While working in the studio we usually have the radio switched on. It keeps us up to date on events unfolding in the world around us, about cultural events and literature issues, informs us about classic music or plainly entertains us with a mix of interviews and contemporary music. As we just noted the intense Christmas flavour starting to taper off, the content of the radio programmes became influenced by the fact that the year comes to an end tonight.

Every month eventually comes to an end eleven times a year without anyone making fuzz about it. But there is something about December coming to an end, obviously because the year also comes to an end, but more subtly because that triggers a range of psychological effects.

One of these effects is the urge for retro. There is hardly a single radio channel that can resist the temptation to pull out the mirror and start looking in it in a search for what the past year really brought of good and bad – be it related to international and national politics, trends in music or fashion, theatre or art.

Inge and I do not fully understand this urge to take stock of the year, and certainly not if the urge to speculate on what-ifs blends in. The saying “You cannot use the runway you’ve got behind you” introduced to me more than 25 years ago by a good colleague of mine, seems to explain well why Inge and I feel it more important to focus on the time lying ahead.

There are important aspects related to the future, which require our attention.  They are always there – aspects which we need to focus on. The dead-lines we have to meet to sustain our presence in various international exhibitions, to take an example. Then there are our wishes to experiment with ways of artistic expression, lectures we want to develop, photographic skills we would like to hone – and more.

We simply do not have time to spend on retro-thoughts because it is December that comes to an end. You can understand that. But, you may ask, do we always look ahead and never do anything retro?

The answer is… …Yes, we do. But when we do then is has a purpose other than taking stock and speculating on what-ifs. We have, for example, as gifts to Roland produced two photographic books on events that took place in 2007. One was the walk he and I did on the West Highland Way in May. Another was the meeting Inge and I had with him in Copenhagen in October.

This was a first for us, and it appeared to be quite a challenge to arrive at a layout we were satisfied with. We learned, as you can imagine, a lot from this editing exercise. But, what you probably did not imagine, we learned in particular which scenes we did not shoot during the events – scenes we should have shot. And this is a good aspect to become aware of.

We also do another thing retro. It is linked to the very important aspect of seeing. Seeing panoramic scenes, seeing persons individually or in groups, seeing situations. But, you may say, this is what we claim as being the fundament for exploring sources of inspiration and arriving at a good design, and what we probably do every day – so where is the retro component?

Well, we have a photo refurbishment programme going on, if we can call it that, where we digitize old inherited photographs. Inge is very good at this and can extract details previously not visible in the old prints. Whereas this aspect of the activity in itself is fascinating for me to follow, it is not the retro component I refer to. The retro component is our evaluation of how our ancestors viewed their surroundings, how they arranged groups of people for family portraits, how they captured indoor scenes or vast vistas when travelling or how they captured their children in situations as they grew up and became adults.

Through their viewfinders we learn a lot.

So, yes, doing something retro can be productive and forward-looking.

For us the year’s end is not linked to taking stock of the year, dwelling on myriads of irrelevant statistics for the last 12 months and speculating on what-ifs. New Year’s Eve is featured by something far more important. It is Roland’s birthday… …and now you have our reason for producing two photographic books. One for Christmas – and one for his birthday.

It can hardly be more Christmas than right now, so it will not be a surprise to anyone if this entry on the blog is influenced by the Yuletide. I don’t really know how to approach my recent reflection because it has not much to do with the religious aspects of the approaching Season – more with aspects related to reminiscences of pagan and folkloric traditions. Hence the use of the old word Yuletide.

Our ways actually crossed two folkloric traditions related to Yuletide: a Catalan of which we learned about as late as last year, and a Nordic one with which we grew up. And I have to approach them in this sequence, because the first triggered the second.

Through Danish expatriates in Spain Inge heard of the first tradition. She knew that I would find it interesting and told me about it. She was right. I used the first opportunity during a leisurely chat with my Spanish colleague to inquire about this tradition. Rafael is a genuine Catalan, so I was properly introduced to the existence of the Caganer.

I hope that I don’t refer to this incorrectly. My understanding is that as many good Catholics do elsewhere in the world, many Catalans also create – every year at Yuletide – a decorative nativity scene with the 3 Kings, Maria, Joseph, Jesus, donkeys and other domestic animals. After having heard Rafael’s explanation I imagine that palm trees and perhaps some bushes are included as well.

Why trees and bushes? Well the Catalan tradition I refer to include a 7^th person – the Caganer – and since his role is not amongst the most prominent in the nativity scene, he will need to have something to hide behind. You know, out of courtesy. Why? Well, almost hidden in the scene the Caganer squats and obeys the call of nature.

The Caganer’s role is in my interpretation to remind us that Yuletide, in parallel with the spiritual aspects, is also featured by eating well and amidst it all, that we’re still only humans.

