Self-portrait with dead mother

Dear mother’s body on her sunken bed. Her brown eyes - foggy and motionless. Her body - a cubist ghost of what she used to be. It was all too late. Or too risky to have been otherwise. She must have been afraid and hungry, curled up inside herself. She... [Read More]
Tags: poetry

After Midnight

Did not think I would still find the motivation to go running tonight. But I did and it helped. This week was a slow week - 34 km, each between 5:20 and 5:40. But most of them going up. Running for the hills. Slow pace make things flow and does... [Read More]


Sun’s up again. A clear, blue sky. Today it’s going to be spent out of doors. The afternoon, I mean, of course. Right now, I am back at my small desk in the gallery, staring at the screen, as if looking for paintings, though secretly creeping in on the digital,... [Read More]