This blue marble

– and yet it spins


Alice in Wonderland

lundIt is as if that tiny door is right there, at the end of the hallway. And when I walk through it everything will be upside down, the wrong size, and inside out. And I will end up attempting to play croquet with a flamingo. But first I need to find the bottle that says “drink me”. Perhaps just up those gorgeous stairs?

(The Grand hotel, Lund, Sweden; November 2017)

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Not stereotypes

tedx“I was a normal teenager until 9/11. After that I had to become an expert in terrorism, the Middle East, and ‘being oppressed'”, said Sara Salmani.

In the turbulences of our world, we often miss noticing how the hearts and minds of children are affected by the crises created by adults. Questions are asked, perhaps; stereotypes formed, for sure. And there is no pill for growing up overnight.

(TEDx Turku, Turku, Finland; November 2017)


Interlude: soft summer

pcaLovely ones, on to quite a different topic for once: color. It is an endless source of inspiration for me, even if my home has exactly three colors: some cocoa brown, mostly shades of gray, and a touch of turquoise. And now, finally, after decades of thinking about it, I had my own colors analyzed. I always thought of myself as a True Summer, but could not quite make mint green or light blue gray work. Now I know why. My coloring is one of those tricky neutrals, on a slider from the coolest colors slightly towards warmer, but still more cool than warm.

Soft summer is probably the most boring, flat, mousy color scheme out of them all. There is no white, only a light neutral like a sheet caught in the smoke of a campfire. There are no pastels, or colors with white added to them; instead all the light colors are diluted with a shade of gray.

But soft summer is also elegant, understated, polished. Like a bluebell on a slightly hazy dewy meadow. My gray cat’s paw, with lavender pads. Dusty old dried roses. There is depth to soft summer: aubergine, Douglas fir needle green, a deep slightly muted burgundy. ┬áThere is no real contrast: the differing but same-tone colors bring the picture to life. Like if you reduced a photograph of a hazy summer night meadow to black-and-white: you cannot tell what is what, and where the flowers are. But add color and all makes sense.

Now I need to get my head into a slightly more neutral, dusky, calm space. With a sense of revelation I have recycled a couple of garments I had always loved but which never seemed quite right. Mostly because they were either too cool or too light. And I cannot wait for spring to go hunting for seafoam, sage, and pistachio greens.

(Helsinki, Finland; November 2017)

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Lux Aeterna


O lux beatissima,
Reple cordis intima
Tuorum fidelium.
Sine tuo numine
Nihil est in homnie,
Nihil est innoxium.

Nothing is more stately than a choral piece in Latin, sung by candlelight. And Lux Aeterna is all about light. The words themselves mean eternal light. Perhaps in a bout of late-night inspiration, composer Morten Lauridsen searched through sacred Christian texts to find those infused with light, and piled them all after each other to a lovely, nearly half-hour choral piece.

Perhaps for some it is a reminder of a chance for salvation. Perhaps for others it is a reminder of undying, unconditional love. For me it is perhaps the most beautiful blend of words and music ever created. Which ever the reason for each one of us, the church was full tonight.

(Helsinki, Finland; November 2017)