Category Archives: Valdehouse

we are all going to die

Michael D Higgins

From May 2010, an exchange on Irish radio between Michael D Higgins (who was elected President of Ireland last year) and Tea Party-loving radio guy Michael Graham.

Kim Jung Gi

July 2012

Irritably walking my puppy dog in a humid park and enduring the consequences of having not trained him properly, icky rain falls unnoticed before a filter of disappointment through which I’ve come to view life. All a bitter blur.

Money, lack thereof. Work, I don’t much like it.
Bottomless battle for control; lists and schedules, budgets and inventories. I am losing.

Toe jam muddy water squishing in worn out jogging shoes, I ponder:

Worst case scenario – I am not cut out for life in this day and age. I’m a weak link in evolution and thus this chain must be broken here and now. In your capitalistic society this individual simply could not make the cut.

Best case scenario – I am an idealist who refuses to subjugate himself to man’s slow pace. My reality is one of the future, of development and compassion. I won’t accept being valued as a person based on my ability to generate turnover in the meat grinder modern man currently submits to. Undignified pursuit of selfish gain and the defining of oneself by simple skills is good and proper in carnivore versus herbivore actuality, but not where I come from.

Either way;

Alone doing the wheelbarrow race sans limbs in mountainous terrain, face plowing ever deeper. Weak crimson confining dust to a barren furrow.

Olga, Millesgården

Accompanied by a new friend I visited Millesgården yesterday.

Having just paid the entrance fee and stepped onto the beautiful terrace overlooking a vast industrial area of Stockholm I stopped …“NO, wait a second, not THAT Milles!?? Not ‘the creator of the ugliest piece of crap sculpture ever made’-Milles / ‘the bane of Gothenburg’-Milles??!” But, alas, to my embarrassment it was indeed that very man, and I was (am) now contributing to his legacy of contrived highly distasteful baroque “art”.

Luckily my companion presents ample allure and easily makes wonderful even a visit to a cultural garbage dump. It all turned into an excellent opportunity to get to know one another better.

There was however a nice surprise to be found at Millesgården, the only reason I’m actually writing this – Somewhat tucked away in one of the buildings were a small number of quite masterly drawings and one painting, all made by Olga Milles, the woman who suffered from the misfortune of being the wife of the highly inflated Carl.

(self portrait)
These pieces are a delight and in my eyes easily the main attraction on show.

Ironically, Olga’s artistic ambition and productivity all but died after she married Carl, next to whom she considered herself insignificant. “Olga Milles always scrutinized her artistry with great uncertainty and self-criticism, while Carl Milles never doubted his greatness.”
Hardly a shocker, yet very tragic.

The power of the nude

Thursday 9^th June I left work early because the sudden heat wave scorching Stockholm was severely  stupefying me. Also, we had left our key with pest control who needed access to the building’s every apartment in order to do battle with pharaoh ants infesting the place. I don’t trust pest control. I trust no one.
Thus, I hurried home to check for theft and sabotage, but also with an ambitious plan to clean the entire apartment.

All was in order, no sign of wrongdoing. An Emma F had even left a receipt.

There was however darkness over the horizon – a massive cloud of smoke was rising from a building nearby. Fire, a tragedy in the making. Fire trucks, ambulances and police; sirens screeching – I watched in horror, wiped the sweat from my forehead, turned around, faced the chaos that was my home and knew that all is relative. This, my residency, was the REAL tragedy, and it needed sorting.

I was standing in the kitchen. A week’s worth of dishes were swimming in a pool of slime. A wasp queen was inspecting the open cabinets, scouting for a suitable location to build her colony.
From my vantage point I could see out into the hallway where the training mat was still on the floor, placed there the day before with the ambition to do my stomach crunches but still not used. Above it, on my brother’s book shelf I had placed his trimmer. Once again the time had come to rid myself of my sole male attribute – my red beard.

