Birds’ Eye View

(c) freedom writer

Oil painting, painted with brush.

This one was inspired by Love Birds. You may see the original painting here.



(c) Couple by Lette Valeska

There is one year of silence between us
One year since an entire universe collapsed
When love stopped gravitating around us
An untimely Big Crunch.
You killed my love
Like you squash a dying insect
And I killed the starman in the sky
Murder stop murder stop murder

A living breathing organism ceased to exist
Crushed under the force of our insecurities
Who is exempt from the horrors of grief?
Who is exempt from love?
A theory of everything in its incipient phase
Birthed hope and all that is good in the world
Turned grey into green and mud into gold
It turned all seasons into spring
It touched me with the healing power of a thousand gods
In the wizard’s tower, I wait and wait
But there is no arrival

You are permanently there
Where I feel.
You are the noise in the background
Disturbing the sound of silence
A distant memory I keep replaying
A universe shrinking
A tumor that sucks all being
A knife in the back
The sweet poison I tasted
All to the point of no return.
I’m still craving for my epilogue
But every month feels like November
Every day a rainy day…

With you I mourn, dear little heart
The love I once found and now ‘tis lost
May forever spread out there in the Universe
Like the ashes of my beloved
Touch every soul that has once known torture
And reunite long lost lovers
Under the gaze of the moon
And young stars

I have found that there is no way
To put my universe back together
But with building blocks of love
There is my epilogue
Where waves still crash on the shore
Where leaves still shuffle and announce the many possibilities
Where stars still collide
Where artists still polish their work
Where there is music still playing
In the laughter of a child
In a stranger’s kind gesture
Little by little, this grim universe becomes bright again
Mothering new stars
All at the touch of love



(c) freedom writer

Oil painting inspired by Kraftwerk’s Man Machine album cover and Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale book cover, which you may see below.

The work represents my take on the strict and often mechanical separation of gender roles as well as on the loss of individuality. In the words of Marilyn Manson, we’re “just a copy of an imitation” (Target Audience song).

Kraftwerk Man Machine Album Cover
The Handmaid’s Tale Book Cover

I Fell in Love with the Sad Clown with the Golden Voice

Puddles Pity Party

I fell in love with the sad clown with the golden voice
You play your part so well
With humor and sadness blending like colors in harmony on the canvas
You started the world’s first joke that made everyone cry
You’re a rock ‘n’ roll diva, a snowman in disguise
The Grinch who stole the spotlight
An operatic soul with humanity as your best card
The joy you bring into our lives isn’t the kind that’s for sale
While the real clowns are running your country
You show up at the pity party
With your greatest gift
And the usual makeup
Do be sad and show the world
The beauty that resides in vulnerability
And let another tear fall
And another one…

Puddles Pity Party

I fell in love with the sad clown with the golden voice
What do I do other than go with it, where it takes me?
There is laughter and glee and the white color is growing on me
You fill in the blanks with your art’s tint
Ageless and full of nostalgia
In each tremolo of your voice
There’s a happy ending
The one I never had
A musical hug is on the menu these nights
As your art attends to my mournful soul
Bit by bit
I cherish this like children savoring chocolate with both of their little hands
Who wait for summer days when they can play for longer hours
There is whole in your baritone voice
Which hits the right notes to grasp the pain
And make it worthwhile
All we can do now is
Sing and smile
And join your circus of hopeful acts.


(c) freedom writer

Painting inspired by Leonid Afremov’s Lighthouse and Wind. You can see the original painting here.

Oil painting with spoon (palette knife substitute). More precisely, this little thing:

Spoon painting