fragments.

I have this really strong impulse to take selfportraits right now. Portraits of parts of me. Fragments. I have been feeling a bit embarassed about it, as if I ought to be ashamed to want to picture myself. As if these fragments are too banal, too poorly executed. That I am such an amateur and why would anybody want to look at it.

And then I had this conversation with my sister. And she said that she understood the lack of connection I sometimes feel nowadays since I always get interrupted and have to get up and take care of something. She said she thought my existence must feel so fragmented.

And of course that is it.
My need to take pictures of parts of me are of course a way to put my feeling of fragmentisation out into the world. I just had to laugh out loud at how well she nailed it down :).

And allthough the word has negative connotations, taking the pictures make me feel happy and a bit more hole. So I will continue.

This last pictures is of marks baby L has given me. She bites!

I will be going away with the kids for a week to visit my father and his wife and I don't know if I will be able to post in during that week. Hopefully I will have the opportunity to do some textile art that B is fabulous at. If I don't get to talk to you, then take care and have a great week!

All my love to you!

a long talk much needed.

The other day, no yesterday, time is floating but it was yesterday. So, yesterday I went to rehearsal with Kajsa. We wanted to start of by having a cup of coffee in the sunshine and talk through maybe our schedule, the order of things, maybe read the texts through.

But instead we started talking. About all these things that have been stressing me out lately. How do you create a life that functions and still evolve into the artist you want to be? How do you balance the creative life and everyday life? What does being an artist mean to me, now? How to balance one's needs and the needs of the children and the household and looking for a job?

I wanted to recapture some of what we said, but notice now that it is difficult. And maybe the words weren't the essence. Maybe the essence was this:

Laying on a bench, listening to baby L moving about in the grass chewing on cones, gazing up into the moving leaves of a tree, being warmed by the sun shining through the foliage.

One thing that I bring with me in my heart, that she said is this:

I have felt shame for my need to be seen and to show my "art". Sometimes I feel like I'm still five years old, running to mummy, holding out what I made, desperate for acknowledgement - yes, my love, you are an artist. That five-yearold is still looking for recognition, so I hold out my drawings and writings to my friends, to you. Look! Look! And I have felt that maybe it is a bit pathetic. (Well, that was me talking, here comes:)

But Kajsa just said "Of course you want people to see! Who are we if we are not seen? Everybody needs the mirror of others. Especially when we are trying to evolve creatively. That is not something that can be done in complete isolation. At least not by most. To have other people see what we do and acknowledge it is essential."

So, I am so grateful for those words. And will continue to show up here to meet you. Because I need to be seen. And because I want to show you, if you feel like I do, that you are not alone. And maybe some day I will have the honor to be the one to also mirror you. It has happened once during the Playground Project and it totally lit my day up :).

To be mirrored properly, we also have to have the courage to be truthful and show ourselves as we are. No more, no less. The good and the bad. Our brightest glimmering sunsides, and our darkest muskiest shadows.  And we have to have the courage to welcome and see all those aspects in the people we hold dear. Easier said than done, I know. But isn't it necessary if we want to make this world a better place? If we want to be great parents? Friends? I will try to be as courageous as I can!

All my love!

I admit it. I feel lost again.

Totally.

And I wonder why it is that I have to do this: toss everything inside of me up into the air so often I never feel really settled. For a while I felt I was getting there. Slowly, but still getting there. Slowly polishing an illustration, and then another. Slowly brainstorming about ideas and slowly sorting through them to try and feel where I should lay my focus and when. Slowly reading books about creative business to see if I could learn of a way to do this.

Because I don't know.

I really don't know how all those other mothers do it. I don't. I read descriptions of work during naps, during nights and with baby by the feet. And I try. But I can't make it work. Naptime works ok sometimes. If we are not out walking. Which is usually when baby falls asleep. So I try to keep all my art and business things in a bag. Packing and unpacking and sometimes actually managing to bring what I need/want. Nights? What a joke! It is 9.30 now. Both children have been asleep for half an hour and I am nackard. My body almost pulling itself to bed as I write this. Baby by the feet? Yes. Every now and then that also works.

Maybe it is I who hasn't understood that, yes, it did take all those mamas months and months and months before something was finished. Maybe I have missed crucial information like: Oh, yes my youngest is five years now, during the baby and toddler years I just slept when I could.

Or maybe it is me.
I think it is me.
I seem to be more unfocused then others I know. And I am sure my insecurities are hempering me. The fact that when I see all the beautiful things that are done by other artists here on the internet I just want to sit down and cry. Because I feel so sure that I am just kidding myself. Who would ever want to take part in what I do? How can I even think for a moment that someone is actually going to by something I drew? Ha! And where are all those wonderful projects and artpieces I keep telling myself I am going to make? I never finish anything, do I?

And so on and on.
Until I feel so heavy I can barely move my feet. Except I have to.

I know what I need to do. I know I can't worry too much about what other people think. About what I think other people think. I know I cannot wait for somebody else's approval or pat on the back. I have to support myself. Cheer myself along. Inside me sits the child, still waiting for someone to say: of course you can do it! Your art is wonderful! And so are you! I know that I am the one that child is waiting for. I just don't know how to go about it yet.

