Oil color and paste, 90 x 37 cm
My mother died during a storm in 1995. When my father walked out into the winter, a northern light followed him from the house, and back. It was my mother, he claimed.
My father left space on the tombstone for his own name. He died 20 years later, in 2015. They found him in bed, with his cat and his dog.
Those of you who work in a studio – you know that some things doesn't work out. That is to say, we fail sometimes. This is one of those times. This image is a long trail of mishaps and failures, but as I (for unknown reasons) had to finish it, I still present it. Because it happened, and today it exist (despite everything).