Man-made deserts, for dreamers and fantasizers?

Galaxy Tab, Signal white men, Now.
Dove True Tone Dark Mark Eraser.

ChouChou Tout a young fox in the grass jumped in front of me. Nature moment in the suburb. I thought this is why I live, because that fox is so alive and jumpy.
Long grass, hey and blue lupines. I saw the fast body, big ears and fur of orange.

Bubble of class: Stunned faces of sheltered buns; what, are you afraid of, rage? Safe from harm is what you are not. Wait and see. Illusion of safety lies in beautiful images. Crisis everyday yesterday and today. Nature will solve them in its own way. How do we solve them? What kind of responsibility do we have? Or abilities to solve global disasters? Quite slim chance and will.

Heavy winds, nature of crisis. Is it an attitude question how we measure and define what is the quality of a disaster? For who and what has happened. The scale of downfall, accident or deliberate ill. What kind of catastrophes are we expecting since it is before our eyes, the worst ever in plural form and complexity. Disposable I love u’s and have a-nice-days are to cover it. Get a new one.

Nature is in crisis always, at the brink of chaos in a jump into grass in light. We like to rock the boat even further. It will grow back, nature like Chouchou, always a new one. How long does it take for plastic to be decomposed? I repeat because it cannot be emphasized enough, the plastic we see through. We are what we produce and use, we like things to elevate us and bring us value in eyes of others. It is also the key to the fantasy world of products and services made with sellable images for millions. And how we produce. How indeed. Constantly thinking you are unique.

Man-made deserts, they need to be described and depicted on emotional level and paint paintings when there is nothing there, somehow and yet all we need is close by.

Man-made deserts, gouache on paper, 55*75cm, 2009


Tired of confronting thrown dirty cloths of yours. Tired of cleaning man-made deserts. I need you to have to face and own completely and entirely what you make.

Sky of sky, sky of light, sky of space, pressuring cold, sky without breath, sky of layers that we invade, our particles of what is that. I want to say emptiness but it is anything but. They are full clouds until they collide, the contradictions entwined in black night coming down. Blackest and lilac space, part of it open but I am thankful for this lack of artificial light. Circling sensations of being small insignificant, breathing when I would like to hold my breath. Tired of this work. Not seeing anything but that above, anything worth seeing, anything worth sensing.