Although we haven't had any snow around these parts lately, I've been thinking fondly about these evanescent diamonds of the skies. The wonderful thing about gazing right up into a flurry of snowflakes is that one takes on an imaginary sort of cosmic consciousness where the mind leaps through the tracts of space while glowing stars hurl past the cheeks. It is a lovely world indeed, isn't it?

Snow Shower in the Peony Nebula (60x60 cm)

Wouldn't it be nice if a rainforest could just get up and leave? If treated badly by humans bent on exploitation, the jungle could simply pack up its stuff and go somewhere nicer - to a place where it would be appreciated, loved, understood. I for one certainly think it would be satisfying if the abused forests would suddenly go vigilante - like the Ents from "The Lord of the Rings" - and stomp a little on, say, the fastfood restaurants directly and indirectly responsible for clearing rainforests.

The Traveling Jungle (60x60 cm)

This piece is a sequel of sorts to my previous painting ("The Village in the Branches") in that it explores the same themes of microcosmic infrastructure and unseen societies. Click to enlarge.

The Castle in the Grass (60x60 cm)

When I was a kid there were no video game consoles. Instead we had big trees with lots of different play options: you could crawl to the top as fast as possible (optional was the advanced level called "Avoid Falling Down"), jump like a suicidal monkey from branch to branch, hang with your legs wrapped around a branch and feel the blood rushing to your head, or sit in silent comtemplation high above the earth (note: achieving inner peace takes about 20 seconds when you're 9 years old). And for those of us who sometimes liked to keep our games simple, there was the version where you let yourself drop from an elevated point and try to hit the ground without too much injury. Looking back at those times, I realize we were amazingly foolish - and that those magical moments of childhood are worth treasuring for perpetuity.

The Village in the Branches (60x60 cm)

For the sake of variation and exploration I tried something new with this recent piece. By distributing small puddles of diluted paint and carefully tilting the canvas corners up, down or sideways as needed, the laws of gravity and the natural tendencies of the liquid worked their magic, resulting in a structure that appears both spontaneous and premeditated. Just like nature itself.

December Willow Sipping Ionic Snow (60x60 cm)

Recently my wife and I took a walk after it had been raining heavily for several hours. Consequently, we saw many worms who had left the somewhat secure confines of their natural habitat and ventured onto the uncertain territory of the sidewalks (and the ruthless shoes which frequent them). This got me thinking about the many definitions of comfort we have. I'm not much of a gardening enthusiast myself but to our earthdwelling friends, the bountiful soil beneath is surely a cozy and comfortably clammy home-sweet-home.

Threads of Life in the Soil Horizons (60x60 cm)

Few things in this world are as comforting as the fuzzy cluster of a dandelion patiently waiting for a light breeze (or the magical blow from human lips). Here's my tribute to this little friend of bees and children.

Dandelion Aeronautics (60x60 cm)

Thematically I went back underwater for this painting which is casually inspired by one of my all-time favorite pieces of design: the shark shaped submarine used by Hergé's Tintin (depicted on the cover of the book "Le Trésor de Rackham le Rouge"). Please click to enlarge.

Sonic Ascension (60x60 cm)

The tree as a symbol is present throughout creation: from vegetation, river deltas and vegetables to arteries, nervous systems and fractals. Even when you squeeze some paint between two pieces of cardboard, trees appear when you separate the cardboard sandwich. In the painting below (completed yesterday) I did my best to include all the love and awe and humility I feel for trees. Incidentally, this piece also contains some of the most amount of hours I have ever poured into a single painting. It was a pleasure while it lasted. Now it's ready to share with anyone who wishes to take a look.

Pollination of Light (60x60 cm)

My childhood home - although located in a city - had a sizable amont of greenery around it. One side had an abandoned factory situated on a plot strewn with wild grass and trees; while another neighbored a luxury mansion with a lush garden to match. Being surrounded by this natural haven (which today is no more) meant that I saw pheasants regularly throughout my childhood. The memory of these lovely birds came to me as I completed the piece below. Please enjoy.

Mechanisms of a Wind-Up Pheasant (60x60 cm)

There are several things in this piece - "The Migrating Bonsai" - I'm very satisfied with. Some of the details probably won't be noticable until you click to enlarge but in a general way, I think the painting has a pleasant, happy quality to it. My brother's wife recently asked me if the darkness in my later works represent something internal. My response was that I certainly never intended my paintings to come across as somber - ideally people should associate the dimness of colors with cosmic expansiveness and deep sea mystery. My main reason for using black tones is simply that it magnifies the lighter ones. To my mind, few things are as captivating as the brilliant stars in the night skies, the luminescent snow poured from inky clouds, or the incandescent creatures of the abyss.

