What you buy does not make who you are. You are what you digest. Now take out the trash, please.

↓ ”In is as far as Out, #2” or “Burden, #2”, (290 x 270 mm + 290 x 280 mm), mixed media on cardboard.

A sequel to the former piece on the same subject. The correlations to world events are hard to digest. But in short: it all goes to shit. Or rather merde. 

↓ ”Collective Narcissism” or “Map of Denmark, 2015.”, (876 x 617 mm), mixed media on paper.ethnocentric_data_collectionI can be quite binary in expressing my world views and I apologise if I’ve ever offended you. Unless you are one of those  homophobic, xenophobic, bigoted, ethnocentric, racist ass-wipe-danes who thinks it’s ok to stand on a highway bridge, spitting at Syrian refugee families, walking (walking!) as fast as possible through tribal denmark, just to seek asylum in Sweden because petty denmark certainly is not a friendly place for people of colour, traumatized by civil war. Then you have my full scorn. 

↓ work in progress, (155 x 254 mm + 155 x 254 mm), acrylics on crescent board.
Spilling some beans here I guess. Another digestion reference?

↓ work in progress, (267 x 288 mm + 267 x 288 mm), mixed media on cardboard.
Buy one, somebody else gets one free. Charity through consumerism. Still wrapping my head around that.

↓ work in progress, (287 x 314 mm + 289 x 307 mm), mixed media on cardboard.
No comment. But yes, my media is a cat-litter box. Yet another digestion reference. What goes in must come out and go somewhere. Right? 

↓work in progress, (⌀355 mm + ⌀280 mm), mixed media on cardboard.
Round formats. And I have no idea what to do about that. I mean, whats up or down here? Really?

Actually, refugees don’t flee in order to get in. They come here, because they have to get out.

↓ ”In is as far as Out” or “Burden”, (435 x 230 mm + 240 x 335 mm), mixed media on cardboard.

On that note it’s important to keep in mind: borders between our nations are not constructs designed to keep aliens out either. They are put in place to keep you, me and also the xenophobes in, in check, in line, from interfering, from conferring.

Oh home, sweet home, I wrote you a poem. The dearest reader must excuse the danish, and find an approximated translation below. The references to both national anthems and native pop songs probably don’t come through to a non-dane and I apologise for that. In regards to the issue at hand I think you must count yourself happy. Leave it to the danes to be sorry. (though I am sure that these days you can find your own local predicaments that hopefully are handled more gracefully)

Åh (komma) danmark
Din skede er rummelig (komma) men gold
Til dem der står dér (komma) ude
Og banker på
Siger du (kolon)
Knep dig selv (komma)
Skridt for skridt

Prygl (udeladelsesprikker)
Grænseløs kærlighed
Tandløs dolk
Spytklat (lighedstegn)

Bakke (komma) dal
Afskårne, omskåret
Sønner i krig (komma)
Slik dig om munden
Sønner fra krig (udeladelsesprikker)
Lukket land (komma)
Ørken (skråstreg) våde drømme
Bølgen blå

Ah (comma) Denmark
Your snatch is spacious (comma) but barren
To those who stand (comma) out there
And knock
You say (colon)
Go fuck yourself (comma)
Step by step

Flog (ellipsis)
Borderless love
Toothless dagger
Spitting (equal sign)
Snails Trail
Primordial sea

Hill (comma) valley
Cut off, circumcised
Sons to war (comma)
Lick your lips
Sons from war (omission dots)
Closed Country (comma)
Desert (slash) wet dreams
Fata Morgana
The blue wave


Frankly and furthermore, here’s an estimation on the state of our collective being, disguised as an homage to hard sci-fi. Also: more progress to that other piece and some film festival posters.

