



MAN'S HEART IS BUT A DROP OF DEW ON THE VIOLET FLOWER


Man's Heart is but a Drop of Dew on the Violet Flower is a multimedia art project inspired by Swedish culture and history, late medieval, renaissance and gothic revival aesthetics, opera and ballet, classical litterature and poetry, traditional music, heraldry as well as paintings and sculpture from across the ages. The project consists of poetry, visual art, music and a short film of art and animation that were made in the summer and fall of 2023.
The narrative revolves around the events of a lavish ball held at Leijonhus castle, courtesy of Herr Leijonriddare, where the bard John is invited to entertain. He opens the evening by performing several long ballads while the guests enjoy food, drink and good company. He then goes on to play countless danceful tunes, raving his lyre long past midnight to the fluttering feet of joyful revelers, whereas those who slip out of the ballroom take to exploring, stealing a walk through the castle's endless corridors or sprawling gardens - perhaps finding one or two secrets along the way. At dawn they all reconvene, spending one last moment together before bidding farewell, stepping into their boats to take leave of the festive occasion at the coming of day, wondering; Why can't moments like these last forever?
Transience, Impermanence; The heart of man is but a bulbous drop of dew, cradled in the arms of a morning leaf - soon to fade away into the coming heat of day. And what then? Silence.




Photos








Select poetry from the project


A My Heart is Still Mine... Even After All This Time.
Fear not the armor
the lovely strong steel
but fear neither body
wherein love you shall feel
Yonder life is a mystery
born of glittering lines
and the clasp is trustworthy
yet, my hour naught found
So I try there to walk
among the shivering pines
and I try to be braver
following this path as it binds
So hear me, morning hour:
that not even man with all his power
can consequence outrun
and joy is but a drop dew in the sun!
So when in flower, turned to fruit
go declaim of every truth:
that even he who loves in truce
would sooner light his own fuse
than be generous with his youth
We dreamt in dark, of dragon wing
and there was nothing left to say
so dear friend, be on your way
we’ll meet again one day
Yes, go back to the grave
and I’ll meet you there one day
And remember, Oh ay
that love’s a needle in hay
and life’s a mighty good garden
inwhich humans do play
And I played, O, I played
ran roads by paths paved
and at the end of all days..
my own heart was saved
I saw the water fall from the sky
when the fire was plowed
now it rages on no more..
for I’ve opened up the door
look yonder, to yore!
I’m reborn evermore
and this time I’m sure,
that I know what love’s for
and it’s joy, joy to the core
it’s mortality’s only cure
So..
Ba dum, ba dum
My heart’s still mine
Ba dum, ba dum
even after all this time..

'Tis the Ballad of John and the Wilis
Look ye, hark ye! - I am come to the land of love
for a liaison in the garden, hidden by the dale
but such was the issue, and thus was the tale to be told;
in which every flower rots in my hand
and old, it is old, the myth of the man
who gives what is good, and dares go aland
even in stranger lands
Alas I’ve Given it All, but Mercy Has No Chance.. The Night is so Long - And Cruel Men Must Dance, O, I cower..
In fear of the plague!
for I have seen a field of flowers where precious time is powdered to dust in the mill
And it was right then and there, that I let go of fear - and first met the wilies, my dear
So hear me Myrtha, I leave their fates to you
for you showed me it’s true; man’s heart is but a drop of dew in the sun
yes, man’s heart is but a drop of dew on the violet flower at dusk
it’s a light held in fashion, just a toy in blood
So I slept in a rosebud, and awoke to the rain
it stilled every fire, and conquered the pain..
Now lo and behold..
My heart is still mine...
even after all this time.

An Exhortation to Art
Art is boundless, art is eternal
it is the only one thing
that can capture the ephemeral
Look, love, listen and see
I feel with my little heart..
something greater than the sum of its parts
and I live with my little soul
a time enriched, which makes it all whole
We gather together, in reverence
and we sit together, in penitence
once chalk, limestone
a carved bow, carved bone
turned oil, new-grown
in eternal shade
a vibrant tone
Look, love, listen and see
what do you feel?
Art is our love taken form,
the glow as it pulses, in a heart good and warm
and art is the shape of our longing
in yearning for rain, a calm summer wind
finding its way in..
I saw many things, I say them again
I’ve given everything,
and my passion knows no end
convolution, absolution
brings the depth of the human existence
into fruition

No more but so?
È del poeta il fin la meraviglia
Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge
it is drops of dew on the countenance of all beauty
I become I; by becoming all
I become life, the antidote to walls and barriers
of time, and thought
opinion and place
lines untraced, tears on your face
I’m the uniter
of age and wealth,
body and health
I bring we together
so we can exist forever
it is wonder, fascination
in nostalgia
and ablution
vanitas, infinitas
where are they?
bound to the sound
just waiting to be found
and you were lost on the moor
came home to a locked door
so left a pasquinade, little rodomontade
we playfully play
make joy of your frustration
enter it, once astray
and now you’re here
I become my poem
I become my love
Poetens syfte, är att väcka förundran
fifteen, nineteen
eighteen..
longing ad infinitum
yearning for the marching of the drum
No more but so?
we must better learn
to know a hawk from a handsaw
Know a lark from a willow
and a thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases:
it will never pass into nothingness
many a poet are born to feel unseen
No more but so?
sir, I am come to pastoralia
saw the whole world grow from a pomegranate..
Daphnis ego in silvis
memento mori, she’s lost on the moors, miss
a golden beacon raised for you
so you could find your way through
I become the poem
I become immortal
in gaudium, gaudium;
et in arcadia ego
Gaudete!
I’m everywhere
you must dissolve obligation,
in order to let go
No more but so?
O, the things you know..
I am determined to have curiosity
I will be wise, henceforward
I will listen thrice
think more than twice
finding your own voice, is the greatest price
of all
‘tis the way all must go
it’s no more but so
this lives on
gives life to thee
this lives on
gives life to me
Do you see?
come and be,
with me
come and be
be me
be you
wings unseen,
herald’s call
become visible
leave, but stay
ad infinitum
a melody endlessly strum
on the golden lyre
an almost inaudible hum..
olympic flame,
a neverending game
no winners
no losers
only bruises and bouquets
the poet
he is, become infinity
just so, intrinsically
a poet
a human
the most essential balm
and the most vital thing
I’ve found the holy grail
and it resides in the richness of a tale
in the tales we tell,
the poems we read
I write tonight, in golden light
I fight nothing, ‘tis the only thing that’s right
and for once, all is right
I fight nothing, and find everything
in nothing
since time immemorial, I deplore you
be part of this legacy
enter into ecstasy
a rapture..
the rapture
captured in a word
risen from the ink
The purpose of the poet
is to instill wonder
and to open gateways
meaning is predicated on this feeling
for meaning is itself; a feeling
unreeling, so unreeling
I am feeling, always feeling
this one feeling
now I am, become life
not all is bleak on this earth
not all is lost in strife
listen and see
deep within the chaos
you can be free
you; the eye of the storm
and poetry? the way a sanctuary takes form
Je suis née pour ce faire
Detta är mitt syfte
Je suis née pour ce faire..
Detta är min mening
It’s no more but so..