Son of an artist man

This weekend I've seeked refuge at my parents welcoming hideaway on Österlen. One really steps out of the present life one has back at home in the city and into an entirely different world and state of mind down here in the middle of nowhere. This time more than ever which some of you may understand why if you know me on a more personal level. But this post is not about the nature of my visit, but rather about one of my greatest sources of inspiration when it comes to my creative side. And on other levels too of course.

This post is about my father.

Having lived a very interesting and inspiring life in general I could go on forever about him, but this is more specifically about my father the artist.

He would most probably not approve of me writing this post, but when he realizes that it's done it will be too late. Better to apologize than ask permission is my strategy in this case. And the truth of the matter is that my fathers opposition to me doing this is purely based on his humbleness in the matter.

I on the other hand am not as humble as to his work, but rather very impressed and proud of it. Ever since my first memories I've seen him in his studio. Wherever in the world we've been living, my eyes, wide open, have followed every stroke of the brush that he's made on whatever he's been working on.

I'm not that little boy anymore, but I still feel a very nostalgic and warm feeling stepping into his studio. Still I'm curious to see what new pieces have been created since I last was down here. It is always the same thing though. He reluctantly shows me what's new and upon my praise of it, he always replies: "Ok, but tell me what is wrong with it?". Well, this time I actually have an opinion of what is wrong with it. It needs to be shared with more than me... In a while I guess I'll be made aware if he agreed with me on that point or not, but it doesn't really matter because the damage is evidently already done.