I look out, and the world has become a drypoint engraving—or perhaps an etching, or a mono-chrome photograph. All the colors seem to have been erased by snow, leaving only black, white, and the long, quiet scale of gray between them.
The snow works tirelessly, covering everything in its path—like Tipp-Ex. It paints over and erases, tone after tone, down to the deepest black. And yet, as I look out through the window of our small loggia, reality still feels tangible. Altered, yes—but unmistakably graphic in its expression.
Now is the moment to capture it, to seize the opportunity. Soon the scenery will be completely covered in white—or everything will melt, the gray will return, and with it the dark, colorless slush of a Stockholm winter. Normality simply.
Black and white has never quite been my thing. I love color and feel more at home working with subtle nuances and tonal shifts. That, of course, comes from having begun my career as a painter—a sensibility that naturally
