No interference

I’ve been painting, meditating, watching films and drinking tea. It’s a good day. It’s been a good week. A good month too, so far. Johnny and I are getting closer. Hearing his voice through the earbuds while closing my eyes, almost transports him here, next to me. There is no static between us. No interference. Only love.

I’ve never let any man come this close before. It used to terrify me, this closeness, even though it’s been my highest wish to be really close to someone. But I am not afraid anymore. I decided not to be. It was that easy. But getting through all the obstacles so I could make that decision was very difficult.



When we talk, we float into each other, melt together in the silences and through the laughs and we’re cleansing our hearts together, deep inside our invisible home. I know it will take years for us to be together in real life, but it doesn’t change anything. I feel happy. I feel close. Our intimacy outsmarts the missing and the frustration.

Next year will be so different from this year, I can already sense it. This year was all about letting go and to accept what I’ve never been able to accept. Next year will be about finding the pulse of life and getting in sync with it. I want to lose weight. I’ve had so much extra weight on my shoulders for a very long time, and it shows in my body as well. I want to feel beautiful. Healthy. I want to celebrate my femininity. My raw female power and strength. I want to do, to be, to make, instead of healing through the intellect and meditation. Next year will be my first real year as a person, without the traumas or the fear. I’ve worked so hard to get there. I am so close. I am so close to finding life. To letting myself go – without inhibitions. I am so close to whatever reality is about, without the dark edges around it.

Various degrees of intimacy


Some week ago, I wrote about how I’ll study my creativity as a scientist to see if I use it as rest or play (work), but I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not about that. I use my creativity as both rest and play and it’s relaxing, fun and hard work at the same time. What I’ve discovered is how I use the different techniques and media to express myself – I am always driven by my core and what it has to say and therefore my creativity is a very intimate force. The digital expressions, writing, digital art, poetry are all based on my innermost feelings and thoughts but I am more flexible here. I can weave my personal stories into a more general expression, something that concerns other people. But with my analogue art – such as painting, mixed media, drawings etc, I feel more protective of the pieces. They don’t concern other people, only me. My analogue art is my most intimate expression, perhaps that’s why it’s so linked to my sexual energy.

My digital art, painting, drawing and mixed media.

 “There’s clearly a connection between your creativity and your sexuality – what is it?”, my therapist once asked me. I didn’t understand it at the time. I answered; “Perhaps it’s where I am most traumatized?”, but that isn’t it. During the 7 years where I was creatively blocked, I had a recurring nightmare about pooping in public. “The excrement is your flow, it’s a wishful dream.” She said when I told her about it. And I get it now. The flow of something very intimate that I release in the public arena.  It’s coming from me – it’s produced inside me and it’s a mix of old things that my mind, heart and soul have digested and turned into something else. Something new, that want’s to be released. I make something beautiful out of the crap that happened to me in my past. My paintings and drawings are as close as you can get to my core, without knowing anything about me.

"Sex Monster", 2013

“Sex Monster”, 2013


“A horny she-devil”, 2010

I used to feel forced to produce paintings and mixed media pieces for art shows and collectors and that’s when I got all burned out and stopped working. I got blocked, lost my momentum, my self confidence and my ambition to work as an artist. No wonder, that’s not how I’m supposed to treat my analogue art. It is far too precious and magical to me to be used as a cash cow. It’s like selling your soul. I can never go back to working like that again. I have to find a new approach to my art as something I can make money on.

Pictures from my art show “My Pink Hell” in Copenhagen, 2009:

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“Painiverse” – My space suite [2013]


Selfie from 2013 – in the process of making the tough decision to let my life fall apart in order to unchain myself from my past

Before I made the decision to break free from the chains of my past and to leave my whole life behind to be able to start over in a new place – I was dealing with the heavy weight of this decision in a suite of digital images of Space, void, loneliness, distance and isolation – but also with a slow movement through the darkness – orbiting a core – the gravity of freedom.

From my diary 2015:

The view from the top floor is nothing but a white sky. It’s too cloudy for me to be able to see beyond the whiteness. But there is a black stain somewhere in the white. I look closer. Now I can see that it is the smallest Universe. Space. Darker than anything I have ever seen. I realize that this little micro Universe is my pain. An old pain, it doesn’t exist anymore – and now it’s a memory in the shape of fear.


I suddenly understand that inside this dark Universe is everything I have ever known about myself. About life. About love. Pleasure. Happiness. It is so tiny – but when I am floating around in it – it feels infinite. Once I am inside it, it is a closed world, it becomes my everything and I become the only detail inside it. I can’t see that the world outside is infinite, and that I’m just swallowed up by a ridiculous little stain – insignificant even though it’s packed with pain. Once I am consumed with this world, swallowed up by it and reconciled with the pain, I feel free.