I got started. I guided the wasp out the window while trying to convince her that the best future for her offspring was certainly to be found elsewhere.
Closing cabinet doors, putting not soiled things back in their proper place, I found a way to reach the sink. I did those dishes with a determination which I’m sure would have made even my parents proud. I wiped all surfaces with a new clean rag.

Music – LCD Soundsystem.

The hallway now. Vacuum cleaner just sitting there.
Clothes from the laundry room, still in a bag, waiting to be put back in the closet, I took care of it. Got this area of the flat presentable in no time at all.

The time had come for my bedroom, and this is where my memory becomes blurred. I remember navigating my foot over the threshold and between the first stacks of paperwork, but after that there are only faint patches of light and dark… I think I was listening to Clint Mansell’s Black Swan O.S.T… I remember at one point sharing with the dust bunnies a free spot on the floor under the computer desk, reading a passage out of Melville’s Moby Dick…

Things become clear first when I was sitting in the kitchen again, enjoying a can of A&W Root Beer. I felt good about myself, romantically comparing my day with a lifetime – you’re flung into a world of crap, and it’s up to you to to the best of your abilities tidy up and find your own personal Root Beer paradise.

I had done it. I had cleaned the entire apartment.

The best part of the whole exercise was that I did it all in the nude; dick swinging with every move, testicles dangling like two huge pomegranates in awkwardly connected punching bags, while I was also inevitably pimping the apartment with a few colorful carrot-tasting pubic hairs. It was fantastically spectacular, and good fun too.

World Champions of Painting – Banksy

Second post in this series of three, four or five. Go HERE for the introduction.

The no. 2 painter, all categories:

Banksy

When you read about Banksy on Wikipedia you’ll find under ‘movement’: Anti-war, Anti-capitalism, Anti-fascism, Anti-imperialism, Anti-authoritarianism, Anarchism, Nihilism, and Existentialism. All of which every sane person would accept and support. Banksy, this mythological anonymous mystery-man, represents all of these movements better than any famous person alive. Can you think of anyone who’s managed to capitalize on and sell all of these anti:s as has Banksy? And still, unanonymous or not, the blighter can still stroll down to the pub and have a couple of pints with his mates without having the paparazzi buggering him.

Excerpts from ‘Banksy – Wall and Piece’, the book a k-zillion people own and another k-zillion people SHOULD own:

“I’m going to speak my mind, so this won’t take very long.

Despite what they say graffiti is not the lowest form of art. Although you might have to creep about at night and lie to your mum it’s actually one of the more honest art forms available. There is no elitism or hype, it exhibits on the best walls a town has to offer and nobody is put off by the price of admission.

A wall has always been the best place to publish your work.

The people who run our cities don’t understand graffiti because they think nothing has the right to exist unless it makes a profit, which makes their opinion worthless.

They say graffiti frightens people and is symbolic of the decline in society, but graffiti is only dangerous in the mind of three types of people; politicians, advertising executives and graffiti writers.

The people who truly deface our neighbourhoods are the companies that scrawl giant slogans across buildings and buses trying to make us feel inadequate unless we buy their stuff. They expect to be able to shout their message in your face from every available surface but you’re never allowed to answer back. Well, they started the fight and the wall is the weapon of choice to hit them back.

Some people become cops because they want to make the world a better place. Some people become vandals because they want to make the world a better looking place.”

“Brandalism

Any advertisement in public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours. It belongs to you. It’s yours to take, re-arrange and re-use. Asking for permission is like asking to keep a rock someone just threw at your head.”

I’ve chosen to include selected

“Advice on painting with stencils

-It’s always easier to get forgiveness than permission

-Nothing in the world is more common than unsuccessful people with talent, leave the house before you find something worth staying in for.

-Try to avoid painting in places where they still point at aeroplanes.

-When explaining yourself to the Police its worth being as reasonable as possible. Graffiti writers are not real villains. Real villains consider the idea of breaking in someplace, not stealing anything and then leaving behind a painting of your name in four foot high letters the most retarded thing they ever heard of.

