Sketchbook

... and from another one.

Sketchbook

From a sketchbook long time ago.

 

Portrait.

THE MAGNIFICENT MONK

Autobiography

My autobiography!!

HOW I BECAME AN ILLUSTRATOR.

1 Discovered the chalk and the black board

2 Fascinated by a picture on the wall in my bedroom. Zorn. Djos Mats

3 Learned to know The Superman, Donald Duck. Wanted to draw comics

4 Saw cartoons on Sundays. Roadrunner, Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck

5 Flirting with my teacher. Miss Ingrid.

6 Encouraged by my art teacher. Mr Thalén

7 Entered an Art School

8 Croquis lessons

9 1968!

10 Advertising agency. Named Eco.

11 Hitchhiking around. Learned to love Ireland. Writing and sketching.

12 Teaching  at an Art School

13 Being an illlustrator

Italy

Just one more shot.

Me, sketchbook, pencil, the hillsand and the blue sea.

Couldn´t be better.

Italy

I like islands.

 Been to many. Ireland is a favorite. 

Last week I went to Sicily. Together with a bunch of close friends.

 We learned to know eachother when being younger than today. 

We paint and draw.

Went to the little village of Castellammare del Golfo, doing some sketching. 

Got some admirers down by the port. 

They played and sang for me and this  photo was taken. 

... AND FINALLY ... JAMES BROWN

Once upon a time David Bowie visited Gothenburg. 

I was given the task

to illustrate a Bowie supplement. 

This is the result.

Once I spent a day in the reign of the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra.

 Håkan Hardenberger (trumpet) was a guest star, Trevor Pinnock the conductor. 

The orchestra was rehearsing.  I was sketching.

An enviable situation. Listening, learning and making drawings.

We sat down in the cafeteria. Had an espresso.

Håkan and me.

And so this sketch was done. 

 

THE DAILY COWBOY

I grew up in a tiny  town, having by the time five cinemas.

And on every Sunday there was a three o´clock show on four of them.

And on at least two of them a Western was to be showed.

I grew up with those heroes and villains.

I got stuck.

 OK Corrall was a very common place where things happened.

Many versions are probably made of the fight. 

I had my own Corrall at my backyard. No Horses, no 

cattles. But a nice place it was. We were a nerdish 

gang goppetigopping.. around on our dreamt horses.

And we killed eachother with fictive revolvers.

It was very peaceful.

I might come to see the real OK Corrall before I die.