"The art world often rewards repetition and recognizability, but he prioritizes internal truth over stylistic consistency." said an article about a Brazilian painter.

For the love of random

STUDIO NEWS

A mouse was in the studio.

It probably lives there under the stairs amongst the camping gear. It's a scary place. It can attack me at any time while I work with its deadly teeth. It's called living on the edge.

Painting is a sanctuary and the edge of a cliff. I can't believe how much I needed to stop identifying with this body, name and a person they tell us we are to exhibit one single painting ever. It's still unravelling. So, as much as it can be unpleasant at times, it was a catalyst for some liberation.

THINGS THAT MADE ME THINK

God will come to you in the form of a page in a book. Or a wise person. Or a false light. 

Change is inevitable, but it's not our life, it's not what we are. Continuum and time makes no sense. Even what we percieve as positive change is not our life. When I meet people, I can sense exactly how much they identify with body, name and person. I did too. It's what I was taught by society.  And I've found it a good practice to remember there are no others.  A book that I'm now listening to has been the most enjoyable thing to listen to while I drive or before sleep. I can't say which one. I am in my second round of listening. In 11 hours of the book, I only found one or two things I don't believe (and everything else feels very true to "where" I am at the moment). That one thing was about karma. It said karma is the correcting hand of god or something, punishment for righteousness. I don't believe it at all, apart from that it is a construct placed upon us, installed to keep us looping. The idea that we need to pay for sins from past lives we don't even remember ever doing (no proof), or sins of our ancestors, and consent to suffering, even call it noble... doesn't sit well with me. All this rebellion in me happened after I listened to a podcast episode by Kelly Dillon.  And now I also remembered a great thing she said about cord cutting rituals and what a nonsense that is that new age mimic installed in people. That we are a field, that has no size, no surface, no edge, and nothing can attach to it energetically. The only way we can feel bonded, unfree and be harvested from is if we believe we can. And how these new age mimic rituals actually just reaffirm the belief that we can be bonded with another field. I decided to believe that we can't. And life feels so much lighter. I tell myself "I do not accept anything that is not mine. I return it back to where it came from."

His name is Sam. Love. Look at his work.

A small painting from 2020. 

If you are a female artist, expriencing life in a female body, you will be judged a lot, no matter what you look like, no matter what you do or don't do, say or don't say. So you might as well not even try to fit in any circles or meet any silly expectations. My mother sometimes says: "What is that compared to eternity?" . Everything is nothing compared to eternity.

"You are not born and you will not die. " 

"Consciousness in me and consciousness in you seek to unite. And that is love." 

She was bewitched and couldn't listen to her gut, which turned out to be right. I told her loops are collapsed not by resistance, but by irrelevance. 

Loops will be there tomorrow. Wake up. Decide to do the opposite.

"Taking appearances for reality, is the cause of all calamities."

Every single thing that happens has a million causalities. Reasons don't matter. You are not the reason. Set yourself free. Why chase causes when everything is transient? By the time we think we know the cause (which we mostly don't), it is all over, it doesn't exist and reasons don't matter anymore. Energy has leaked on the floor. Seek no reasons. There are no causes. Everything just is.  Whatever can be called an event, is not you. Is not yours.

As a person you'll walk around the world seeing other persons everywhere. But you are not a person and there are no other persons. Person is just trails of memory and habits.  There is no one behind their eyes. You are. 

You don't need memory to be conscious. Past is a bunch of memories we use to justify our current mood. 

Applies to life and art practice (which is an extension of life): You are free the moment you see your bondage was of your own making.

"Finite is the price of infinite. Death is the price of life."

"The witness is the first touch of real and the last remnant of the illusion".  There is not even a witness. There is just the all. And it can't be named or percieved with the mind. But the mind is a door towards it. 

You are not the body in time,  feelings, thoughts.  All these are outside of you. 

ARTIST BIOGRAPHY

I was not born and I will not die. Now that we have this sorted, I was born very young, long time ago. My mother named me after her kind and loving teacher, after she also became a teacher. I write in first person, because I am writing this and not someone else (I stole this from an artist called Josh). Beware of people who speak of themselves in third person. As a little kid I was drawing and making furnished houses for my knock off Barbie dolls, cause we had no screens. We only had a Commodore 64 that we were only allowed to touch when our parents turned it on once or twice a week. I love that now.  We were also allowed to watch The Dynasty, American soap opera with the most terrible acting I ever have seen. I loved it. I thought that was good acting when I was 6.  A lot of people in my family got many phd diplomas and papers from institutions. I almost ended up like that, but luckily, right before I applied for a phd scholarship in New York, I honestly asked myself why I want more school. Am i really interested in  learning more in that rigid way or do I just don't know what else to do and want phd next to my name. So I gave up on the idea. Marked safe from phd. Then I spent a couple years designing objects and a couple years I realised I was bored . My brain is not made for realising one idea every three years. I like working alone.

I currently live on land many ancient peoples consider sacred.  And some others, well, nothing seems sacred to them and they are destroying it. They seem to think they are separate from it. It hurts me. I don't know what to do about it, but teach small people differently. 

I like drawing. very important. I didn't go to painting schools. I love a flower or three in my flower bed. Beach is the place to spend a lot of time at, if possible. Deserted one ideally. I only met one beach I didn't like, but that was in the UK and it doesn't count, as it had a scary ruin in shallow grey waters and it was a sensory overwhelm.  But I have a fond memory of that one too, cause that's where I taught my friend Maria how to see signs her newborn needs to pee. After that, half of London called both of us witches. I was honoured. It seems it is in my fate to move a couple times in this life and for the last couple of years I felt the calling of a beloved place, a muse of a place. It is not easy to leave this holy land of Kaurna people, but I will live there someday, I know it. Every land is holy.

I can't speak of my most precious things in this life, it feels like a betrayal of intimacy and privacy. I live for others. And for myself. I love. 

I don't pray anymore. I don't need a middleman anymore.  No need for structure, or words. I found a direct line. In between words and thoughts. 

The last couple of years felt like a blur. Burnout central. I did what I needed to do. But now I feel something much softer is appearing, coming to surface.  Gentler way of being and working. Spacious. Slow. I am in a season of subtraction, in all realms. It feels right. Return to simplicity. I am releasing most of my possesions, and with every subtraction, I feel lighter and more free.  I know I will always have everything I need, I always have. For now, I want to travel lightly. 

I let go of my most precious things. They can still be my most precious if I don't have them. They are. I am not talking about objects now. 

I dream of an empty house. No furniture. Industrial designer irony.

Art is a baloon of many goats.

I am learning to love mosquitos. 

In highschool, my friends had a band called "Interesting armpits".