Her painting practice is grounded in repetition as a form of presence. She returns to the same motifs—everyday objects and simple forms—not to reinterpret them, but to remain in a sustained, attentive relationship with the image. Through minimal visual change, subtle shifts in colour, light, and space become perceptible.
Working slowly and methodically, she approaches painting as a practice of looking, where endurance and sustained attention take precedence over visual intensity. During her residency at Björkö Konstnod (2025), this practice temporarily shifted toward writing and attentive observation. Writing became a way of sustaining presence—a means of perceiving objects and states through language rather than image. Rather than replacing painting, this shift functioned as a parallel practice, deepening her ongoing engagement with repetition, slowness, and being. Across media, her work resists visual spectacle and invites a slow, prolonged engagement with time.
PRESENT TENSE
June 24 to July 7, 2025
BLUEBERRY SAFARI
sound poem
Silence
While others are planning the route,
…I’m lying on a cliff.
Pause
Listening.
I hear—
just fragments.
Silence
I’m sucking on a candy:
sweet, salty, anise…
…but in my mouth—
cherry.
Long pause
Where should I stay
in Stockholm?
Silence
A boat.
A boat-hotel.
Romantic.
Silence – inhale
I’m standing on dried,
sea-tossed
seaweed.
CRANCLE
Soft.
…pleasure.
Pause
I see—
I see three-legged creatures moving
on different levels of the forest.
I follow them
with my eyes.
Silence
Crancles.
Resilience.
Rhythmic silence break
Radio.
Footsteps.
Silence
Fiction.
A character.
Cliché.
Silence
Echoes.
Sounds…
…familiar.
Entangled.
Silence
Potpourri.
Recording.
Footstep
We walk.
Long pause
Blueberries.
Safari.
Step into my room —
where time has no teeth.
Where memory forgets your name.
Cliff Walk Recording (2025)
Recorded during a walk with Janice Jencen and Tricia Enns.
The audio functions as a practice of presence and attentive observation.
Narration by Tricia Enns.
Listen here:
This place is fog.
Endless fog.
It smooths the edges of everything I thought I was.
I begin to dissolve.
Not vanish — dissolve.
I don’t want to observe myself
from a distance —
as if I’m “other.”
Nothing belongs to me-me.
Not even this sentence.
Not even this breath.
And somehow —
that’s what makes it beautiful.