↓ ”Rhett/Scarlett” or “Road to Extinction”, (430 x 270 mm + 245 x 340 mm), mixed media on cardboard.
It started with a ladder, or rather with a vision of a ladder, or more precisely, depending of course on where in the process you believe associative lines of haphazardly firing axons can coalesce into ideas worthy of sticking to the inside of one’s skull, a fantasy of a DNA helix unfurling into a rigid ladder, left with one rail bent out of shape as if it’s rubber or maybe even warped by time, evidently proposing the question: what does that make our ladder; this symbol of progress, Jacobean ascension, abysmal descent, staggered regression, communication between higher and lower psyche, the connection between body and mind, self and ego? Well, here it made for an image worth exploring for a minute and before you knew it, and least of all my own consciousness knowing of it, these roaming hands of mine drew in a few overlapping circles,  suggesting them to be planetary objects held in place by universal gravitational forces and/or ink on a nebulous space of paint splattered, discarded pieces of cheap cardboard (one from a not so innovatively designed packaging holding a somewhat sophisticated designer toaster, the other intended to be a short-lived partition or filler between fragile and empty glass bottles) making me go “hm” and “oh” to a point where I liked where we were going, me and my brain, together pushing more towards an interpretational regimen as opposed to just spilling our babbling beans, thinking “here’s a possible commentary, exploration on the themes of never-ending growth, the incessant urge to reach yet a final frontier never thinking about the bill somebody has to pay at some point”, and a little more meditating on the subject led to the oh so obvious addition of a domino piece, the pips counting three and two, the most sexy and sacred ciphers this side of the galaxy, indicating that behind all this there’s a conduct or code, a cultural key to that particular part of human behaviour. To round out and up that end of the game, there was no other way than to add an obscured text, a secret message (uh!) by the help of a book cipher and since I was already thinking about Arthur’s and Stanley’s thoughts about the same, I used that particular good book to quote a totally different movie classic to word my conclusion to this investigation. To help you just a bit I give you the paragraph you need here:

2001: A Space Odyssey (by Arthur C. Clarke, 1968)
Chapter 1 – The Road to Extinction:

The drought had lasted now for ten million years, and the reign of the terrible lizards had long since ended. Here on the Equator, in the continent which would one day be known as Africa, the battle for existence had reached a new climax of ferocity, and the victor was not yet in sight. In this barren and desiccated land, only the small or the swift or the fierce could flourish, or even hope to survive.

↓ Untitled work in progress, (600 x 400 mm), mixed media on MDF.
It’s a sprocket. Makes a machine work, like. Somehow it still ended up looking like a flower. Now, we dance.

↓ My contestants in the 2015 Chicago Film Festival Poster Competition, (50 x 70 inches), digital layouts
… and here’s the winner. Congrats!

“Stamen/Anther” is done. So is “Fallopia/Piston Postcards” and maybe that ends the flower paintings. In progress you find a board with a border inspired by Ottoman illumination

↓ ”Stamen/Anther” or “Coming”, (595 x 460 mm), mixed media on MDF.595x460_Stamen
The stamen is the “male” reproductive organ you commonly find in the middle of a flower surrounding the “female” part: the stigma. At the end of the stamen you find an anther. That is where pollen is produced and eventually discharged from. If you are a flower you want to spread that stuff in order to procreate. To that purpose many flowers use the help of bees and other insects. Doesn’t get any sexier, amirite?

↓ “Fallopia/Piston Postcards” or “Longing”, (125 ≈ 127 x 190≈ 245 mm), mixed media on cardboard.
The second piece from the top actually travelled the atlantic by mail twice before this piece was complete. A Fallopia is a vine many consider an invasive weed. It has an unrelenting urge to cover all and everything with itself. A piston serves only one purpose: to compress, to be driven, to drive and to never ever stop. Unless you run out of juices to combust. Then you need to take a nap.

↓ Untitled work in progress, (600 x 400 mm), mixed media on MDF.600x402
Ottoman illuminations surround words of scripture or the like. The Ottoman empire is now Turkey. Turkey borders Syria. Syria has effectively ceased to be a healthy society. Nothing holy going on in there.

