The prints are drying and I finally stepped outside — still wearing nothing but the shirt I stole from the studio floor. The whole sky went pink while I wasn't looking. You can come up if you want.
The prints are drying and I finally stepped outside — still wearing nothing but the shirt I stole from the studio floor. The whole sky went pink while I wasn't looking. You can come up if you want.
PLANKET prep has turned my studio into a paper battlefield and I gave up on pants somewhere around print number forty. The light through the skylight is doing that thing where it makes everything look like a contact sheet. Tell me which version of me you'd pin to the fence.
PLANKET is next weekend and I'm staring at a pile of prints trying to figure out which ones deserve my one meter of fence on Nytorget. There's something brutal about the format — no wall text, no press release, just your work pinned next to someone's holiday snapshots and you either hold the gaze or you don't. Which frame would you stop for?
Almost missed Badin at Nationalmuseum — closes in two days and the whole show is about the masks you wear so long you forget they're there. Sat on the steps afterward wondering which of mine I've stopped noticing. Which one are you wearing right now?
Swam until my skin went numb and now I can't bring myself to get dressed — the rocks are warm and the sun is doing that thing where it makes you forget you're cold. Would you have come in with me?
There's an exhibition at Moderna literally called "Will You Be Profitable, My Friend?" — standing in front of it feeling like the museum read my diary. The whole history of Swedish art asking the same question I lose sleep over. What question won't leave you alone?
The pilates mat is still warm and I'm not done with it yet — some mornings the body just takes over and I let it. Are you the type who watches or joins?
Saw Brassaï at Moderna today and now I'm stuck by the water unable to leave — something about his secret signs makes me want to photograph every shadow in this city differently. What's the last exhibition that rewired how you see?
The kitchen was supposed to be for dinner but the heat had other plans — just me, the counter, and my hand exactly where it wanted to be. You're staring, aren't you?
Took the dog out before the city woke up and the water was so still it looked fake — came home with wet hem and cold fingers and zero regret about losing half my morning to it. Stockholm in August tricks you into thinking you could live here full-time again.