When I paint, I often use my hands, fingers or sponges, or all of them, when working on canvas. That means lot of wet paint everywhere, and some times too much material, too thick layers to wait to dry. So, I’ve discovered that silk paper sheets, 70-gram of weight are ideal to wipe off the extra paint, without ruining the work. Or, actually I don’t wipe it, I press the paper gently on the wet paint, and lift it off. Sometimes it leaves really interesting print marks on canvas, and I let them visible - like here on the on of my latest pieces, Montgolfière:
It makes a delicate effect of something organic, lacy, plant-like, wooden, or maybe root-like. Transparent.
But what happens with the used papers? They look nice, but I do absolutely nothing with them, and they used to end up into trash. But not any more, because my studio colleague, hard-ass ecologist bookbinder are recycling them in her work!
She takes the sheet after I’ve finished with it, let it dry, and she makes these beautiful note book covers with them. Inner pages are also made of recycled paper, there might be some color sheets or piece of an old map, or an envelope as one page. Just genius, isn’t it?
And she calls them Les Carnets Leena - so cool!
You can visit her page here - and go to like her Facebook page here!
Okay. I really didn’t want to write anything about the on-going presidential election here in France, since I’m not even able to vote - but today I met someone.
I guess this guy was fulfilled with pure, red-cheek-joy and new raging energy after the success of Le Front National on the first round of elections.
This morning we went to see the vet with my elderly cat lady Sumppi, nearly 17 years old. And, just like that I got my first racist comment since living in France (almost 6 years now). Nothing nasty, the guy just suggested, that maybe I should go back to Finland.
No, don’t feel sorry for me, I’m a big girl from Finland, and I can handle this - but are we really aware about the fact, that there are millions of people who get that daily, all the time and every where, and much worse than this little remark I got? Are we aware, before we get this ourselves?
Anyway - if the guy was thinking I’ve come to France pick his boy- or girlfriend, or his job, he is absolutely welcome to try mine - job, obviously -
Hah! I’m sure he couldn’t live with it, even for one week!
So keep calm, s’il vous plaît, garçon - and serve me another café au lait!
*And Sumppi, the most beautiful, cranky old and blind cat is okay. She just has a chronic gastritis, and shaved belly after the ultrasound examination. Poor baby!
This is it. My modest studio in Orléans, France. It’s here, where I spend my days, more or less. More, actually. Less and less anywhere else.
Studio is located in a local association’s house, Couleur 136, where we are 5 artists at the moment. It’s okay, even though I need some ear plugs sometimes. French people attend to get louder when the spring time hits them in the head. They are a bit weird like that, but mostly not dangerous, I think. They should maybe watch some more Kaurismäki films to learn to appreciate the Finnish way of subtile, descreet expression. Which of course, is the only right way.
In my room, which is the ancient living room of the house, I have an huge, old and very dirty oriental rug on the red-green-colorblind’s nightmare -floor, where I’m often all day on my knees. And this soft blue velvet couch to think in, to eat, to drink my beloved coffee, and to be completely lost in my wildest ideas, like, what I’m going to have for dinner - or - that spider is going to die soon. Or just checking out my Instagram feed, Compulsively.
I have one smallish window to the north, one opening to the south, and expensive, latest technology day-light-lamps and other spots - but I’m mostly never happy with the painting light. How the hell did they do 100 years go ? Or even 15 ?
Do I need glasses? Or more lamps? Where’s my ochre?
Life is full of mysteries.
But hey, really, I do not eat spiders.