Now, I liked that and also found the associated tradition of Catalan kids sympathetic – they compete for who can find him first in the various nativity scenes they encounter during the Yuletide.

I was very grateful for this information and wanted to reciprocate by telling my colleague about the Danes’ relation with “Nisser”. Not to give him the longer story of nisser’s role in Danish folkloric traditions, but the short one related to Yuletide. So I told him that “Nisse” is Danish for a pixy-like little person and that I grew up with them – not as 3 dimensional figurines, but as climbing cardboard-nisser who in December were placed everywhere indoor, as an integral part of the domestic Yuletide decoration.

When Rafael asked what they looked like, I realised that I had a problem. Not what regards describing their pixy-hats or that their dress code was dominated by red and grey. It was rather when I tried to describe their faces, expressions and behaviour that I did not have an answer ready. Were they kind, were they grumpy, were they goblins in their heart of hearts?

Inge said that we could take the opportunity of our upcoming trip to Copenhagen to find a “real” nisse, so that we could show him what they look like. We both believed it would be piece of cake to find one. It was beginning of December, so we imagined that every indoor decorating shop or department store would carry them abundantly.

We were right on this account, but none of the nisser we saw did satisfy our perception of what a “real” nisse should look like. Either they looked too modern as were they pulled out from a comic strip – lacking any respect for the traditions we grew up with – or they looked too cute. A nisse must have a little touch of slyness, some traces of goblin and in particular the young nisser must be teasers.

We did not find any.

So in despair we discussed our problem with friends and family, and it was only after a hint from my cousin, Ragnhild, that we on the last day spotted an elderly nisse-couple in a shop, the appearance and dress code of which matched sufficiently close with our perceptions. We bought the pair.

In our own unorthodox way we now have a very unusual table decoration for Yuletide. It includes this elderly pair of nisser and… yes, a Caganer! And he is super. He’s well sculptured and leaves no doubt as to what he is up to. Our Catalan quilting colleague and friend, Rosario Casanovas, had him made in terra-cotta by a local artist, A. Pujol (if I interpreted the signature correctly). Rosario arranged that he was brought to us by a lovely Spanish delegation of quilters during our exhibition in Alsace in September.

You can imagine that he and our nisse-couple make a great combination for Yuletide with roots way back in folkloric and pagan traditions. You could call this combination a true Yuletide installation.

Where is the artistic touch to this story?

Well, where our nisser clearly are out of a production line our Caganer is a little terra-cotta figurine, a piece of artwork in a way, as he squats there, very well proportioned and designed with a wit (he smokes a pipe). Whereas the story thereby refers to a real piece of artwork it also touches on aspects of preconception and “first instance rejection”.

Preconception was demonstrated by Inge and I when browsing the shops in the search of a “real” nisse. Although we were not 100% sure, we nevertheless did show a strong degree of preconception as to this “real” look of a nisse.

We have long gotten accustomed to the presence of our Caganer, but the aspect of what I call “First time rejection” may have been demonstrated by those of you who found the Caganer bizarre and/or thought that our combination of him and the nisse-couple is an appalling table decoration.

But, if some of you – after having read this blog – think that behind the first appearance there may be something worth thinking over – then this is not bad at all. Even if the thought of these old traditions make you smile!

You see, for the diversity in art – in particular what regards textile art – it is very important to be aware of and preserve and nourish local and regional traditions. They are, after all, the roots and origins of the artwork we make today.

With these words of home made wisdom we, Inge and I, wish you all a very pleasant Yuletide.

An old colleague of mine and I discussed back in the 80′ies what it took to introduce a new concept or project to an audience. He said: “First you have to tell them what you are going to say, then you say what you want to say, and finally you tell them what you just said – then there is a chance that the message went across”.

Many times I have thought about this, and gradually coined my own version: “Communication is an Art!” I use it often with colleagues, when we discuss how to present a new programme, introduce new philosophies in doing things and the like to the various audiences we interface with.

These days this is exactly what we are doing, and my old colleague’s saying comes once again true and I realise that my own is a good appreciation on how to regard the challenge of communicating, and what it takes to get the message across. That includes a clear line of thought, introduction of the concept or idea, establishment of a context, description of the programme content at an adequate level for the readership and a conclusion that rounds it all up. This applies for both written and oral presentations.

Some of you know that I’m living two lives – One in the Techno World, another in the Art World – and will not be surprised at all if I tell you that I sometimes tend to reflect on how the saying: “Communication is an Art” does apply in my Art World and what the differences are to the challenges of communicating in my Techno World.

I could rephrase it to: “Communication in Art” and thereby have two complementary points of view that apply equally well regarding our artistic activities. When creating art we express something to the viewers through what we do with our paint, textiles and thread: feelings, opinions, attitudes. We communicate.