Spring Collection 2015: still on cardboard, some more complex than others but all investigating patterns and their recognitions. As usual there is a discount when made in bulk.

↓ ”A Prayer And A Pizza” or “Bed With A Vision”, (260 ≈ 360 x 320 ≈ 370 mm, apx and respectively), mixed media on cardboard and parmesan.


Yeah. On take-out cardboard mainly. (Thin crust, basil and roast peppers, well done) I had my medium delivered on a rainy day. And while waiting for her to come out of the shower I contemplated her architecture; at hand and out there. Both displayed in front of me for my viewing pleasures, shadows dancing in straight triangles, extending their corners. Then we drew the blinds to the world and tried to see it for what it really is.

↓ ”Grab” , (480 ≈ 270 x 290 ≈ 310 mm, apx and respectively), mixed media on cardboard.


1/φ, 22/7, part of the Fibonacci sequence and a cat called Schrödinger. And why not? Just random scraps in random shapes that you try to sort in random order. Cause if beauty is in the hands of the beholder it will eventually find its way to you, play right in to your yearning eyes. So that piece is best viewed with your eyes closed. Unclenched.

↓ ”Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda” and “Oughta, Mighta, Gotcha” (480 ≈ 270 x 290 ≈ 310 mm, apx and respectively), mixed media on cardboard.


Some cardboard boxes come with print. That makes it kinda ready-made. This one came in white, magenta and imperative words, full of spoiled surprises. That night I happened to dream I was making tea for a host of waiting people but I kept complicating it for myself, to a degree that it just became utterly impossible. And voilà: a piece on obligation and its pitfalls emerged. Hereby be warned. Adding a little spiritual geometry hopefully will detox it a bit.

↓ ”Autoportrait in Homemade Notation” or “Unfinished song in FM7 or something” (490 x 325 mm, apx and respectively), mixed media on fret-cardboard.


I noodle. Mostly guitar. Start with a weird chord stacked all lop-sided and always end up with a quirky progression and a song that takes me places. Mostly I get lost there, but that seems the purpose of my most productive endeavours anyway. Here I put it on corrugated fibreboard from what seems to have been a moving box once and it kinda ended up visualising that process. This particular piece is best viewed on a somewhat crunchy tube amp and goes well with my fretless bass.

Update: finished stuff and works in progress. Lots of mixed media, acrylic and genitalia. Current soundtrack by Yasmin Hamdan, especially the song “Enta Fen, Again” from “Ya Nass”

↓”Official Target vs. Erlösung”, (440 x 375 mm, apx and respectively), mixed media on cardboard


I am a pacifistic, anti-violence revolutionary, more-feminist-than-my-mother peace-lover first. Next I am a scientist, explorer, fighter, curiouser-than-your-cat mega-nerd. So I went to Springfield, MO and shot a police issue Glock 22, 9 mm, pistol, and much to my surprise I was actually able to do it -pull a trigger. The target wasn’t anthropomorphic, so that helped. It was by far the most violent thing I have ever experienced: the sheer force and brutal sound coming from my hand left me trembling with adrenalin. Back home the target and the experience went in to this piece; my way of making peace with it. Later I happened to be in Berlin, Germany,  on the 70th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz and cut the word “Erlösung” (“Redemption/Salvation”. It’s a wordplay on “Endlösung”, “The Final Solution”) from a newspaper and incorporated it in the diptych. Adding and/or blocking out with intersecting diagrammatic graphics of reproductive organs of flowers and spiritual islamic geometric patterns is probably just a feeble-minded attempt to come to peace with all this violence.

