When you look in the mirror who do you see?

Dry heaving into the toilet bowl he silently cursed himself.

Too much. Once again too much. He flushed, and then

came face to face with a man he no longer knew.

Staring at the face in the mirror he asked it: -Who the

hell are you and what have you done with the face

that used to stare at me?

He rinsed his face with cold water, grabbed his

 toothbrush and discovered that the minty taste

of the toothpaste made him feel a little less

nauseous. Good. He had to be at work in 45 minutes.

A consistent drumming on the windowsill told

him that it was raining. -Taxi, I think. 

Donning his Mack he closed the door behind 

him and ran down the stairs to the entrance.

The Taxi was already there. Fifteen minutes later he

was serving his first customer.

As the day went on, the shop became so busy that

he didn't even have the time to have some lunch,

little less contemplate how he was feeling.

By the time closing time came around, he felt

good enough to walk home.

The first thing he did when he came home

from his 2nd job, the one at the night club,

was to look in the mirror. He was curious to find out

whether the strange man he saw in the mirror

that morning was still there.

Yep. Still there, although not looking as rough.

-Who are you???? he asked the intransigent,

obstinate and voiceless mirror. 

No answer. Obviously. Mirrors don't speak.

Or........do they?

If the mirror could speak, what would it

 say to me? he asked the mirror.

Staring so intently at the mirror that the image

 started to blur, he suddenly heard a voice:

-Who am I? The better question is...... who are you?

What?? Rubbing his eyes hoping to see the

image more clearly didn't make any difference.

It was still blurry. Okay. This is madness but

lets play along.

-What do you mean? I am you.

Really? If I am you, what happened to that you?

The you who had dreams, hopes and a lot of love?

-Life happened. Life happens. In a life a person

experiences tragedies, comedies and everything

in between. Life, I have concluded, is suffering.

To be or not to be, is that not the question? he asked the mirror.

That is one question. There are many more.

For instance, why do you drink so much?

Is that why you have suddenly decided to

speak to me? To chastise me? I work

in a night club. Everyone drinks.

Possibly. Drinking alcohol to excess every night

however does affect your mental and physical health.

You know this. This is when the ''stranger'' shows

up in the mirror instead of me.

Those words hurt, he thought to himself.

Looking at the blurry image in the mirror

he thought back to a time when the I,

the you or.... me...? were one and the same.

I'm not happy. I'm not following my dreams.

I'm lousy at relationships. I always get my

heart broken. Meanwhile the years fly by.

You are right mirror, I need to find a way

to become the real me again.

Please, tell me how to do it.

Please help me find me in the mirror again.

After a long silence the mirror finally answered.

The core/real you is a highly sensitive person.

An empath. This means that you are sensitive to others 

needs, feelings and emotions. 

You notice things that others don't.

You are a good listener.

However, because of your sensitivity

you often feel that you don't belong

which may be influencing you to seek

''masks'' to hide behind. 

Such as alcohol, drugs and other

''masking'' behaviours and methods.

The more masks you use the more you will find

it hard to find again the authentic you in the mirror.

-Ouch. Why is my body hurting so much?

Moving his limbs he realizes that he is

laying on the floor beneath the mirror.

-I am so confused, he says to himself as he gets 

up on his feet. He looks at the mirror.

The mirror looks back at him.

The blurriness is gone.

-Wow, what a crazy dream that was.

Was it a dream? A talking mirror. 

Huh. I must be going crazy.

Noticing that it is still dark outside

 he realizes that it's still night.

Still fully clothed he creeps in to

his bed and instantly falls asleep.

Have a good sleep, whispers the mirror.

about the image: Citizen Kane, acrylic on large water colour paper

There's a big difference between Bad and Evil..............

 

What does an ''evil'' person look like?

Can such a strong judgement be made by

visuals only?

Considering that some of the worlds most

prolific serial killers and murderers in general

visually often are deemed as ''looking like just

 plain ordinary people'',

how is it that more often than not, once we're

told of their terrible crimes they somehow

now look ''evil''?

The definition of evil ''in them old days'', meant *bad and exceeding

proper boundaries. During the 1800th century however, morals

 was added to the concept of the word. This meant that extreme moral 

wickedness became part of the understanding and use of the word.