-The easiest way to become invisible is to wear a day-glo vest and carry a tiny transistor radio playing Heart FM very loudly. If questioned about the legitimacy of your painting simply complain about the hourly rate.

-Crime against property is not real crime. People look at an oil painting and admire the use of brushstrokes to convey meaning. People look at a graffiti painting and admire the use of a drainpipe to gain access.

-The time of getting fame for your name on its own is over. Artwork that is only about wanting to be famous will never make you famous. Fame is a by-product of doing something else. You don’t go to a restaurant and order a meal because you want to have a shit.”

Banksy’s very inspiring movie Exit Through the Gift Shop (2010) had a profound impact on me. It was nominated for Best Documentary in the 2011 Academy Awards, and in my mind only cements his status as a multitalented super savant. Download it from the usual retailers.

There is so much I’d like to know about Banksy. How has he managed to keep his identity secret for so long? How exactly has he financed his increasingly complex projects and never ending world travels? What’s the deal in his studio / workshop / factory (?); does he run a traditional business with employees and wages?
This information may already be out there, maybe it’ll surface with time, or I may never know.
However, it doesn’t really matter and I think I’ve already gotten the most valuable gift on offer from the Banksy concept – Loving encouragement / inspiration to make whichever reality that suits me the best take shape. Appreciating his efforts by far transcends the usual “ooh that’s so pretty and clever”, and ultimately means facing one of the most important arguments of our time. Society gives scant incentive for deviant ways of life, while at the same time it could be argued that the opposite is true in its presently flawed form.  Capitalism is writhing in its death throes, and never before have I felt such desire to break free, to learn and to love, all thanks to Banksy, the no 2 painter in the world, and the no 1 wanker.

breaking the blokk

Relinquishing sloth. Stage One: preparation. For this you will need: one flat which you will not leave; one easel; beans and corn, one portion of; frozen pizza, one, for consumption warm; ground coffee, espresso, one packet of; Magnesia, Milk of, one bottle; paracetamol; mouth wash; vitamins; mineral water; Lucozade; pornography; one computer; one bucket for urine, one for feces, and one for vomitus; and one bottle of Valium, which I have already procured, from my gallery owner, who is, in his own domestic and socially acceptable way, also one lazy bastard.

#paintingmarathon

I’ll be participating in a #paintingmarathon on Sunday. My friend and colleague Titti Hammarling here in Stockholm, and her Twitter friend Martina Anagnostou in Sudan, did one last week. Others joined in and it seems like good fun, a cool concept. You paint and paint ‘til you faint, all the while, if you wish, sharing updates of your progress on Twitter.

Working from dawn to dusk may be the norm for most real artists, but be that as it may, this amateur hasn’t touched his brushes for over a month. There are several things I’d like to do. Shit en masse has for a long time been just laying around, stinking the place up, collecting dust and boogers, making me depressed, robbing me of life force…  Still, there is so much potential in all this crap!
Why start slow when one can get the show on the road with an aggressive #paintingmarathon!?
Don’t want to tell you exactly what I have planned, so as to not risk sharing my probable disappointment when there is again too little time for my too many aspirations. I can tell you however, I will be mucking about with a range of things.

As mentioned earlier I’ll be sharing my updates on Twitter. Comments and photos taken with my iPhone 3, all up in yow hungover slacker Sunday screen!
If you don’t have a Twitter account or if you have one but don’t follow me (that’s ok, I guess), all that goes on there is open even for nonmembers; it’s possible to check things out. Check it out! My Twitter name is ValdemarLethin and the painting marathon hashtag is #paintingmarathon .
I wan’t to get started at 8:00 (GMT +1) at the very latest. Don’t forget that that night is the one when we are robbed of an hour.

Follow, if you don’t in incognizance want to wallow!

I heart NUG