Drawing on my car.

I'm sick and tired of blogging so here's a film clip for you. I still write a lot but I can't seem to find the motivation to take the time to edit it and put it on the web. There is after all more then enough on here anyway.

Last winter I saw a clip on facebook about a woman who decorated a car with markers. Markers are easy enough to use and fun! However, the result seem to fade fairly quickly, and then you have to redraw it or scrub it of using an appropriate solvent. Let me tell you, it's a bigger and lot less fun job than getting it on there in the first place.

I filmed two of my drawing sessions this summer and a few hours of work resulted in 1 minute of film and a few months of decoration.

This movie also features my sunburned arm. Someone wasn't aware that bringing sun block with you in your bag is not in itself sufficient.

Abandoned mountain resort

I had to crop my partner in crime out of this picture since it is strictly forbidden to take pix of her. This is one of many instances that will be added to the list of things I will one day have to be punished for, I'm sure.

This place has been out of business for a few years, has been trashed pretty bad and is in the process of being demolished. If there's one thing that I really, really don't get about abandoned building, it's the joy that people seem to take in destruction and just trashing a place. It's pretty fucked up.

As I said: demolition. But this doesnt seem to make a lot of sense.

An abondoned grand?!?! Why?! This place is stripped, but they left a grand. This is very nearly a crime. 

As we got over to the north-eastern section of the hotel I was a little relieved to see the source of the funny sounds that got me a little on edge downstairs. There are doors slamming everywhere as it's a windy day outside.

Soon after posting the picture below on facebook I got a message from a worried aunt jumping to the somewhat logical conclusion that this place must be dangerous if bathtubs are falling from the ceiling... However, we actually checked the room above. It had a bathtub, so what exactly happened here beats me.

After we've mostly finished with all four floors, Ramona has one last wish before we go. I was getting a little jumpy when we started in the basement and she just wants to check out a few more room. Coming down the stairs, she heads right and enters a short corridor she proceeds to check out a room to her right at the very end and I turn my head to the left to see that the door on the far end, a few meters away is slowly starting to slide open. For a second I'm having a horror movie moment. The Shining comes to mind, and "Fritt Vilt" (Cold Prey), a Norwegian horror movie set in an abandoned mountain resort that happens to have a serial killer living in the basement. Turns out the room behind that door has a massive hole in the wall.

Old Pinheiro and the sea.

A while ago I started watching a tv-series about an expedition to Antarctica. The entire expedition, the 48-foot sailboat "Berserk" and all 5 crew members were reported missing in February of 2011, and while two of them turned up on the ice, nobody knows what happened with the ship and the rest of the crew.

When I first lay eyes on Pinheiro, I didnt think it was a very pretty boat, but it looked like it could sail, not just like a motorboat that some idiot happened to place a mast on. As soon as the seller was out of sight with our money, we started to realize that to sail was just about the only thing it could do well, or for any length of time. Our short test trip from Bygdøy to Aker Brygge (all within the city of Oslo while waiting for the seller to return our phonecalls) was all it took for the engine to fail. Luckily, Aker Brygge was only a few meters away at that point. The problem was fixed with a paper clip I happened to have on me, and that would last us the next two weeks.

The problems would continue to pile up. There seemed no end to it. 

We soon discovered that the engine kept overheating, and on closer inspection it appeared more or less that everything that could be clogged, was clogged. 

As soon as the engine-problems were fixed, others arose. We stopped by Risør, the mecca of wooden boats and made it to Grimastad before our next fix. The boat had a freshwater tank that we had taken care to top up befor embarking on our journey. This seemed like a good idea at the time, but soon the ocean seemed not only to exstend indefinetly beyond our hull. Little waves started to appear from under the floorboards as well. A quick taste would reveal the sorce of the stuff, and the topping up of fresh water would only amount to more hundreds of cup-fulls to be tossed out. There were a selection of pumps to do this job, but naturally non of them worked.

