(… AT THE FOOT END OF THE BED stands a small figure, staring fixedly, with its pockets full of dead mice. A gnome or a phantom child? Whatever the case, the figure most likely eats toes at night. The water slowly rises, now flowing over the thresholds. Beyond the porous surface of the ceiling, a faint flickering can be seen, an unrhythmical crackling from some sort of neon sign.
In the dead of night we mend our foundations, as best we can perhaps, but nevertheless presumably on loose ground. We believe in God, we pen and sign binding contracts based on empty promises, and all artists realise that what they really want to be are painters. Good painters, in the simplest sense.
After breakfast, everyone reverts back to their habits; atheism and sculpture …)
Adaptation of an excerpt from the text Ro tegel, published in its entirety in the anthology Den andra vägen, Albert Bonniers Förlag, Stockholm, 2011