Time Is a Curious Thing.

Time is a curious thing. It moves ever forward, shape shifting continuously.

When I wake up in the morning and I have five hours before I have to go to work, time feels rich and available in e good way; “I’ve got time to do some drawing this morning…” So I get up, make some breakfast and get stuck scrolling on facebook, reading all the latest imbecile tweets from the man in the White House that is supposed to be a president. Suddenly an hour has passed and the initial feeling I had that I couldn’t wait to get down in the basement to my studio to work on whatever it is I am working on, has faded.

I look out at the mess in the kitchen and I realize I need to do the dishes before I go to work. I hate coming home to a mess. So I fill up the kitchen sink and put all the dishes in there. I finish breakfast and forget about the dishes as I realize I have to run to the store. Another hour has passed and I don’t know how, but it is now 10 am already and only two hours until I start my shift and who came up with the idea anyway, that we have to be at work for eight hours a day, five days a week? I’d like to have a word with that guy, because I have a lot of other things I would like to fill my day with.

I make some breakfast for my wife and go wake her up. As I do that I am once again reminded that I need to write an update for the fundraiser I started for her several years ago. She has late stage Lyme Disease and a long line of other tick borne illnesses. She has been treating for years with some small success but a lot of setbacks and no end in sight. We have gotten a lot of donations over the years, but these things are so hard to treat and there is little to no support to get from authorities. We have paid a lot more than what we have gotten in donations.

When you are sick with Lyme, you fight your own battle, pay for your own medicines, because almost nothing is covered by insurance, even when you are on Medicaid.

Another 20 minutes go by and I wake up my wife again. She has a hard time waking up. After a third attempt, she stumbles out of the bedroom and into the living room and crashes on the couch.

If you didn’t know it already, living with Lyme is a nightmare.

I’ll have to write a fundraiser update tomorrow instead. I have to because she is running low on several of her medications and I can’t not buy them. We HAVE to come up with the money somehow. Maybe if I get a second job? But how would I have time for a second job, I am already working 40 hours/week?

Eleven AM comes around and now it’s almost time to start thinking about getting ready for work. Damn, I forgot I was going to rake the backyard after the weedwacking I did last week. I borrowed a rake from our landlord three days ago…oh, well, I’ll have to do it tomorrow when I am not working .

After checking my email, which are all either spam, or reminders of bills that need to get paid, it is time to go to work, so I put on my worn out Carhartts that I got at Goodwill for $5.99, four years ago. They have served me well, but they won’t last much longer. I got my Whole Foods cap hat covering my wild bushy hair that really also needs some weedwacking, but there never seem to be any time or money to go to a hairdresser so a baseball cap will due for now.

I spend eight hours at work, stacking dairy products on the shelves and at the end of my shift, I get on the bike, go home to get the car, drive to the yoga studio (where we practice for free in exchange for cleaning the studio) to pick up my wife. If it is a hot class, she will sweat out some of the toxins in her system and it makes her feel a little better for a couple of hours. If the class was cold, she will be in pain for the rest of the night and all next day.

We pick up some dinner and go home to cook.  Oh, that’s right, I never did the dishes, so the kitchen is a mess. I just push everything aside for now and get on with cooking. We feed the animals, our only companions and loyal friends, before we sit down to eat.

The evening passes and suddenly it’s 2 AM and time to go to bed.

When I wake up in the morning, I will drain the sink of the cold dish water and fill it up again.

Maybe tomorrow I will do all those things I didn’t do today.


Image may contain: sky, cloud and outdoor

Somehow I still found time to make this. Color pencil on paper. Sun sets in Santa Fe. Car lot on the corner of Cerillos and Monterey.


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It’s All Too Much


“For Lease”, Color pencil on paper, 2017

There’s too much stupidity going on in this country right now.
Too many loud voices screaming for war.
Too many shady characters coming up to the surface in the wake of the election.
Too much greed. Too much of “take from the poor, give to the rich” mentality. Too many politicians think they are above the people. They point their finger, quote the bible and come up with ideas like drug testing people that are applying for financial aid or food stamps. They say the minimum wage is too high and they are not ashamed to say it. They say $15 / hour is unrealistic but at the same time they themselves make millions.

A Republican lawmaker in Oklahoma recently said that “rape and incest is the will of God…” in defense of his stand on anti abortion rights.

Too much hate. Not enough love.We have a president who pretends to be Christian, who pretends to care for the children of Syria while at the same time he has done everything in his powers to make sure they don’t get into our country. We kill them, we run them out of their homes, we slaughter their families and destroy everything they have, then we refuse to help them when they come to us asking for our support.