Evil, says those in the know, is a concept that existed long before

there were organized religions. 

From an evolutionary, historical and linguistic perspective,

what started out of necessity(survival) as ''bad'' and ''good'',

one may perhaps speculate has evolved into a kind

      of ''moral intuition''.                 *plus a bunch of other things

For years I have tried to understand if it is possible for

something/an act to be considered evil if there is no intention

or calculation behind it. 

If there is no intention or conscious act causing harm

to someone or something, I am wondering if that perhaps 

is not more along the lines of an unintentional outcome

rather than an evil and calculated outcome.

Accidents for instance. An outcome can be disastrous,

non-repairable, the loss of a life even......but if there's

 no intent behind it, does evil really come into it?

I'm scrambling for situations in which the word evil 

can be used without any undertones of moral judgement.

I even find it hard to view acts in nature or by nature 

as evil for instance, although some do.

According to those in the know, we are using the word

 ''evil'' more these days but stat wise speaking, 

acts that are often classified as evil such as

 murder and kidnapping, are not increasing.

It's just that thanks to all manners of Media,

Bad/evil news gets more attention than Good

News. Politically speaking, the more we

are persuaded that the ''others'' are evil,

the more polarized we become.

The above image is a large poster I painted

as part of an Exhibition called Cinefiend.

His name is Dr. Mabuse and though a mere

invention of Norbert Jacques, to me he

represents the personification of an evil person.

''He is a master of disguise and telepathic hypnosis.

He is known to employ body transference through the

use of demonic possession. Sometimes he uses

technologies to build a society of crime.

Mabuse hardly ever commits crimes himself,

instead he works through a network of agents

who enact his schemes thus remaining out

of reach of being apprehended.

Mabuse's agents range from career criminals

to blackmailed or hypnotized innocents who

are so totally manipulated that they don't

even know that they are being used.''

Although Mabuse first appeared in a book

in the 1920's in Germany, personally I can actually

think of a few people who could easily

fit into the criteria above.

*

I have come to think that calling someone ''evil''

instead of ''bad'' can have grave consequences.

I believe it dehumanizes a person, it shows a lack of

empathy and polarizes rather the brings closer

people of different views.

Calling someone ''bad'' on the other hand, for me is a

more adaptive and malleable word.

''He is evil'' sounds judgmental and fixed

in my view.  ''He is bad'' by contrast

sounds to me like ''he tends to make 

questionable choices.''

In other words, a temporary position

in need of an adjustment.

Bad can be changed. 

Evil is fixed.

''Bad is when you ignore the ones you love.

But evil is when you know 

exactly what the ones you love

want and need,

And knowing that,

 you find a way to make sure

that you'll never give it to them.''

(Citizen Z)

about image: Acrylic on large water colour paper

Title: Dr. Mabuse

Feeling unlucky? Take heart, it's just a random apex of possibilities........

Is there such a thing as luck?

Are some people just born lucky and 

some other of us just born unlucky?

Is ''luck'' something magic bestowed on some

very special people or is it something that can

be scientifically proven to be ''real''?

Personally I believe that luck is a term for

a phenomenon based on a cognitive mindset,

 an optimistic and positive perception/interpretation 

of an event/something.......xyz

 Lucky = The apex of random positive possibilities colliding

and interpreted as ''being lucky''.

Unlucky = The apex of random negative possibilities colliding

and interpreted as ''being unlucky''.

-How lucky you are to have been born with so

many creative talents, she said.

-Lucky? How do you mean? I responded.

-Well, nobody in my family has any artistic

talents and I can only draw stick figures, she retorted.

I have been told this so many times that

I have started to wonder what the motivation

may be behind the statement:

''How lucky you are to have been born with so

many creative talents''.

It may be intended as a compliment but 

the way I experience it, it

 doesn't feel like an acknowledgment of all the 

years of hard work, successes and failures and hours of

honing one's skill.

Nor does it feel as an acknowledgment of the sacrifices

made of one's waking time spent in the solitary pursuit

needed in order to become an expert, a master, a virtuoso.

A long time ago when by accident, or destiny? I

became a regular contributor to a small publication,

I wrote a piece on gifts/talents and how I believe

that we are all born with gifts of one kind or another,

 it's just that many of us don't tend to look for it.

