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Friday, April 15, 2016

Do I qualify as a Californian now?

I have purchased a pair of cowboy boots. In my defense, they were a steal. If anybody wonders, they are of the brand "Latigo". I am a little chocked and not sure how to relate to them yet. I put them on, and then quickly took them off. 
Cowboy boots are iconic. 
They stand for something. Do we have to stand for the same thing, me and the boots? 

How do I even wear these? Why did I do this? Maybe its a way for me to try to relate to 'Murica.
 I am now going to try to not feel guilty about it, and maybe not overanalyze this. 
Over and out. 

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Boris' Mugshot

Thinking of adding a stuffed body to this old fart, and dressing him up in a dirty night gown and a night cap.

Boris has lived a life as a introverted recluse for most of his life, but 6 months ago he was forced to move out of the house he had lived in his whole life, as his nephew Vlad wanted to gut the house, remodel and move his family into it. 

Vlad made all the arrangements for the move - Boris was soon moved out, and into one of the rat infested old Victorians on 58th Street.  

He has not uttered one word since the move and last night, as Augusta Watson in the apartment on top, had wrapped up her private, intensive home course in Balkan dance, there was a knock on her door. 

She opened, sweat dripping down her quavering voluminous body, and there stood Boris, dressed in his nightcap and gown, a cast iron pan in his hand. He knocked her over the head with the pan and stuffed a Tokyo Turnip in each of her nostrils, and a French Breakfast Radish down her throat. 

These are Boris' mugshots.

Sunday, April 10, 2016

Dancing her little heart out

I have a huge old steamer trunk that I bought off of a man on the side of the road. It has metal corners and remnants of leather bands along the edges. It's not necessarily a very practical piece of furniture, but it is so full of history and personality - I imagine a family in the early 1900 getting on a boat somewhere in Europe, maybe Ireland, escaping misscrop and starvation, headed for the new world! Their travel chest is packed with linens and only the absolute necessities. 

I filled the chest to the brim with all my fabrics, along with all the ideas and dreams for each one of them.

As of late,  Lilian puts on some music, picks out some fabrics and dances her little heart out. I would say this is a perfect use of my dusty old knits and wovens.

Saturday, April 9, 2016

Organic Process

Beach wood with seashells from a visit to Hawaii, a tiny nugget of beach glass, wrapped and framed with 14k gold filled wire.

I collect things in nature that are beautiful in their own right. Tiny, little nuggets of different shapes and materials are my favorites. 

For many, many years I have intended to turn my beach collections into jewelry, but it was just about a month ago that I first sat down with all my pieces in front of me, to attempt to create something beautiful. 

Some of my pieces will have a mixture of beach finds and interesting gems that I have sourced elsewhere, like this one, above, with a buttery colored druzy. Looks a bit like a popcorn to me!

My crocheted rocks have served as props for my shop photos for years. I move them around the house, to compliment a vase or serve as a paper weight. They were beach finds from years ago. I used some linen weaving thread to add a rustic element to the fine, intricate visual of the crochet. 

Check out my etsy shop:

Thursday, April 7, 2016

My Nearest

For the past couple of months I have been trying to get used to a new job and new circumstances. I have been thinking about the reason I am here and what might have been if I was not here. A passenger is what I feel like. No say in what the destination might be. 

It's hard to bury your roots somewhere, when you don't feel like you have actively chosen. I am still struggling with that after 13 years in this place.

 Where I come from is not just one thing. It's not just Europe, Sweden, the West Coast or Bohuslän.

It's also two of my siblings snuggling on a victorian café couch.

It's deep, dark and plush moss that I fantasize little forest creatures falling asleep on at night, under a canopy of ferns.

It's memories of childhood at Sinkan, the little house on the fjord, where nature was all around and so close that we were one with it.

Teaching and showing my daughter to feel free and connect with what is really important in life.

When my daily life is stirred up, and my income is not cutting it, and unexplainable forces seem to blow a hurricane right in my direction, this is the place that I return to in my mind. A place that I can grapple hook on to and although I'm dangling from a rope, I am still swinging from somewhere.