Feb 3, 2014

YOUNG AND FOOLISH


I turned twenty- one yesterday.

We threw a Studio 54- themed party the night before with a bunch of my closest friends, everybody in their best 60's clothes and with their dancing shoes on, completed with sparklers, Andy Warhol- esque art hanging off the walls, raspy guitar tunes thrumming in the evening air and Lorde singing about cities we'll never see on screen. I danced through the night, glass of pink champagne in my hand, laughing and talking with everybody.

During one of those conversations one of my friends asked me how it felt like to be twenty- one. I hadn't really given it any thought yet so I said the first thing that came to my mind; that I felt better than ever before. As soon as those words came out of my mouth I realized they were very true. I really, truly, feel better than ever before: happier, calmer, more inspired and grateful beyond words for all the gifts life has bestowed upon me.

Love smiles through everything.









The incredible birthday cake was baked and decorated by my talented sisters.


Jan 9, 2014

NEW YEAR

January
I'm so very late at writing this - we are already a good week into the new year, the smell of burning sparklers has long since faded, resolutions have been made and broken. Sometimes the New Year's celebrations can seem a little bit silly, when you come to think of it -after all, it's just us humans who regard a certain day in the middle of the winter as the death of the old year, and the following morning as the birth of a new one. But there's just something so tempting about the idea of a clean slate, a new beginning, if only in our dreams. And at the same time there's something very natural about this cycle; first celebrating the bygone year at Christmas, then welcoming a new one on New Year's Eve.
   I love New Year's Eve -the feeling of anticipation in the air between explosions of fireworks, like the night sky is holding its breath, the bubbling champagne, your friends raising their glasses and dancing and laughing. Despite of this I had almost decided not to write anything about it this year, since it felt like I didn't really have anything to say. But then I started to wonder if there wasn't something in that nothingness after all.
   I've been trying to come up with some New Year's resolutions of my own; granted, there are things I wish to accomplish this year, but while I'm dreaming and planning, I can't help but feel like maybe setting my sight on some set goals isn't the best idea after all. When I look back at last year, there's a lot of happiness, but at the same time, many of the things I wished for didn't happen, and there were obstacles and disappointments. Certainly a lot of things I wouldn't have wished for on New Year's Eve, but then again, without those things I wouldn't have learnt some important lessons about myself. So, no resolutions this year, or maybe one: to learn to love the road as much as the goal, and to let the road take me wherever it wants.
February

March

April

May

June

July

August

September

October

November

December

Dec 23, 2013

MERRY CHRISTMAS

With these photos that I quickly snapped of my sister this morning on our yard I want to wish all of my readers a very merry Christmas, may it be beautiful and full of joy. Sending my heart out especially to those who are sad, may you find peace in your hearts.


Dec 16, 2013

BONFIRE HEARTS


The train is taking me back to the city through the blue hour of daybreak. Outside the windows there's  a thick mist rising from the white ground, the clouds hanging low and heavy with snow. It looks like it's late evening even if it's actually nine o'clock in the morning, the trees blurry, shadowy shapes in the twilight. The sun hasn't shown it's golden face for days -or weeks? I'm already loosing track- and this is how it's going to be for the next couple of months or so.

For me, as I photograph using only natural light, the absence of the sun feels especially devastating. I've felt really tired and disconnected from photography for a few months, my tight work and school schedules allowing me almost no time at all to let my soul roam free and get inspired. Now as we are plunging into the long winter time I'm slowly starting to feel that familiar pull again, a longing to hold a camera in my hands and to chase pictures through the wilderness. New ideas and thoughts seem to be flocking around me somewhere in the darkness, just out of my reach but very very near.

I'm traveling back to the city for only a few last days of work before I return to my hometown for a week- long Christmas holiday, and I'm already dreaming of photo shoots in the winter light, exploring the forest that's strange and beautiful and silent under the snow. Until then I'm posting photos from the summer that already feels like a honey- sweet dream.










Dec 11, 2013

WE PROMISED NEVER TO GROW UP


Happy birthday beautiful sister,

We all promised never to grow up, and yet here we are-
but at least hold on to your kindness and your adventure lust, your curiosity and your playground eyes and your starlight
and your loving bonfire heart.




Oct 27, 2013

GOING WHERE WE'VE NEVER BEEN


We arrive in the small town of Garda in Italy past midnight after an exhausting twelve hour travel by car, plane, bus, train and taxi. I'm sitting dead tired and half asleep in the front seat of the taxi, and if I'm honest with myself there's a part of me wishing that I had just stayed at home - but then we turn downhill to the hotel and I catch a glimpse of the moon and the stars from the car window, and suddenly my mood lifts and I feel my adventure lust returning.

The next morning the hotel bus takes us down to the beach and the Garda lake spreads in front of us in its dreamy azure vastness, the opposite shore disappearing in a thick mist. We walk along the shore and pick up small shells that are purple inside and colorful stones that we put in our pockets, getting accustomed to the air that smells like ciders and pines and salty water.



Breakfast croissants at the bus stop.

Hiking up on the mountain to see the statue of a saint.

Every day we make trips to nearby cities by bus. In Lazise we walk among the washed-out pastel beach houses, the wonderful off- season quietness casting an almost eerie spell on the place. I try to imagine how the place might look like in the summer, with the sun blazing and the seagulls screaming. We slink inside a small white church and light a candle under the watchful eyes of saints carved in tree, and I'd like to think that the flame is still softly flickering there in the darkness, although I know that's not possible.




In Verona we go and see the balcony of Juliet and despite the chattering crowds of tourists around us, shouting and taking pictures in front of the bronze statue of Juliet, it feels really special to be standing there.

Every street corner has a gelato stand and I try more flavors than I can remember -pistachio, amaretto, peach- everything is delicious. Most nights we stay up late and sit around the table at our hotel, four sisters far away from home, eating bread and cheese and drinking red wine while talking and planning new adventures.



In Malcesine the cable chair takes us high up on the mountain of Monte Baldo and the landscape of snow covered mountains and a shimmering misty lake far down beneath us is wild and cold and beautiful.

One day we take the train to Venice and the city is lighter and airier than I had imagined, rising from the blue- green water with its countless bridges and canals and weathered houses, glowing in pearly colors under the sun like it was born from the sea. Hand- written scribbles on the walls guide us towards San Marco through impossibly narrow alleys and corners. We drink our cappuccinos outside a small cafe listening to a trio of street performers play Vivaldi and it feels like the music is Venice itself, a song of this maze of streets where spirits of decades past might still be wandering around, lost and trapped. But being trapped here feels more like a dream than a nightmare.
 










We spend our last day in Italy drinking tea in a beach cafe by the water, watching lake Garda disappear in a thickening fog, like it's going to fall asleep once we are gone.




(There first two pictures were taken by my sister Inga.)