If there is an activity that when you do it you

loose yourself, time flies and you feel energized

then that may be your gift.

(And it does not include doing harm to anybody

 or yourself. Or any critter at all.)

A gift is in my view something that begins as a ''seed''

but with perseverance and dedication to the nurture of it

 it grows, expands, develops, and the more we spend time

being/doing/with it, the more creative we become.

''Being creative is often misunderstood as a

stroke of luck or a rare talent, when in reality,

it is a deliberate, consistent and learned process.''

(don't know)

In my view, the one time that I

do believe it's all about luck, is

where we happen to be born.

Half of gifted students 

fly under the radar.

(ABC)

about the image: ''Darkman''  

Graphite on watercolor paper

Some editing in Elements.

Illusions may seem friendly......but they can't be trusted

Illusions

Illusions all around me

Faces but no names.

Daily loud reminders

of humans crazy games.

Sometimes I get so tired

Of all this bloody waste.

What will have to happen

For us to our illusions break?

We throw away our souls

Like crumpled candy wrapper.

Chasing fame and fortune

as if that's what really matters.

Or so we tell ourselves

when loneliness prevails.

When our hearts feel weary

as we hide beneath our shells.

When cold winds blow

and fears and worries grow,

illusions are sweet comfort

compared to the unknown.

Illusions, like a house of straw,

may seem real not a lie at all.

But then one day wisdom calls

and down comes all the walls.

(Citizen Z)

''When you look in the mirror,

what do you see?

Do you see the REAL you or

what you have been conditioned

to believe is you?

The two are so, so different.

One is an infinite consciousness

capable of being and creating

whatever it chooses.

The other is an illusion

imprisoned by its own

perceived and programmed 

limitations.''

(David Icke)

about the image: Water colour on bad, bad thin paper.

Edited in Elements.

Love is not a transaction.........

The trickiest thing with the word love is in my view that it means

so many different things to so many of us.

I mean, like how many different types of love is there?

For the longest time those in the know used to say that there

are four main kinds: Eros(romantic/passion), Agape(compassionate/

non-romantic), Philia(friendship) and Storage(family/close friends).

(These days some say that there are four more kinds of

interpretations of the word: Pragma, Ludus, Mania, and Philautia.

Let me clarify those terms for you: basically they mean Enduring,

Playful, Obsessive and Self-loving.

I, however, I will contend that those terms can easily be a part

of/belong in any of the Four Loves.)

We may say: I love cookies, ice-cream, pizza, dogs,

cats, rainy days, sunny days, flowers, trees, the ocean,

good food, good company, movies, music, etc. etc. etc.

I could go on ad. infinitum.........

 Personally, it seems to me that we use ''love'' rather

ubiquitously(very often) though I'm sure that ''like'' could

work as just well.

Why has the term love become so ubiquitous?(common)

I mean, the way we may love ''the sound of rolling waves''

is not the same way we love our mother or father.... is it?

The way we love our sports team is not the same as

the way we love our children..... is it?

The way we love a movie star is not the same way

we love our partners..... is it?

If we use the same word for our feelings for a pop-star

that we use for our partner, then how deep is our love?

Five love-emojis......15 love-emoji's?

This makes me ponder

how many times we have used a heart emoji to tell

someone that we care about them instead of words.

Emoji's, though I agree can be both useful and funny,

I none the less fear are making us verbally less

efficient and versatile rather than more proficient.

Not to mention how much easier it is to hide

behind a tiny cartoon-ish image than to actually

use precise words to be rude, sarcastic and downright mean.

Imaginative as we are, maybe one day we can skip

words all together and go back to hieroglyphics....?

It's been said that a ''picture paints a thousand words''

which I often find to be true.

But, I also find that a word can ''paint'' a great

many paintings. For example:

Winter-sun, weathered, panoramic, sparkling, shimmering,

futuristic, wind-blown, lovingly, etc. etc.

Not to mention how wordsmiths like Lao Tzu, 

Wordsworth, Shakespeare and Emilie Dickenson

with a few words could sum up the meaning of life.

Love. Romantic love.

Do you know that some stats say that more than

a hundred million songs have been composed

on the subject.

Well, mostly the romantic kind.

Love found, love lost, love beginning, love

ending, love answered, love un-answered,

love lasting, love never starting, secret love,

hidden love, forbidden love, and so on....