A few days later, our brand new cooler stopped working. This seemed a rather benign problem at first. We sailed away in the windy morning and it was only when we rolled up the sails that we realized the engine was also not working. Of cause there was nothing wrong with either. The common factor was the battery, which was dead. Nothing to do but to bring out the sails again, and after a lengthy manuver we ended up at a nearby harbor where we were clearly not welcome. A large tanker was due to arrive shortly, and we wouldnt want to be in its spot, would we now?... A fresh battery later, and we were on our way again.

But the good fortune could only go on for so long on board the Pinheiro it seemed. Soon the new battery was dead too, and it became clear that we had not taken care to trace the problem all the way back to it's origin. There was nothing wrong with the battery, nor was there anything wrong with the dynamo, but somehow they werent getting along very well. The battery wasnt getting charged during the days, so with our current use it was in short supply. So no more coolers or loud music at sea... where it probably didn't belong anyway. Luckily, our destination was in sight and the engine already running when the second battery went.

All in all, the ocean and the weather was good to us though. We only had one minor incident, and it was over in a moment. I had initially struggled with my seasickness and after sleeping almost around the clock for five days straight and finding myself hardly able to stay awake at all, I had found a new way of coping, which was to be on deck all the time. Perferably at the helm or somewhere I had a good overview of what was going on. One day I had placed myself strategically atop the inflatable boat (as seen in the picture above) at the rear. At some point my mom had moved in with a rope and tied me to the backstay, which wasnt such a bad idea after all. We were just cruising along when suddenly the gentle breeze gave way to much stronger winds from between the mountains that hit full sails onboard the Pinheiro. As though we had entered a natural windtunnel, the sudden force nearly knocked the boat flat for just a moment.

Six years later, Pinheiro met with it's end in weather much worse. Winters storms were raging in the Norwegian, westcoast town of Davik, and Pinheiro was in a bad spot by an old industrial harbor, just outside the jetty. It was to be moved as soon as the weather stilled just a bit, but soon the waiting was over. Pinheiro ripped loose from it's ties and braved the stormy waters on it's own. Ironically, it hit the outside of the jetty and went straight down. 

Now, a fish on land, it is a rather sad sight. 

"Now you can really see the beauty of it. This hull is nearly perfect." My dad knocks on the hull for emphesis.

He does indeed seem to think it is nearly perfect. But not all the way perfect. He spends houres and houres drawing and planning modifications of the interior, which is all wrong apparently. People tell me I'm good at drawing, but they haven't seen these technical drawings my dad does.

"Are you sure this thing isnt just going to tip over back into the ocean if I go all the way to the front?"

"Yes, I've tried it."

"Well, you're heavier then me so..."

I continue along carefully.

"Hey! It's tipping!"

"What?!!!"

I know there's nothing supporting the front of the boat, it feels like it could happen so easily. But my dad is just trying to scare me.

"Come on! Be serious!"

I'm sitting in the sofa, looking at my laptop. I don't want to turn it on, I don't want to spend houres looking at a screen today. I need something to do. It was then that it occured to me. A window of oportunity.

"Hey, dad! That old, wooden rowingboat... we still have it right?"

I allways figured it was old, since it was made of wood and all, not cast in plastic like the others.

"You've never going to guess where I bought it!" my dad looks pleased with himself.

"Where?"

"At 'Coopen' in Svelgen."

"At the groserystore?"

A little while later I've got my raincoat and wintershoes on and am trying to pry a big door open. Just like back in the days, I walked along the beach to get here, through the rain and the wind and the faisty Norwegian spring. This place is deserted, like a ghosttown within the not so ghostly town. It's a little cluster of boathouses, mostly neglected and forgotten. Inside the biggest one there is one little boat that my dad was more then happy to be rid of. It's not a proper rowingboat and not a good motorboat, but more of a questionable compromise between the two. None of us has seen it for years. Now I'm hoping I can make it into a sailboat.

It is to be found exactly where it was left, in the dark, crying it's salty tears of lonelyness for the last 15-20 years I imagine. Everybody remembers the day that it sprung a leak, but non of us can pinpoint how long it has been. Well, not everybody remembers, it turns out. My brother is only a year and a half younger then me, but when I bring him to the boathouse to help me move it, he looks around, wondering which boat is ours. I wonder for a moment if he's joking, but I can tell that he's not.