So where is the difference in communicating in the Techno World and in the Art World? The difference is the degree of explicitness, I would say. Whereas my colleagues and I in my Techno World try to explain an idea, a concept all the way through to ensure that it is explicitly clear to the readers or audience, Inge and I deliberately leave in our Art World room for the viewers to think the piece of artwork further, along their individual avenues of thought.

In both worlds communication is an art, but where being explicit is a virtue in the Techno World a certain lack of it can be an equally important virtue in the Art World. And that is not bad at all. It leaves room for what we call Gestalt.

The rooftops of a city provide a wonderful basis for reflection. They change character as the light changes from the dark of the night, over the dawn and plain daylight until dusk sets in. They have a basic function – they provide cover. Think of it, under all these roofs are people living. Maybe they sleep while I look out over the roofs; maybe they work, maybe they make love, maybe they just relax. It all depends on when in the day or night I look.

In the dark of the night the skyline marks the contours of the roofs along which the eyes wander – until perhaps distracted by few lit windows creating a narrower frame for noticing life. Not from a voyeur’s point of view, of course, but it singles something out in a mass and reduces the anonymity of the view.

The profile, the skyline, provides the historic aspect of a city and underlines its individual character – already in the first impression of it. Against the sky it sets out the domes and towers of the churches, castles and perhaps also official buildings. The second impression includes the more modest components that under the skyline form the collective roof of a city.

Already at dawn the roofs provide a patchwork of squares, triangles, trapezoids, parallelograms, arches – all different from city to city – and that in numerous compositions. In Rome and Toulouse the roofs are generally flatter than is the case in Copenhagen and The Hague, for example. That makes not only a noticeable difference in the patchwork structure, but also in variations in hues, saturation and contrast.

The climate of a city is best revealed when the day breaks over the rooftops and the low incoming light in its very special way illuminates them and the clouds above.

The morning skies, in their own subtle but nevertheless imposing ways, seem to influence my mood in an irresistible way. They are the overtures of the days.

Rooftops of a city have in my eyes all these qualities – and perhaps I should add a spoonful of mystery.

As Inge says, maybe I have been travelling too much recently.

The French are formidable. Consider this situation: Monday evening I arrive at the Gare du Nord station to take the train home and note that the two previous trains had not left yet, meaning that they had been stuck at the platform for at least 1 hour already – allegedly because a section of the overhead contact system had fallen down, which nobody believes was an accident in these striking times. People are walking in and out of the trains in despair to find alternative transport or check the information boards.

I manage to find a seat in the packed train that is supposed to leave next, whenever the blocking situation gets lifted.

It is at this moment that it appears to me that the other co-passengers are just sitting there, chatting and laughing, despite the underlying irritation.

I do not know how they manage to keep up the spirit in such situations. It must take some special genes, which do not run in my Nordic family. I don’t have them and consequently get irritated.

The battery on my laptop was still half full after the afternoon’s meetings, so when informing Inge about the situation I asked, if she had an idea for this next blog. She didn’t have per se, but mentioned spontaneously that today was the 2^nd anniversary of our keeping up the Photo-a-Day challenge. I decided on the spot to channel my irritation into a more proactive reflection on what this challenge has meant to us.

Inge picked up the idea for it on a photo-list she follows for some years now. The rules are rather simple: Everyday shoot some photos, select one and upload it to your Photo-a-Day gallery, which for this challenge is federated with galleries of other participating photographers.

Now, the rules are simple, but the same cannot be said for hanging in every single day. This perseverance appears to be part of the challenge. It is, hovever, not without merit to participate, and the feeling that it would be a pity to let it peter out gradually installs itself in the mind.

Merits? Yes, because aspects like discipline and self-critique are not indifferent to the challenge.

The personal discipline gets strengthened through the need to deliver every day and the self-critique gets honed due to the fact that we must select one amongst several images – which, and here you have to believe me, can be damned difficult when candidate shots are very close in quality. But we have to select one, and one gets eventually selected.

The critique by other photographers in the form of positive comments once in a while, and the more indirect indicators provided by the view statistics can tell interesting things about what works and what does not work in a photograph – something not always evident. We can for example be surprised by an interest in a shot, which we had not rated specifically high (but was the best we had that day). Vice versa we may believe that an image is really good, but it does not attract the expected attention. Each surprise invites us to analyse the photograph in terms of composition, contrast, light, hues, etc.

Discipline, self-critique and analysis are all aspects of our work with textiles, paint and thread. So the effort it took to hang in with the Photo-a-Day challenge has in our opinion certainly paid back over the 2 years – pixel by pixel.

I felt that when I got home, it might be appropriate to lit two candles and reward ourselves with a nice glass of wine. It was worth celebrating.