A friend of mine once asked me why I never

seem to write about love.

So I asked him what kind of love he meant.

-I mean love-love, he answered.

-What's love-love? I asked.

-Romantic, passionate love, he retorted.

-In that case, why don't you tell me what 

 you take that to mean, I said.

-I mean someone who knows what you need,

someone who is always there for you,

someone who loves you for who you are,

someone who listens to you and comforts you.

-George, stop. What you are describing to me

is not what I would call love-love or romantic love.

-Of course it is. What do you mean?

-As far as I can understand your definition of what

romantic love is, it seems more like a ''wish list'' of what 

you want from your ''lover'' rather than what

you want to share with someone you love.

For at least five minutes George said nothing.

He just sat there staring into somewhere else.

Finally I decided to say something.

-For me, love can not be bought with bags of money,

 Love is not a transaction nor is it

a service one can procure.

Love is not a mere word, it is acting with patience,

tenderness, commitment, compassion, loyalty

and an acceptance of the other as they are.''

-I see, I really do, George suddenly said and stood up

from the couch.

Slinging his bag of percussion instruments

over his shoulder he opened the front

door and then said: Thanks. I need to go see

my wife now. 

With those words he closed the door behind him

and left me somewhat bewildered, confused and perplexed,

.........staring at nothing.

Personally I do not like the inclusion 

of Pragma, Ludus, Mania, and Philautia

as part of the different kinds of love

us humans experience. 

However, I do hope to one day see the term

''Amor Artis''(Love of art) as a kind of very

succinct form of love that us humans experience.

*

about the images: Large canvas with paper shopping bags

glued on top. Then painted with acrylics.

And this morning edited in Elements.

Small painting of ''Pinocchio'' figures

embracing. Acrylic on canvas.

The moment and the blade of grass

I could feel it. I had no words to verbalize

what I was feeling, but it wasn't good.

The minute the bus stopped I got off and started

to run. 

As I opened the front door an almost tangible

atmosphere of sorrow and grief greeted me.

I knew. I knew on the bus. Running home I knew. 

Before my dad had even uttered a word, I knew.

My brother, my best friend, had died.

Suddenly I felt as if nothing stood still.

Everything was vibrating.

I was vibrating.

My heart was pounding so hard that I 

thought it was going to burst through

my rib cage.

-Go see your mother, my father said to me.

Looking at the stairs leading up to the

bedroom where my mother was, seemed

an impossibility to me.

-Dad, I can't walk. I'm vibrating and everything is

blurry.

-Come on, he said and grabbed my hand.

Your mother needs you.

Somehow we got to the bedroom.

In the darkness I saw my mother laying

in a fetal position on the bed and crying so much

that everything in the room was shaking.

My father pushed me towards my mother

and told me to go comfort her.

How?

It looked to me as if my mother's sorrow

had weaved a cocoon of grief around her through

which I couldn't possibly get through.

Did she know that I was there?

I was still vibrating.

Maybe vibrating, I thought, can make one 

invisible.

If so, maybe she couldn't see me through

her cocoon.

I got the feeling that seeing me was going to 

make her hurt more, make her cry more,

and I didn't want that. 

So I decided then that there are times when

it is better to be invisible.

It took me seven years before I could shed tears for

my brother. 

The years following my brother's death are

quite blurry at this moment, but, I do remember

a specific moment when I realized that it's up to 

me to chose when to be invisible and when not.

*

The Moment

''Winter is finally over and the snow gone.

The sun is warmer and all the leafless trees

are starting to sprout.

The roads are no longer danger zones.

And the black asphalt,

 now free from snow,

twinkle, shimmer and glow.

Standing at the bus stop

mind somewhere else.

Suddenly a sparkle,

a tiny little drop.

Dancing on the tip

on a new born leaf,

how the drop glistened

on the asphalt strip.''

Seeing this blade of grass, this fragile

little green grass somehow managing

to find its way through layers of

asphalt, caught my attention and

revolutionized my thinking.

One tiny seed, no matter how tough

or infertile the ''soil'', will find a way

to fulfill its potential.

Good news: Our mindsets* are not actually 

set in neither asphalt nor cement.

*the way we view and experience the world we live in

"Once your mindset changes, everything on the

outside will change along with it.''