"Do you think I can sail all the way out to the coast in it when it's done? It is rather low..."
"I wouldnt recomend it... maybe if you wear a survival suit and bring a...emmm..."
He start to wave his armes around, clearly trying to remember a word.
"An emergency flair?" I guess.
"No good, you won't have time to light it. You'll need a distress radio beacon... around your neck."
"Really..."
People tend to take it so personally if you go and get yourself killed in such an accident. Or require help for that matter.

It soon comes to my attention that my mom has been putting pressure on my dad to get a new sailboat as soon as possible. Mom is usually the voice of reason in our family when it comes to spending money and she takes no interest in boats, so this is interesting intell to say the least. So I ask.

"I don't understand what you have against this project. Why do you want me to give it up so bad?" I reckon I do understand though. It's probably about safety I imagined, but I imagined wrong.
"It's such a wast of time and energy!"
I can hardly believe my own ears. Is it really so that my own mom has a problem with me doing something constructive with my free time? This is incomprihencable to me.... utterly incomprehecible.
"Well I have time and energy! What do you suggest I do with it then? Also, you do realize that the more you try to put me off this thing, the more I'm going to want to do it right?"
My dad laughs.

"Hey! When my ship is finished, I'll attach my GoPro to it and sail out the fjord and see how far I can go before I sink. Then I'll sell it to NRK!"
NRK is the king of sloooow television.
"Good thing the GoPro is waterproof right?"

Drawing

I was looking trough my scetchbook a while back.

Lamp

I've given myself a break from over analyzing everything, so for now I'm taking a break from my normal writing and posting some pictures instead. I designed a lamp this spring. I'm not so happy with the overall look of it, but the light just makes me happy :) It looks great in the dark!

Still, it's just a prototype, so I have to admit I'm dreading the day I have to change the lightbulbs. There's going to be wire clipping, soldering and glue guns involved... 

I got a little artsy with the product description:

"ANIVA is inspired by lighthouses. It has three bulbs, switches and color filters, regulating the colors and the amount of light. These are factors that are known to affect our health and wellbeing.
ANIVA represent a symbol of dangers at sea, but also a safe harbor, it is dedicated to all the lonely lights abandoned in the most remote places on earth."

Down time

This blog has been more or less dead for a few months now due to this big mess in my head that renders me more or less incapable or writing much more then a few lines, and certainly not anything I feel like publishing. For the time being, the world will just have to continue turning without my ..... (I ment to make a joke here, but the my brain stopped working again...)

I'll try to post some pictures or something instead from time to time so I don't lose all my readers.

I like this song, it's nice:

Confusion

I seem to have an incurable love for all things confusing. I was looking for something I wrote a few years ago when I came across the strange little thing that follows. I didn't spell check it, but I don't think it's too bad :P I'm sorry if I'm weirding you out people.

________________________________________________________________________________

As the boy tracked across the graveyard, a pair of eyes traced him. He cringed, as though he could feel if... or maybe it was just the icy wind tracing his skin and steeling away with his warmth. The thought of the wind calmed the curious creature in it's cramped, claustrophobic position, out of sight, out of mind and out of bounds.
«Get a move on!» it thought.

It considered crawling back through the wall and climb back up the trapdoor in the floor. But it was pitch black inside the old church by now and superstition seemed an incurable decease to the being in question, so it waited, though not very patiently, to be alone with its exit point.

As it waited there in the dark, it's restless mind tracked back up the stairs inside, back into the tower and in just under the roof, over the ceiling. Lost in the delightful memory, just for a moment it was somewhere else entirely. It giggled, out loud.
Shit!
The boy outside stopped dead. Only his head moved, strangely disconnected from the stillness of his body, looking for the source of the sound. Then, inevitably, he hurried off. Inside the wall, sometimes curious creatures cant help themselves. When the boy looked back he saw the demonic creature of his imaginings coming out of the foundation wall. Now, he ran, panicked. Behind him, exiting the underground, relived and unsettled all at once, was a creature that had only meant to sneak a peak and wasn’t demonic in the least.