The Migrating Bonsai (60x60 cm)

Here are a few pictures taken by my wife before the opening reception at Gallery Yádá yesterday evening. I had not personally participated in putting up the pieces so I was able to see the show with fresh eyes and must admit that I'm more than satisfied. In terms of scope, it's certainly my largest exhibition so far with a total of 35 paintings, spanning nearly four years of work. As mentioned previously, the show runs until the end of June at Gallery Yádá, Noerregade 28, 6960 Hvide Sande.

Anyone who's interested is hereby cordially invited for the opening reception of my upcoming exhibition in Gallery Yádá (run by a lovely couple, Chris and Susanne) here in Hvide Sande. The show, which is a combination of my works and those of fellow artist, Mogens Jessing, will run through the month of June, but if you would like a chat and a liquid refreshment, please feel free to join us at the reception on Friday May 29 at 17:00. Normal opening hours are: Thursdays and Fridays 17:00-20:00, Saturdays 10:00-15:00. The address is Gallery Yádá, Noerregade 28, 6960 Hvide Sande. Hope to see you there!

One of the things I artistically struggle with the most is resisting the urge to make everything neat and clean. My natural aesthetics and preferences in terms of living spaces and design is generally to seek the most simple, subdued and sterile solutions. Alas, such penchants do not interesting paintings make. In the world of abstract art, it's the semi-accidental smears, fuzzy edges, boo-boos and drips of paint from the lifting of a wet brush across a canvas (I always paint on a flat surface) which creates an overall sense of depth and richness. The trick is to decide which of these flukes need to be removed, altered or simply left alone. When the human eye perceives an environment, our mind is the lens that sharpens the focus - our interest level in a particular object decides how strongly it appears to us. As a painter, however, one needs to make those decisions on behalf of the viewer - in the artificial space of an artwork some parts have to be emphasized over others. So naturally, the question always remains: did I make the right choices? Well, I guess that's up to you. What do you think of this acrylic piece completed yesterday?

Gentle Waves of Embryogenesis (60x60 cm)

This acrylic piece called "Electric Grasshopper in a Magnetic Field" was completed just a couple of days ago. In naming the work I borrowed a cue from one of my favorite science fiction creators, author Philip K. Dick, who wrote the novel "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?"

Electric Grasshopper in a Magnetic Field (60x60 cm)

Isn't it curious how a creature which technically weighs the same as a car can at the same time be as cute as a button? This acrylic painting - finished recently - is my tribute to one of our most lovable friends of the animal kingdom. The title is "An Interstellar Hippopotamus Briefly Appears in the Froth of a Supernova."

An Interstellar Hippopotamus Briefly Appears in the Froth of a Supernova (60x60 cm)

My ongoing fascination with all things tentacular led me to making this new acrylic piece called "One Head, Three Hearts and Eight Arms Through a Wormhole." The inspiration for this is simply the fact that an octopus, which generally has no internal or external skeleton, can easily squeeze through amazingly narrow spaces. Anyone with basic counting talents will of course be able to spot a whole lot more than eight arms on this particular space-octopus. My only explanation is that a physical form is probably temporarily altered as it enters a wormhole (also, I just like painting lots of tentacles). And yes, an octopus does indeed have three hearts. Incredible, isn't it?

One Head, Three Hearts and Eight Arms Through a Wormhole (60x60 cm)

I was just notified today that three of my recent 100x100 cm paintings have been accepted into the juried KP09 exhibition (Kunstnernes Paaskeudstilling) in Aarhus, Denmark. My sincerest gratitude goes out to the most capable jury members!
The group show will take place in the bright and beautiful halls of the Aarhus Kunstbygning, J.M. Moerksgade 13, 8000 Aarhus C. It's open from April 5 until May 3, Tuesdays to Sundays at 10:00-17:00.

After a brief series of somewhat larger pieces, I felt like working smaller again. Hence this new acrylic painting at 60x60 cm. Departing from my general tendency to prefer really clean strokes and edges, I purposely did not fix small mistakes and accidents this time. I guess I finally realized that the minor flaws bring an interesting vibe to the finished work. What do you think?

Synchronized Swimming for One (60x60 cm)

As promised, here are a couple of photos from my current show at Priorgaarden in Ringkoebing (Denmark). Hopefully the pictures capture the old-fashioned charm of the building and the surrounding area. The blank signs will soon feature some brief biographical information. If you live in the vicinity, by all means come by and see the paintings!

Since my work got included in the Gawker Artists galleries, this little blog has been visited by people from literally all over the world. Apart from being more than a bit overwhelmed, I'm deeply grateful for this sincere interest in my paintings, and especially touched by the kind emails I have received. Thank you so much!
Fortunately, I have a new painting to share with you all. I completed this acrylic piece yesterday, and the cold, dark winter finally gave way to a few rays of sun this afternoon, enabling me to photograph it. The title is "Drops of Light Falling From the Molecular Cloud."
Lastly, I have a small announcement. For the whole month of February, my paintings will be exhibited in a place called Priorgaarden in Ringkoebing, Denmark (huge thanks to Henrik Olesen at Ringkjoebing Landbobank). It's a compact but highly noticeable space. I'll post a photo or two after I put up the pieces next weekend.

