reasons to create

I create so I won’t forget the density of a moment, the richness of colours and emotions growing in the cracks of everyday life’s grey concrete.

Sometimes a moment is so beautiful, so intense, so wild and raw that the idea of forgetting its fullness scares me. I wish I was able to capture it in pencil, paints, or a brilliant photograph, knowing I will fail. A picture would never do the multidimensional magic of a moment any fraction of justice.

I create in the hope that others will take the time to understand the way I perceive the world, the weird ways of my inner cosmos.

I don’t see the world the way most people around me do. What they deem beautiful I perceive as sensory overload, loud and clashing and evoking a bad taste in my mouth; while what is wonderful to me in their eyes is trash, boring, mundane, or even so small and trival they don’t notice it at all. I call it the ability to see “the beauty inbetween”, to “create magic” in my mind. Taking pictures of small wonders is my try to guide other people’s view, direct their gaze to the invisible lines my mind draws, connecting thought, sensation, trees and stars and summer hay.

I create to remind people of the beauty that lies in the simple, ordinary things.

The beauty I see can’t be bought from mass-producing factories – at least in most cases – and can’t be foretold in terms of shape, colour, or perfection. Beauty is what happens in tiny corners, in the hands of a child, a foggy morning, between dewy blades of grass and ashy rocks. Beauty isn’t static, visible, but a warm, filling, overwhelmingly enveloping atmosphere of grace, the thankfulness for a friend’s genuine smile and the smell of fresh bread.

I create to deal with personal hardships – with a troubled past, a confusing present, the scary uncertainty of the near future.

Being able to create reminds me that I’m still alive, that I’m not completely broken, because I’m still able to see beauty and feel love and learn friendship. Writing is the way to connect isolated objects, dreams, ideas; and it is the goal, the reason to keep my mind open to the world, the things and people in it. The process of composition, of taking a photograph is meditation and the result the source for new contemplation. I write promises to myself, reminders of feelings, solutions and inconsistencies and chaos.

I create to feel. I create because I feel. I create so others will feel with me. I create to conserve a moment to feel it anew in the future.



Originally written as a response to To be an Artist… on DeviantArt; then the original author challenged me to write it out. The parts in italics are from my original comment, the other lines are my thoughts from today. If you are interested in our little discussion about this longer version, please visit my post on DeviantArt


A few short thoughts on ‘Mockingjay’, a new Cold War, and Edward Snowden.

Yesterday we finally went to see the first part of “Mockingjay” in the cinema, and on the way home I remembered the thoughts and feelings that had crept up in me when reading the book (last Christmas, I guess?).

Basically it made me think about Cold War scenarios, current political tension, and Edward Snowden. When I read the book the whole buzz around the flight of Edward Snowden to Russia was still very fresh, so it was a little creepy to read about the conflict between the Capitol and District 13

My thoughts in a nutshell:

  • The Capitol represents the greedy western world, lead by the USA and including all those countries living up their ass (including the country I live in, apparently).
  • District 13 stands for communism, the former Soviet Union, and the current opponents of the USA.
  • Edward Snowden is the Mockingjay (or one instantiation of this concept at least)
  • We are at the brink of a new Cold War, or maybe it never was over to begin with.
  • Those who claim to be able to lead us into a brighter future are very likely to be just as power hungry and corruptible (maybe already corrupt) as those who hold the strings right now. There’s always a second side to every coin (pun fully intended). Have you ever noticed how the USA brand those as terrorists whom they had supported earlier one, calling them “liberators” or something like that? And those who promised a better future by means of replacing the strongholds of capitalism with a different kind of centralised power have so far failed to deliver the “better” part.

And the fact that YouTube has deleted the audio tracks of all uploaded videos with the full original version of “The Hanging Tree” doesn’t contribute to making me feel at ease. In the Hunger Games’ universe the song is forbidden, as are the mockingjay symbol and the three fingered salute. For YouTube it may just be about copyright worries and the general, ordinary money-mongery,  but the side effect, the subliminal implication is a far more political one. I found a working version of the song on another platform, though:

Oh, and apparently the song isn’t even included on the official soundtrack album that was released. (But it can be bought separately online, it seems. Whut?)

*whistles the four-note theme and disappears again*

blizzard rage (a haiku)

burning with cold fire

all the passion of blizzards
distilled in one glance




I was angry last night, because not for the first time some creepy guy followed me out of the train station and nudged me twice on the way. I hate it when strangers follow me and touch me to get my attention despite all of my attempts to signal disinterest. A cold fire in my heart.

And obviously I’m writing a lot of winter themed stuff at the moment. The next one or two will be about something different, I promise!

winter promises (a haiku)

winter promises
memories of warmer days
whispered in cold nights


A sequel to my haiku “the smell of winter”. Somehow the words “winter promises” stuck in my mind and had to become part of something else. There is a bigger picture, but at the moment I lack the words to capture it in all its nuances, so an open, ongoing series of short pieces of writing is all I can try, following the random strings and paths my thoughts weave.

the smell of winter (a haiku)

fog and wood-fire
cold air full of promises
the smell of winter


My haiku for today. So much fog. It made the train ride across the arms of the river more interesting; I was hardly able to see any water, but the little banks of land with golden trees looked beautiful and mythical when appearing out of the fog, just to fade again. The scent of burning wood from some chimneys, the sharp cold in the morning just above zero degrees … it makes me feel alive.

I miss winter (a narrative poem I wrote last week)

I used to like the cold
then I turned to warmth, to summer heat, to storms and thunder on sweltering days, to soft autumn glory
but now I remember how open fields of snow used to give me space to breathe, a canvas for clear thoughts
and I recall how my lungs opened, exhaling dust and taking in the cold expanse of mountain ranges for the first time
I miss real winter

last night I discovered
that my unlikely muse is not only autumn at the turning point to clear winter,
with warm forest-wood eyes and at the same time piercing snowflakes
but the calm and steady touchstone of warmth on these cold days as well,
a blanket of friendly thoughts keeping the wind outside a Nordic wood cabin full of white pillows
so yes, I miss winter now