Everything is packed down into boxes. Paints, solvents, brushes, tools—things that usually sit within arm’s reach are suddenly gone. What’s left are empty shelves and a space that feels strangely unfamiliar without all the clutter.
This is what it looks like when work pauses. Not because it’s finished, but because it’s about to continue somewhere else.
The new studio is bigger. Brighter. More room to move, to work, to think. That’s the idea, at least.
Right now, though, it’s just this: a transition. A moment where nothing is really happening on the surface, but something is definitely changing underneath.
The Story Behind the Move
A studio builds itself over time.
You don’t notice it at first, but after a while everything falls into place. You know exactly where things are. You adjust to the light, even if it’s not great. You work around the limitations because that’s just how it is.
That’s what I had here.
It worked. But it also started to feel a bit tight. Not just physically, but mentally. The space sets the tone more than you think, and after a while, you either grow with it—or out of it.
So this move isn’t just about getting more square meters. It’s about changing the conditions.
More light. More space. A different kind of energy.
At least, that’s the hope.
About the Transition
Right now everything is in between.
Nothing is set up. Nothing is where it should be. If I want to paint, I’d have to unpack half my life first. So instead, there’s this pause.
And it’s a bit uncomfortable, to be honest.
You’re used to being able to just start. Now you can’t. Everything is delayed. Slowed down.
But there’s something useful in that too.
When the new studio is ready, nothing will be accidental. Every shelf, every surface, every corner will be placed there on purpose. It’s a chance to rebuild the way I work, instead of just continuing out of habit.
Soon these shelves will be filled again.
New materials. New work. Probably the same kind of mess as before, just in a different room.
But for now, this is where things stand.
Packed down. In motion. Not finished. Just moving forward.
I’m an artist in Växjö, in the south of Sweden, and the new studio will continue to grow from here. The surroundings may be quiet, but that’s part of the appeal. It creates space to focus, to work without distraction, and to let things develop over time.
This painting studio in Växjö is where the next body of work will take shape. Same direction, perhaps—but in a different environment.