Drops of Light Falling From the Molecular Cloud (100x100 cm)

Here's a new acrylics painting (finished today) in which I used nothing but dot-shapes. For a while I have been scattering dots and dot-structures in my pieces but this time I wanted to take this method to its natural conclusion and fill the whole canvas with stars, particles, specks and light.

Periods, Planets, Points, Pixels and Protons (100x100 cm)

The people over at Gawker Artists have been so kind as to feature me in their online galleries (huge thanks goes out to curator Liz Dimmitt). I can't recommend their pages enough. There's really a lot of excellent talent waiting to be appreciated.

We are all standing on the shoulders of others. I have at various times in my life been gratefully influenced by the works of Moebius, H.R. Giger, Joan Miró, Saul Bass, Hayao Miyazaki, Gary Larson, and Michelangelo (his "Pietà" is in my opinion the greatest work of art ever accomplished by man) - just as I am constantly finding conceptual encouragement in the patterns on fruit, the fleeting forms of waterdrops, the majesty of whales, the colors of wood, the silliness of small birds, and the deep serenity of the universe wrapped around our little rock in space.
My most recent acrylic painting is this 100x100 cm canvas: "In Outer Space Every Day is Christmas." Below that is a detail shot.

In Outer Space Every Day is Christmas (100x100 cm) · sold ·

For a while I really struggled with this painting but then it all came together rather suddenly, in a matter of days.

The Cosmic Vacuum Cleaner on a Carpet of Stardust (100x100 cm)

To get a closer look at some details, click below.

Today, my brother, my wife and I went on a small daytrip to watch the "Inside 08" exhibition. As you can see from the photos below (taken with a cell phone camera - hence the lack of definition) the space is rustic, airy and bright - and we all agreed that the show had several quality pieces. My contribution is the first on the left in the picture on the right: "Superworm Saves a Baby Beetle from the Canary."

This morning I got some wonderful news: I got accepted into that juried exhibition I mentioned a few posts ago. It's called "Inside 08" and features the work of 33 artists (congratulations to my fellow participants!). If you are in the area and curious about the show, it is held at Kunstpakhuset, Lille Torv 5, 7430 Ikast, Denmark (the gallery is a renovated railway warehouse - quite lovely). The opening reception is on October 25 at 13:00 and the exhibit runs until November 16. Please check kunstpakhuset.dk for opening hours - their site is in both Danish and English.

I must say I'm liking these new canvases (100x100 cm) which I've worked with lately. The geometric perfection is undeniably a winning factor. This acrylic piece (completed yesterday) is called "In a Midnight Pond Tadpoles are Larger Than the Moon."

In a Midnight Pond Tadpoles are Larger Than the Moon (100x100 cm)

One of the unusual things about the art profession is that you get to experience exam-like setups several times a year, all through your life - essentially whenever you try to enter a juried exhibition. This can be exciting or frustrating, yet always interesting in that it brings about an inevitable reflective mood in the days and weeks leading up to the jurying and subsequent show. Why am I painting? What am I trying to convey? Who do I hope to reach with my images? Did I absolutely try my best? How important is the opinion of critics compared to the opinion of patrons? In a few weeks, I'll be entering four pieces into a juried exhibition (I'll let you know how it goes) and it got me thinking about the origins of my visual inclinations.
The defining moment that changed my life permanently - and has in some way or another shaped all my later artistic choices - happened in 1996, when I became a vegetarian overnight (in 1999 I turned vegan). I watched a short documentary clip on TV, depicting a cow being pushed into a crammed enclosure. Here, it was swiftly killed by a slaughterhouse worker. Nothing in all the nasty scary movies I saw as a teenager could have prepared me for those unforgettable seconds. The horror was not even in the murder - it was the fact that the cow knew it was going to die. It cried and screamed as it was being brutally shoved into the execution room. The cow had awareness. Maybe not of God, the universe and beach towels, but awareness of its own existence. From that day, I promised myself never to touch meat again. For me, the logic behind becoming a plant-eater wasn’t so much the excessive waste of resources or the heightened risk of diseases which comes with a meat-based diet, but simply the irrevocable fact that animals are living beings, too. Just like us, every tuna fish has a mother, every pig has a dad, every chicken has a brain and every lamb has a heart.

Finally I completed the previously mentioned 100x100 cm acrylic piece. It's titled "The Monkey Goes Missing During the Coral Reef Safari." There is some debate as to whether or not the monkey is actually lost - I see it but my wife doesn't. Do you?

The Monkey Goes Missing During the Coral Reef Safari (100x100 cm)

Here's a photo of a detail.