Where is the Christianity in that?

Who are these people who think they have the right to decide who gets to live and who will die? What on earth made them think that they have some sort of divine powers to make those decisions?

It’s all surreal. These people cannot be living in the real world. They must not have the same every day problems that regular, hard working people face all the time. They must be living in a bubble. They certainly are not representing anyone I know.

The people I know work hard for very little money.

The people I know treat others well and with respect.

The people I know are more patriotic and a hell of a lot more Christian than those that constantly have to claim how Christian they are.

The people I know would help a stranger.

The people I know have empathy for those in need.

The people I know have love and curiosity for the unknown.

This person sitting in the white house now, playing war is not a man. This person is a fraud and those that are backing him are on the wrong side of history and they are bringing us all to a very dangerous place with their games.

It’s all too much. (this also happens to be the title of one of the best Beatles songs ever…)

Think about it.



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All My Friends I Have Never Met.


“Coming Home From Work”, color pencil on paper, 11″x 14″, 2017.

I am a team member at Whole Foods. I currently work in the prepared foods department and I am one of the people serving customers the food we make. In that roll I am one of the faces representing the company and as such I have to always try to be in a good mood and be nice to customers even when they act like ignorant, needy, spoiled kids. Thankfully most people are great, but every once in a while one comes around who just seem to be there to insult you and tell you how much they hate Whole Foods and what a shitty job you’re doing. I can see past that, knowing that it’s not me, but something lacking in this person’s life is causing him or her to act this way.

When I hand over the product the customer is purchasing, I usually tell them something like “Here you go my friend”and in my head I have played up a scene where a customer will reply “How do you know I’m your friend” or “I’m not your friend” or something like that.

My answer in that imaginary scenario is always: “Well, I’ve never met you before, so you can’t be my enemy.”

And that is how I believe we have to view the world. How can we think of someone we have never met, someone we know nothing about, as an enemy? How can we talk about an entire people or an entire religion as our enemy when we have never crossed paths with  them, or lived among them?

In my life so far, I have met a lot of people in a lot of different places. I met a lot of friends in my days as a travelling musician and I have met a lot of people who I feel are friends of mine since I moved to the US. I often think about places I have never been and I wonder who my friends are there that I haven’t met, that I may never meet. Maybe there’s a guy fixing cars in Tallahassee, Florida, who is a really good friend of mine? Maybe there’s a Muslim man from Iraq driving a cab in New York who I would become friends with if only we met? Surely there’s an older lady in Minnesota who could tell me some fascinating stories about her Swedish ancestors while making some amazing cookies and coffee that we could share sitting on her porch, overlooking the plains outside her family home?

There are friends all over the world that we will never meet. Why do so many of us think about the unknown as scary? Why do so many of us believe that those that are different from us automatically become our enemies? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Shouldn’t we consider all the strangers in the world our friends until, for some reason, they convince us that they are not?

You know – innocent until proven guilty…?

We live in some very dangerous times. Enemies are produced and presented to us on a daily basis. Today we should hate Mexicans, tomorrow our Muslim brothers and sisters. I believe it’s time to break that cycle and start thinking about everyone as our friend. Get to know a stranger and THEN decide whether or not he or she is an enemy, or maybe just somebody you really don’t like. And that’s OK. We can’t like everybody.

What we can do is treat everybody with respect. We CAN show everybody love.

We can.

Si se puede!

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The Feelings You Get Under A Starry Sky…

I never feel as far away from my previous life as when I look at the stars at night and all the constellations are turned around. It’s the only time I feel lonely, or distanced from my friends and family over there. It’s a cliche, but the vastness of space really makes you think about your own existence and the enormous insignificance of our being. We think we’re so much, so big, so smart, so important…and yet…we are so small and the fact that we are here means nothing, absolutely nothing.

I remember one of the first nights after we had made the move from Sweden to Texas; we stayed for a few months in a little cottage out in the Hill Country outside of Austin and one evening we came home after another day of job hunting in the city, I parked our newly bought van (newly bought, not new) and turned off the engine and when we stepped out, the sky was just overwhelming…I had never seen so many stars in my life and I remember just standing there for several minutes feeling a wave of emotions washing over me.        I felt free, I felt lost, I felt as if everything was too late and anything was possible. I inhaled several deep breaths and looked at the milky way and the millions of stars until my neck was hurting.

