Hekluð teppi - Blankets

Þetta teppi gerði langamma mín fyrir dúkkuna hennar mömmu og mig langar til að hekla þetta teppi, en veit ekki hvað svona hekl heitir, eða hvaða aðferð er notuð.

Svo er það þetta teppi, er heldur ekki viss hvaða aðferð er notuð.

Nunhead Cemetary

My two good confidants S&W have been talking about Nunhead Cemetary for years, but on each of my visits to London the weather was doing us no favours. This year was no different, raining every day, and one more year it got postponed. But then I was staying with another friend and on the way to the shop I saw a sign. Nunhead Cemetary, by accident I was just around the corner.

Nunhead Cemetary Skyline So obviously I suggested we would go there for a walk, even if it was pouring down. I was excited, finally this day had come. And I was not disappointed. I had never realised that South London is so hilly and from the cemetary you can even see St Pauls. All paths lead to a monument that is just a skeleton. A relic from the war. Some of the gravestones, even if they are little more than fifty years old are so abandoned, surrounded by a wood, roots of trees are coming through them.

If you look carefully you can even see bones. Or so I believe.

It´s utter chaos, left to its own logic, its own laws, But that´s the beauty of it.

Sunday dogs

This one I call Yuki. Even if she has a different name. But Yuki just suits her. It´s great to have a dog around you and even better to have a dog on a Sunday. No responsibility. Freedom. I am firm and sweet and at times I spoil Yuki with olives, clementines and greek yogurth. When you feel like the world is too much, you go for a walk. With your Sunday dog.

Is life Salted Fish?, Exhibition by Salóme Fannberg

This is the third exhibition Salóme has had in her home country after a long stay abroad. The exhibition will open on the 27th April and is open between 10 – 18 on weekdays and 11 – 14 on Saturdays. It closes on 26th May 2012. Salóme is constantly “threading” her path into new areas and uses the most incredible materials in her tapestries. The use of seaweed and unprocessed wool has been the red thread throughout her artistic process, ever since she found her path in Flatey, a small island in Breiðafjörður, Iceland. The tapestries on exhibit were made from her return back to Iceland in 2007 to the present. www.salomefannberg.wordpress.com http://www.umm.is/UMMIS/Listamenn/Listamadur/1078 http://sim.is/syningar/salome-fannberg-opnar-syninguna-er-lifid-saltfiskur/

Evil spirits are not welcome.

This is a devil scare, the one that is supposed to chase the evil spirits away.
A scare devil
or Devil scare.
Made by my mother for the ones she cares about.
I commissioned my mother to make one as a gift for a friend.

My hand has five fingers

My hand has five fingers - One for each goal.



It seemed like Real Madrid wanted to play a two - two against Barça, to take them at their own game.
Surprising by playing offensively, as everyone expected them to park the bus and play at the counter.
It failed, Madrid were parted in three, with no coherence at all. Lost.
Barça totally dominated the game, until Pep did a Mou, provoking C Ronaldo by doing a dirty trick, which resulted in a bit of a brawl.
The game Real Madrid and Mourinho´s teams are so good at, and a game Barça almost always looses. Until the first half ended Barça seemed frustrated, tense and lost the ball easily.
Messi did a bit of theatre, Barça seemed frustrated, tense and lost the ball easily.
I thought that Mourinho would have done a brawl in the dressing room, provoking his players to go out there and eat the grass.
With revenge, to show they had balls. But no.
Barça had it in their hands, playing the ball with almost the need to embarrass Real Madrid. They were out to humiliate them.
Hungry like wolfs, running like tigers, strong as elephants and neat like cockroaches.

I have never seen Mourinho so silent, frustrated and impotent.

Ps. I think Xavi deserves the Ballon d´Or and the Fifa World Player. Such an instrumental piece both for Barcelona and the Spanish national team.

Ps 2. I recommend this article
this article by Sid Lower

World Cup staccato

Yes - my French friends talk of a need for drama. When there is
nothing left to hope for all we have is drama.
I am starting to acquire a huge interest in the person of Domenec.
How come he has managed the team for all those years? How can a person
get it all so wrong? Is his astrology chart spooking him?
How can a person in a certain power be so abysmal?
He is just plainly mad, it is amusing to see such an unstable,
emotional, insane person in a power position.
It´s all such a mystery.
I would love to read a psychological report of Demenec.
What a fascinating read.
No irony there.

France is a team I theoretically like.
I like its multi ethnicity.
I like my French friends.
I like some French films.
But I don´t like the nationalism of its Sarkozy/Le Pen supporters.
Which is the whole reason we so applauded the class of 98.

England - Once again the fall of a build up will be harsh, cold and
hard. There is something I don´t dislike about Capello. Could it be
his love of the arts? Probably not as I am sure we don´t share the
same taste.
It´s not the discipline, authority he imposes that I like.
What is it then?
Who knows.
I do know though that I dislike the vulgarity of its fake bling bling
squeamie players.
Bling bling without the african exotism is not too exciting.
An exotims that is a result of a white person looking from the distance.
The results of years living in Hackney.
I should be ashamed of my white "poshy" posture. But I am not.
I love the posture of Didier Drogba, strotting like a horse, with his
chest forward.
The tight orange shirt against the sweat of his body.
The cockiness about him. I do like. Yes.
Could it be the pleasure of the Leni Riefenstahl beauty.
The perfection of the mixture of the Nubu bodies and the Greek statue
like bodies in her Olympia photographs.
The perfection of beauty.
The perfection of athletism.
Oh yes.

Oh how I miss Togo and Mali, the other two african nations worthy of
the Leni Riefenstahl stamp.

This World cup is all about blandness, there is such a lack of blood,
beauty and eroticism.
There is nothing exciting about Algeria, Serbia and Denmark.
Even Maradona is not capable of "sexing it up" (in reference of the
Gordon Brown sexing up of the Iraq inquiry). Maradona was much more
interesting, fascinating when he was on the verge of a heart attack in
the stands, with his daughter standing next to him in total
embarrassment.

Also I am still in search of a team to support.
I just don´t care that much this year.

Read the great essay by Susan Sontag (a complement to my Nubu / Olympia theory).
Fascinating Fascism

Less of a painting more of a making

Music Playlist at MixPod.com

Listen to the song. A song about the process of painting.

The Factory of Roca Fannberg
The factory Roca Fannberg is not comparing itself to Andy Warhol´s factory, there are two similarites though. It is all about quantity, rather than quality and the process is much like colour by numbers.
Patience is an important factor. Time is not.
The important thing is to allow the paint to dry before you start painting the next layer and that is why it´s important to work on as many as possible. While on dries, you work on the next one. In that way I can do 10 in one afternoon.
Factory, not quality.

When I paint it is as simple as finding images with similar colours.
Once you have done that it is simply down to colouring by numbers. First a lighter tone and while that tone dries you do another picture and another and another.
Or as many watercolour blocks as I own. If I own 3 blocks I do 3 paintings at the same time, if I own seven then I do seven at the same time.



I am extremely meticulous when it comes down to painting torsos, packets and shirts (not suits). With my eyes pierced trying to get it right. If it goes wrong I can be in a foul mood for weeks (or until the next painting session).
But when it comes to the background there is no planning at all.
Just allowing the colours to play with each other, leaning the paper in one direction then another, while blowing a little bit. It is about the chance factor. Leaving random factors to decide.

Here are some watercolours from one session.
As I have not found titles for them yet, you are welcome to come with suggestions.

In a year of 13 moons

This is one of my favourite scenes of all times. There are almost no words to describe it and I am not going there.

Each time I see this film I have to go for hour long silent walks.