedule for this site and my creative pursuits, but in all honesty that schedule has already been broken. Twice. So I’ll throw all pretense to the wind and say that any updates you get the coming week should be seen as a bonus. In the midst of the usual insanity I am also recuperating from my back injury (quite nicely I might add), processing the upcoming final episode of my favorite tv series Californication, as well as saying good bye to the manager of the coffee shop I frequent – which brings me to the topic of today’s ramblings:

Transitions.

Life changes on us, constantly. I’d go so far as to say that change and death are the only two certainties of life. However, we should not view change as a series of endings and beginnings – after all, very few things ever truly end. Most of the time things change and transition into something else; something new and uncertain or something familiar and safe. If we are lucky those changes bring more good than bad. Now, I don’t know about you Dear Reader, but for me the past few years have been full of apparent endings; full of new beginnings and fresh steps taken. Yet when I try to think of them I realize that they all flow together and mix into one another: one new thing in my life would not – could not – have come into being unless the old made way for it. A lover turns into a friend; a friend to a flirt. A job opportunity turns to dust, leaving time for fresh assignments. Circumstance and chance turn a casual acquaintance into a deeply beloved friend. If we do it right, life will keep throwing these changes at us in the best of ways, granting us opportunities and wisdom in return for our short comings and failures; for our rejections and misadventures.

Everywhere we go the events of our lives morph and change and twist away from us so they can deliver new gifts, new challenges, new experiences. Without the tumultuous events of the past year and a half I would not have a lodger to say my farewells to – might not even have this friendship, even – and what a loss that would be! These months have brought with them the unexpected side effect of better routines, higher productivity and a much larger enjoyment of life. How then could I possibly view this as the end of something? While sad to see her go I am also happy and excited to have been part of this interlude in her journey to her own corner of the world and all that it entails. I’m delighted to see her off, knowing that her influence on my life will remain in ways I could never have expected when she first carried her boxes and bags over my threshold.

This post turned a lot more personal than what I had initially planned, and I hope I haven’t bored you too much with the details of my life. It is a hazard of using late nights to write about emotional subjects, I fear.

Godspeed my friend, and fare the well – may the lilies of peace line your path, and may you find a rainbow behind every turn!