(Steve Maraboli)

Your life is a reflection of your thoughts.

If you change your thinking you change

your life.

(Unknown)

 

about the images:  top Water colour on paper,

some editing in Elements,

Sad Boy, texter on paper

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run.....

For two years I lived with my little family in

Braunton, North Devon, UK.

The reason we lived there was so that my partner's

mother and father who were quite elderly,

could spend some real time with their grand-son

as well as their son.

They lived a very (what seemed to me)British life.

 Every morning a continental breakfast(English really),

two pieces of toast, some butter and marmalade to

go on top, two medium boiled eggs, a small glass

of juice and a cup of strong English Breakfast tea.

After breakfast Gwyneth would do house chores

and Roy would read the Newspaper.

Lunch would be had at the same time every day.

Usually a cold platter of something and in the afternoon,

a brisk walk unless it was raining so hard not even an

umbrella would help.

The more time I spent with Gwyneth, Roy and other

Brits, the more I began to admire them.

I am Swedish by birth and the culture that I enjoyed

 and grew up in was (still is, perhaps?) very different.

I quickly understood that I had to try and adapt to

my new environment. Not only climate wise but

also what was and what wasn't ''cricket''.

(Cricket=acceptable behaviour and language)

My ex-partner's father was a military man and served

during the 2nd W.W as a reserve sergeant but as a soldier

during the first war.

He never spoke of it and although he was a very

regimented sort of a man, he was also kind, helpful

and loved to look after his grandson who was then

two years old. Come rain or shine, he would take

my son for long walks.

Gwyneth and I would drink cups of tea and chat about

this and that. Mainly chit chat, but every now and

then she would surprise me by bringing up quite deep and

soul-searching kinds of topics.

Although, truth be told, when we left the UK two years later

 to head back here to OZ, I still felt that they remained a

mysterious but very kind people.

Back in Australia I decided to do some research into

why ''only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in

the midday sun''.

I read book after book, watched numerous old

black and white ''war'' movies and old TV-series.

I collected old newspapers and magazines which

I sometimes found in second hand book stores.

I did a bunch of paintings from old photographs

and spent hours in the Library looking at images

from both wars.

 

This is a large painting I did from a photo I

found in an old TIME magazine. (St. Paul's)

How!@#!? did this building survive the Blitz?

Book after book that I read allowed me a fresh

new little glimpse into the very tenacious nature of the

British people.

The slogan ''Keep calm and carry on'' is not just

words because those words gave numerous people ''backbone'',

courage, tenacity, strength, hope, faith and the determination

to survive and make ''the rabbit run for his life''.

The above painting is titled ''Run rabbit, run.''

It is a very large painting that I painted

years ago when I was trying to get an insight into

the ''British Mindset".

(Here in OZ, one of the first catchphrases that I learnt

when I came to Australia was ''Bloody Poms!!!!"

It meant nothing to me and I have never used the

phrase although..... it may perhaps fit some people.)

During my research into the British Peoples

I discovered that during the 2nd W.W. the words 

''Run rabbit run rabbit, run, run, run!'', were words from a well-known

music hall song by the same title, which was

repurposed by the British peoples to mock Germans

and so boost their own morale.(Run Adolf, run Adolf, run, run, run.)

After all my studying and 15 years of marriage to a Brit,

I have come to admire a lot of facets of the British

Peoples.

Top of the list and in my view an extremely

necessary quality for all peoples to have is....drumroll please.

The ability to turn anything difficult, sad or painful

into an extraordinary bit of wisdom hiding behind a great

sense of humor.

Plus:

It boosts our immune system, boosts our mood,

makes us forget our pain momentarily, binds

us together and it releases endorphins in our brains.

*

My  pain may be the reason for somebody's laugh.

But my laugh must never be the reason for

somebody's pain.

(Charlie Chaplin)

Comedy is simply a funny way of being serious.

(Peter Ustinov)

A sense of humor is a major defense against

all kinds of troubles.

(Mignon McLaughlin) 

Harlequin, ink on paper

Explanation to the Rabbit painting.

The red in the background: the fires during the Blitz

The blue: the water trying to quench the fires

The green: all the parks being destroyed

The red rabbit: the crazy Rabbit causing all the chaos and death