My Demons and I


Winter isn't my cup of tea. It never was. Every year I pretend to think that snow would make winter bearable, but then I see it doesn't work like that. In the morning the freshly fallen snow looks beautiful. By the time I leave work in the afternoon, it's grey and dirty. It's been a strange winter this year, too warm, with spring flowers already here. I should think it would fool me into thinking spring came early, but it doesn't. Darkness comes too quickly and with it come my demons. They are like waterbirds, slowly, silently freeing themselves form the water, coming to distract me. They smell of water, the air around them is cold and blue and they demand all my attention.

The worst thing is I don't feel like painting and it rather annoys me. I've got a whole sketchbook full of ideas. I read what I have written about them, I keep looking at sketches, thinking about them, picturing final paintings. And yet nothing happens. Like a part of me is a bear in deep winter sleep, feeding my waterbirds, my demons. Standing up and walking towards the easel it just too much. As if that easel is at the end of the world, balanced at the edge and might fall off any time. 

When spring comes I know things will change, I know I'll bring all my sketchbook ideas to life. The waterbirds will slip back into water and wait for winter to fly out again. Meanwhile I'll read and listen to Claude Debussy.


Finally Released, acrylic on canvas, 80 × 100 cm, 2014.

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Ne maram zime. Nikoli je nisem marala. Vsako leto se pretvarjam, da mislim, da bo zima zaradi snega postala znosnejša. Pa ne postane. Snega je v zadnjih letih bolj malo, če pa že zapade, je prvih nekaj ur res lepo, potem pa hitro postane umazan, siv in plundrast. Niti se ne obdrži. Letošnja zima je čudna, pretoplo je, zvončki so že zunaj. Rada bi si mislila, da me bo to prepričalo, da pomlad prihaja letos bolj zgodaj, vendar me ne. Prehitro je tema in s temo pridejo moji demoni. So kot vodne ptice, počasi in tiho se dvignejo iz vode, da pridejo k meni. Dišijo po vodi, zrak okoli njih je hladen in moder in zahtevajo vso mojo pozornost zase.

Pozimi mi nekako ni do slikanja, kar mi gre precej na živce. Imam polno skicirko idej, berem kaj sem o njih napisala, razmišljam o njih, ogledujem si skice in si predstavljam kakšne bi bile videti končne slike, ko bi jih naslikala. Kljub temu se nič ne zgodi. Kot da bi bil del mene medved, ki v globokem zimskem spanju hrani moje vodne ptice, moje demone. Da bi vstala in se sprehodila do štafelaja, je enostavno preveč. Štafelaj je morda na koncu sveta, čisto na robu se pozibava in bo zdaj zdaj zgrmel čezenj.

Vem, da bo pomlad vse spremenila. Takrat bom ideje iz skicirke spravila na platno. Vodne ptice bodo zdrsnile nazaj v vodo in čakale na zimo, da bodo lahko spet priletele ven. Medtem pa bom brala in poslušala Clauda Debussyja.


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