I spent a big part of my previous life playing music. I started a band, we did pretty good and we toured a lot around Europe, mainly Germany, but we did trips to Norway, Denmark, France, Holland and the UK as well and many times, as we stopped somewhere along the way at some gas station somewhere in the middle of nowhere, I would look up at the stars and it always gave me that same feeling of being far away and yet so close to something… I have memories of night skies in Berlin, walking hand in hand with my girlfriend, now wife, in the middle of the night after a gig on our way to the hotel. I remember night skies in New York and London and in Flensburg when it was cold as hell and I was missing my wife.

I remember taking a leak in a dark forest somewhere in Germany on a stop in the middle of the night and the birch trees were pale under the clear sky and out of the blue I got images in my head of German soldiers hunting somebody down in the 1940’s. An eerie feeling came over me and I hurried back to the van. I remember being 14 years old sitting on the roof of my mother’s house on a warm summer night, feeling all grown up and small at the same time…

All these nights…always the same feelings welling up inside me, 14 years old or 42. It’s the same.

Here in Santa Fe you can see the stars much clearer than any other city I’ve lived in and every night when I let the dogs out to potty in our little front yard, I look up at the sky and I imagine my father halfway across the world looking up at the same stars and I wonder if he thinks about me. I kind of like the idea that he does.

Here’s a picture, not of a night sky, but skies all the same…a cool disc cloud making it’s way across the sky before disappearing in the dark of the night.


“Untitled”, color pencil drawing on paper, 2017.








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“Untitled” Color pencil on paper. 2017.


Lately I’ve been listening a lot to wtf, Marc Maron’s podcast. He is a master at having conversations and bringing out real honest and interesting moments with whoever he is interviewing. One thing a lot of his guests seem to have in common is that they have struggled for a long time, many of them for years and years before having their moment, getting over the hump, lifting themselves up from the gutter or just making it through whatever trouble they were in. Adversity seem to be a common theme.

As I was driving home from work last night I thought of some of the interviews I’ve listened to and I started fantasizing about being a guest on his show. (And maybe this is the kind of thing you shouldn’t tell anyone because it’s pretty embarrassing I guess, but fuck it, we all do these things. I think? You know; some people sing in the shower and pretend to be on stage, blowing the audience away with their amazing voice and presence, some people pretend to receive an award for something great they accomplished, so I think it should be safe to admit to a brief moment of daydreaming here.)

Anyway, I was playing the scenario in my head where I was sitting down in Marc’s famous garage, telling him about my life and my struggle, my mother’s suicide, my years as a musician, our move to America and the years since, where my wife and I have struggled to make ends meet. And Marc sits back and listens to me and then he asks;

“So when did things change for you, what was the moment were you knew you’d made it and that you would be ok?” And I go “Well, you know Marc, for years and years my wife and I struggled. She was really sick and I was working these low wage jobs trying to support us, which wasn’t really working out, you know, it’s really hard to get by on anything less than $20/hour these days, right? We were really struggling and things were looking worse and worse, in fact; we weren’t really sure how we were going to pay rent…and I guess it was early 2017 and things were really looking shitty for us…then, out of the blue I got an email,  from this dude who owned a gallery and he had seen my art somewhere online and he wanted to represent me and from there, things just started working out until I got to the point where I was doing art for a living and making decent money on it…and that was it…”

I know it was just a stupid daydream, but for a few moments there, it felt like there was hope for a better future. I’m not dreaming about making millions of dollars, just enough so that I can pay my rent, my bills and not ever have to worry about it. Maybe go on a trip once in a while, maybe go out to eat once in a while…you know; just living a regular life without the constant stress over money.

You have to dream. Some dream big, some fantasize, some pretend. I think we all have that in common, no matter who we are, where we live, who we voted for and so on. I mean, fuck; what is life if we don’t allow ourselves to dream and pretend, right?

I don’t expect to get a call from Marc Maron anytime soon, but I will keep working at my art and hope that I never run out of joy in doing so.

Who knows, maybe there’s a future in it, maybe not. All I can do is do my best.



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On Being Creative, Being Lost and Being Bold.