↓”Stigma vs. Myopia”, (390 x 570 mm, apx and respectively), mixed media on cardboard


↓  No title, (540 x 598 mm)


↓”Stunted vs. Pacific”, (360 x 360 mm, apx and respectively), mixed media on cardboard


↓  Work in progress: “Anther Penis Thing”, (595 x 460 mm) mixed media


↓  Work in progress, (480 x 460 mm, apx and respectively), mixed media on cardboard


↓  Work in progress, (480 x 460 mm, apx and respectively), mixed media on cardboard


A new duo of scavenged cardboards. A new set of fragmented patterns. Old sacred geometry? Sure …

↓ Untitled (so far), 365 x 350 mm, mixed media on cardboard


Postulation? All signs made on cardboard are a social commentary of one kind or another.

Except maybe the ones printed there en masse you might think, but then: not really. It does not matter whether you are picketing a behaviour incompatible with your own, asking for a free ride in a particular direction or soliciting financial compensation for your misfortune. Those are just the actions behind the sign. The sign itself is what you see first: a statement, a bulletin, an intention spelled out as clearly (or misguided) as the designer is intellectually capable of. Find them on the streets, discarded after use or ready at hand, more than often frayed with the incapability to change much if anything. But still and always addressing someones need or willingness to engage in some kind of social contract, to buy, to sell or whatnot and thereby issuing that postulated commentary. Is that reason enough for yours truly to apply artfulness on them? That is as legit a question as anyone and there’s this: as of 2011, fifteen percent ( of this planets human inhabitants still see to their bodily needs in the open.

↓ Title(s): “En Suite: the right turn, our collective values, their shared advantages and the sound of freedom” (365 x 485 mm, mixed media on cardboard, work in perpetual progress)


The right turn:
“I am the light!” she yelled and blew her whistle.


Our collective values:
… that night he kept walking by our windows,
screaming his frustration at his phone: “… but I love you, asshole!”


Their shared advantages:
“Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities.” (C. Sandburg)


The sound of freedom:
“The Uniform Plumbing Code, section 409.2.2 requires that all water closet seats, except those within dwelling units or for private use, shall be of the open front type.”

In progress: these are not cardboard signs and I do not work for food.

I just work. To still that particular Hunger. Later I’ll cook. Mushroom risotto.


Standing at that street corner, dazed by the mid day heat of summer: this petite and straightforward woman rides by on her bike, laboriously carrying a full size sledgehammer, upside down by the end of its shaft.

↓ Working title: “Axegeis?” (540 x 598 mm)



Consciousness snapped back with the image. Like an instant enigma, a flash of divination. Still reeling I crossed the street, hot rubber kissing the tip of my right foot as a car swam by engaging its horn. The vision got knocked in to my cornea for an eternal second and the titillating scene seeded an inferno at the end of my spine, shooting blind impulses at my cerebellum and beyond.

For months now I have tried to read the riddle. Deciphering and paraphrasing the visual, trying to force transparency onto the fetish. Listen … the Danes are a tribe of cyclists and I’m as devoted as any. Albeit a little late in life – I was six and already a wimp, I woke up one morning having dreamed of teaching myself how to keep balance, got up and outside and just did it: ran my bike straight in to the nearest wall and then out in to the world. And yet I can not solve the formula of woman, hammer and two-wheeled motion.

There’s a bodily satisfaction in pedalling yourself forward at speed, by your own faculty. I’ve watched the muscles of my thighs build over the stretch of just a few weeks, I’ve shuttled the most awkward items on my faithful wheeled vehicle (or tried to) and I’ve had some seriously rough exposures to tarmac, gravel, more masonry and fellow road users.

So there is clearly something physical at hand with this matter. In that observation. Somewhere in my mind. When that woman teetered by. Carrying a sledgehammer? A tool for back-breaking labor, an object of brutality, a symbol of crude energy and immense authority, far to hefty for her delicate build and most obviously not one she was used to carry along (seen from a point of gravity it would have been easier to carry the hammer by its head one would think?) Still she jerked me out of my stupor in the middle of the street and faded out of view. Flummoxed, I still am. A bafflement now partly consigned to board. The investigation still in process.