13 July 2008

The girl in the hallway

There was a girl in the hallway last night. She was sitting on the floor by the door of the guy across the hall and cried. She talked quietly, knocked on his door, sat there and wept. I watched her through the peephole for a while. When I woke up this morning, she was gone.
The guy from across the hall carries two chairs out onto the grassy spot outside the flat. He lights a barbecue. He puts a couple of sausages on it and lays a small table for two. When she comes out, I can see it's her. Her long, blonde hair is flowing down her back. It's wet.

11 July 2008

Impa speaks Swedish too

70 year-old Swedish man: 'Your feet are so small for your height.'
Impa: 'Size 36.'
70 year-old Swedish man: ' Do you fall often?'

10 July 2008

Impa looks at photographs


© Gunnar Smoliansky

Impa went to Stockholm's cultural centre Kulturhuset. It housed an exhibition of Gunnar Smoliansky, One Picture at a Time. An endless series of photographs of Stockholm and Smoliansky's personal life, taken over the past 50 years and arranged in no particular order. Pictures of the city's neighbourhoods, the people in the streets, Smoliansky's wife, a swing in a park, the shadow of a tree, a nail in the wall, a fly on the window sill. All in black and white, all of a wonderful softness. Because in themselves, they are no more than pictures, observations, the blink of an eye. Put together, however, they paint the picture of an era of the city and of the personal life of a man with an incredible eye for detail in the world around him.
If the pictures hadn't made me happy, the space would have. On the top floor of Kulturhuset, the exhibition room lies stretched out between a smooth, wooden floor and an industrial ceiling of frames and lamps. The deep space and the light from outside make up for the lack of height. To one side light falls on to the bare concrete wall through glass in the roof. In the opposite wall windows from top to bottom offer a view of the heart of Stockholm. (A minimal sofa in a spacious room, surrounded by concrete and overflown with light? Where can I get that for my home?)

6 July 2008

5 July 2008

Impa and the Swedish night

Impa is outside. My feet on a bare rock sticking out from under the grass around me. It's midnight. Pine trees draw black silhouettes against a pale blue sky. Over my head the light blue turns into the deep, dark blue behind me. My bed is made in a red wooden house with white window frames. I'm standing still on the rock. I watch and listen. I hear nothing. I listen again. Absolutely nothing. Deafening, overwhelming silence. Silence with the smell of pine trees and the taste of water from a well.
And I am silent. I lie down in the clean bed in the red house with the white window frames and think it knows me. From all those previous years. There is a dog with a rugged fur coat and snow-white teeth. Two children sleep just below the roof. There are old friends. I lie quietly. With the smell of pine trees just outside my window.