Sometimes I think I am so used to my insecurities that I'll never really do what it takes to get rid off them. Like those old ugly jumpers you don't want to wear outside the house anymore, you don't really want to wear them at all, but you don't throw them away, you toss them back into the closet because you never know what could happen, or something like that. I do throw away old clothes more than other people though. Maybe it's my subconscious trying to be funny :).

Anyways, days like this I feel so blessed to have this outside my door. I love it. I do. It is so beautiful it makes my heart cry and sing at the same time.

Trees have a spirit. I am sure of it.

Love!
Robin

seven years.

Notebooks filled to the brim. Kept in boxes for a while. By my bed for a while. In the basement and most recently in a bookshelf. Seven years of something I felt I absolutely had to hold on to. Something probalby invaluable.

 

Today I looked to see what there was that was so necessary to keep. Page up and down with draining negative thoughts. List after list of how I ought to improve myself and my life. Boring notes from boring classes at the university. I mean, really. Robin, really.  

And so I lit a candle, paused to gather and center myself. And then I started ripping. I did find a few things I want to keep. Scraps of words. Hastily jotted down ideas of images or songs. Those, I shall keep. The rest - into the fire.

It is so easy to be held back by the past. I sure have been for so long. I know there is a lot I need to let go of in order to be free. And I have refused to do anything about it. Partly because one of the things (paradoxically) I need to let go of is the idea of myself as living my life as an artist. In the sence you can do when you are twenty something. Letting art always come first. Have all the time in the world to explore and evolve. Work late hours at the theatre. Live on lettuce for a month. It is not going to happen. I didn't become the at least rather good actress I know I could have been. I didn't become the singer and songwriter I know lives in my heart somewhere. I didn't go to London to live a wilder life for a couple of years. I didn't travel the world to collect stories. And I am probably not going to do those things either. I need to let go of those dreams, grieve them. They only prevent me from being the person and artist I am now. It is scary to let go of something that you have treasured for so long. And trust that what rises from the ashes can also be great. And more true to what I am today.

What do you have to let go of in order to be true to who you are today?

Love!

picture in progress.

I'm reading a book - about how to create a life that allows for creativity and artmaking. Hopefully I'll get down to writing a review when I'm done. One thing the author writes about is how you can see different "types" of creative persons. Few are just one of these types, most of us are a mixture of several. I am not going to delve into that right now - but attached to these accounts of the types were exercises especially made up to suit that kind of personality.

And one of the types, that are part of who I am - came with the exercise to make something, but not finish it at once. Just make a layer, or a part, and then leave it till next day. Make another part or layer and leave it again.

So, I am currently working on a sort of painting, collage, mixed media thing. It started like this:

Actually I did this a while ago. The first time I painted in years. For some reason I have felt that it is so grand to paint and I've just been doing these more "simple" illustrations instead. But one day I decided to take out the brushes and paint again and just give it a try. It was so much fun. I loved painting again. Then I looked at the picture. And I decided I hated it. And I hid it. But when I came across this exercise I decided the painting was perfect for it, and added a layer.

As you can see it is more than one layer. For some reason I didn't understand it's a perfect project for the blog until this evening. So what have I done? I painted more blue and white the first day. Then the day after I ended up with a pile of small pieces of yarn that I glued on. Next day, I hated the yarn and started tearing it of. Then I decided I liked it again, so let some :). Then I dripped som blue paint on the yarn. And today I glued on torn pieces of notepad paper. And now I have to wait until tomorrow to continue...

Love!
Robin

nightpacing.

I've been doing some nightpacing. With this second child there hasn't been much of it so far. With the first one we went out side every night with him tucked in a huge duvet walking for sometimes an hour or more while he struggled with sleep or the lack of it. Now he sleeps in his own bed accompanied by Teddy - only calls out for me when he has had nightmares. She has always been able to sleep rather well. But a couple of nights she or he has awakend and required some carrying and humming and stroking on the back.

And as the feet starts to pace the black floors of our appartment, so my thoughts start to travel darker grounds in my mind. "There is no way you can do it." "You have no money, just give up!" "Your art is ridiculous, as are you." Slowly numbing me and filling my legs and stomach with concrete. Heavy heavy heavy. For one day I just gave in to it. Did nothing. Hid in the closet for a little while. Looked at all my art supplies in there. Found a binder with old pictures and ideas for projects. Felt a tiiiiiiiny bit better. Had an apple. Went outside and blew soap bubbles from the balcony with my son. The delight and excitement of being up and outside late in the evening filling his voice with laughter. Slowly warming me up from inside. And now I think this:
"Everything is possible." "The darkness is not emptiness, it is a place to rest from all the input that bombards us all day and instead fall into peace and then new ideas." "Under my feet, pacing the darkness, are the hands of all my ancestors carrying me." And I feel good. I feel I am enough. I am scared, but also so happy and grateful for all that I can call mine.