So it’s Saturday night, March 4th 2017 and the world is in a crisis. Right?
How else can you put it?
Trump is president and the whole world is in the shitter.
Seen in the shadow of that, my life is pretty good. I mean, I have a wife who I love and admire, we have amazing nature just a few minutes away, I have pets that I love and that give me so much love that sometimes I wonder what the hell they see in me?
Is it really THAT great that I came home from work?
Yes, apparently it is.
It’s beyond tail wagging; it’s a fucking salsa dancing party every time I come home and it makes me very happy.
My wife and I live in a great little duplex, I have a large basement in which I have set up my studio and I spend my mornings down there working on my art. That makes me very happy also. When I take that French press of freshly made coffee and I grab my laptop and walk the eleven steps down into the basement, it is pure joy. I love the mornings I get to spend working on a new drawing.
And I am getting better at it.
I would even say I am pretty damn good at it.
I’ve found my own “voice” and my own expression in my drawings and I feel proud of myself for having developed the patience to do these pictures. Ten years ago, I would not have been able to.
I was very stressed out back then.
I am very stressed out these days too, but life has taught me something, I guess, and that is patience.
Everything takes time. Most things you long for will never happen and it’s OK.
You find something else.
Ten years ago I was devastated because the band I had worked with so hard, for so long, was no more. Instead of being a celebrated musician, I was working for the city, picking up trash in the streets and after I worked for the city for six months, I worked for the Postal Service for a year and a half and I hated every moment of it.
But I did it.
I got up every morning and rode my bike to do a job I hated.
I was in my early twenties when I got my first job as a janitor at the public radio in Stockholm.Now, at 42 I feel like I have done my fair share of hard work and I’m at a point where I have a job that I actually like, but that pays virtually no money.
I am 42 and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.
Am I the only one, or do other people feel that way?
I am 42 and I have never been so poor. I have made some choices in life that people would say were stupid or even insane, maybe. But I made the choices I made and I feel pretty happy and proud about it although I do wish that I had, over the years, acquired some sort of education to fall back on, because being poor sucks.
It’s OK to be 21 and be poor and not know how you’re going to pay rent. Not so much at 42.
I keep working on my drawings and I keep thinking that maybe people will like it and want to buy something. So I spend $100 I really can’t afford to spend on making a couple of prints, thinking I will sell a few and get my money back and then nobody wants any…
That’s the life of all starving artists, I suppose.
It can be pretty discouraging.
And still, I know that I will continue and I will learn with every new drawing and I will get better and maybe some day something will happen; somebody will “discover me” and things will work out.
I keep thinking these things. And then I remember my mother’s diary that my stepfather went through after her death, and I specifically remember a passage reading something like ” I’m 42 years old and I have still not had my big breakthrough…”
And I think “wow…that kind of sounds like me…”
My mother wanted to be a writer. She was always writing stuff and she kept sending the scripts to publishers and magazines and she kept getting these “Thanks but no thanks” letters.
And yet she kept writing. She kept a diary until the day that she died. The last entry was literally a few hours before she killed herself.
There’s something about the creative process that can never be explained to someone who doesn’t have “it”. “IT” being that urge, that drive, that longing to be creative. It’s not a hobby. It’s not just something that is fun and that passes time for a few hours every weekend. It is so much more; a need so deep and vague and that can be so very satisfying and so very frustrating at the same time.
Unlike when I was writing songs, I have never felt forced to do my art.
It is fun, only fun.


I love that feeling and I hope I can keep it that way.

I don’t know where I’d be without it.
p.s. If you are interested in buying a print from me (or an original), send me a message. I accept payments via PayPal.
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My wife and I moved to Santa Fe, NM at the end of September. Austin became too much for us; too crowded and too expensive and we decided it was time to go somewhere else. You can only bang your head against the wall for so long before you realize it’s not doing any good.

Since we got here, we have explored a number of trails in the mountains above the city. Some steep ones, some easy ones,some more frequented, some more isolated. There seems to be an endless amount to choose from and it is a pure joy seeing our dogs run around checking out every turn, every new exciting smell and the occasional random dog and human crossing our path. These 1-2 hour long hikes are so rejuvenating and a great medicine for the soul. For a few moments it allows you to forget the stress of the everyday life; bills, illness and whatever else is looming over you.

I have never before tried to do any landscape drawing, I never had the interest before. Now, it’s all I have done for the past two months. Much to my surprise I discovered that it was a lot of fun to try to capture the intricate patterns; the relations between the trees and the shadows, the spaces between, the dark and the light and the incredible variety of shadows and colors. An endless amount of variations that I take pleasure in trying to capture and make my own.

I made a print of one of these drawings, you can purchase it from me, just send me a message if you’re interested. I am only making 50 copies, so hopefully it will be a limited offer (I mean, I hope I will sell out fast).



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