Thursday, November 17, 2011

DO IT YOURSELF - 100 years of Swedish handicraft


Some of my cross stitches are part of the exhibition GÖR DET SJÄLV - Hemslöjden 100 år that opened at Skövde Stadsmuseum last Saturday. I coulden't be there myself for the opening (because I was in Stockholm to see the Norwegian black metal/punk rock cross over Kvelertak) but my father was there to represent the family. Here are some pictures:







Friday, October 28, 2011

that legendary divorce is such a bore



This cross stitch is about family, about how sometimes it doesn't matter if you're connected by blood or by choice - family is family, even though you might not share the same genes. I've had the lucky fortune to have some people in my life that've always been there for me, always carried me through. I thought they deserved some recognition.

The quote comes from this song. Hopefully, some day I'll have the time to get it properly pressed & framed.


Tuesday, August 30, 2011

our house, was our castle and our keep / our house, in the middle of our street


So, I wrote a review about this book for a newspaper here in Sweden where a friend of mine works as an editor for the moment (nepotism, ftw!). It's not published yet & it's not really a big thing, but it got me thinking about how important certain places can become in your life. Not just the people that build them, by spirit or by hand, but also the buildings themselfes. The colour of the wallpaper, the grafitti in the bathroom, the carvings on the surface of a table. Layer upon layer of history in the making. Lifes & stories getting mixed & turned around just because you happened to be there just then.


These houses are not important just because they provide a space for alternative culture, for the kids, the rebels & the vagabonds, but also as institutions. As a very real proof that something can be built by joint effort & that together we can make a difference, demand a place & a voice in the public sphere. Because of this, the very personal relationship many people have to them, it's always a tragedy when one of them gets destroyed. When Ungeren died it was the end of an era, when Cyklopen was burned down it was like getting hit in the face. But as they say in the song - Vi har 69 i hjertet / We have 69 in our hearts. A new era has already begun in K-town & just about a month ago the first steps was taken of the construction of a new free culture house in Stockholm. These houses, together with hundreds others all over the world, provide a safe haven for some of us, a place where to find like minded people, to plan a revolution, to learn a craft, to live. They are worth fighting for & worth documenting for the world & the future.



Saturday, July 23, 2011

til ungdommen



Kanskje du spør i angst,
udekket, åpen:
hva skal jeg kjempe med
hva er mitt våpen?

Her er ditt vern mot vold,
her er ditt sverd:
troen på livet vårt,
menneskets verd.

Fearful your question, / Defenceless, open / What shall I fight with? / What is my weapon?
Here is your battle plan, / Here is your shield / Faith in this life of ours, / The common weal


I have nothing more to say right now.

Thanks to Linnea for making me aware of this poem.

Monday, July 11, 2011

do they owe us a living? OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DO.


A birthday patch for Siska. I've had the pattern for ages, but this is the first time I stitched it. Will try another version, with another type of aida, to make it a bit smaller. But I'm happy with the black back stitches framing it.




Wednesday, June 15, 2011

state violence / state control


Hannes Westberg, seconds after being shot by Swedish riot police at Vasaplatsen (Gothenburg) June 15th 2001. Some days after, while he was still struggling for his life in a hospital bed, a representative from the Social Democrats handed out red roses to the police working during the Gothenburg EU summit, for a job well done.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

and if I'm starving, you can feed me lollipops



Birthday gift for Anna. The quote comes from Manic Street Preachers & the rose pattern from my friend Doris.


 
'