It’s just me and the dark void. Nothing else. I let go of any resistance. I let it take me deeper inside. I am so lost – but I feel part of something familiar and absolute. There is nothing but me and the familiarity of the darkness. Nothing can hurt me here. Because I am already floating through the pain or the memory of it.


It is my ‘Painiverse’.




Photos from a walk in the moonlight, a week after the break up 2014


The time right after my decision to break free, my life started to fall apart in the most wonderful way,  and my digital art changed as well – the planets grew smaller and turned into important details in a new mythology that mirrored my new life. Here are works from 2014:

I’m staring right into the eyes of death. Or love. Whatever. That’s when I feel your bullets hit me right in the heart. Bullets of fire. I can’t breathe. I don’t want to.
I can feel how everything is destroyed. Or saved. Or whatever. Blackbirds, blood moons, lion breaths, rotten flower beds – like fireworks above it all. Exploding within and inside.

And I realize – I don’t know the difference between love and a beautiful murder. – MIA MAKILA, 2014

The other worlds


The weekends are so surreal. Two different continents melting into one. California and Sweden coming together. Like palm trees covered in snow. On each side of the lost hours between two different time zones, we create our own world. Mornings are covered in stars. Nightskies are colored in light blues. Hours of endless conversations. Laughter. Some words lost in translation. Others born out of absurd linguistic compromises that makes us both laugh.

Three poems by my boyfriend Johnny Hernandez:

I learn a lot from his work. That’s the good thing with having a writer boyfriend. I want to learn. At times I feel inadequate in my writing, because I haven’t read that much. I don’t know what’s good taste, bad – or if there are any rules to follow (or break). But thanks to our talks, I’m slowly learning. And I’m gonna start reading. Novels. Classics. And contemporary ones. Poetry. Movie scripts. And everything in between.

I stopped reading when I lived in the traumas. People told me I couldn’t write. That I wasn’t smart enough to read. That I had terrible taste so I shouldn’t bother. Manipulations will make you believe crap like that. Violence will enforce those lies. Even though I was the one with all the talent, I gave up writing. Reading. Until I forgot how much it meant to me

Now I’m reclaiming those things. My talent. And my intellect. I am looking forward to exploring it. And to get lost in the world of books again. I am eager to learn. Hungry for knowledge. Curious about what I can add to the world through my writing. I have so much I want to share with you. I just need to figure out how.



I am waking up with a sense of sensuality running wild inside my body. The white sheets in my bed suddenly feel like clouds and the light from the window makes the air come alive. I can see little sparks of dust flying around in here. How can dust be so beautiful? But I’m not surprised. Beauty is always hiding in the most unexpected places. In the cracks of reality. Where the real is almost too real, like a fantasy. Or where the real has never been seen before. Both can be found in the depths of the ocean. In the microcosmic worlds inside a piece of dust. In the surreal theories of philosophy. In the electric pathways of the brain. And inside other people’s hearts. The forgotten hearts. The broken ones. The withering hearts. Fading hearts. Burning hearts. Screaming. Dancing hearts. Dying ones. There is always beauty to a heart.

It’s a tragedy when a heart is closed. Sealed with barb wire. Poisoned with anger. And toxic hate. Full of black holes and dark matter. The beauty is still there, but trapped in the complicated defence systems or in the denial of the true nature of the human heart. The most beautiful heart is the open heart, hungry but veiled with fear – waiting for the right person to notice it, unveil it, expose it and then to be swallowed up inside it. Like it’s a passage to a whole new world. Red landscapes and skies of fire. Delicate blood roots touching you like curious tentacles. Tickling. Teasing. Rivers which takes you deeper within. Flowing like the sensations of a kiss. Wet. Warm. Somehow glowing. It takes you to the heart of the heart. The beating core. Where the rhythm of life is the true law of attraction. You are drawn in, without making any resistance. Whatsoever. Hypnotised. Every beat creates a spell. A rush. And you surrender. Completely. All the way. Inside. And it just keeps beating.

And beating.

A heart translated


So I am currently working on the new painting, a digital piece, making drawings and sketches for future projects – and creating video montages for the blog. The flow of creativity is here. It’s really here. I feel unleashed and liberated. But it’s not something dramatic, it just feels natural. This is who I am. This is what I was born to do. The purpose of my existence. It’s just part of nature, both mine and the nature outside myself. It’s my legacy to the world, which feels important to me since I am not interested in having any children.

Making art, being creative, is the act of translating the human heart and everything it inhabits. Its red rooms, the cemetery of memories and dead love, the rawness of pain, the delicate sensitivity – the glowing galaxies of its desire. Everything that comes without a language. Wordless worlds. It’s my job to make sense of it all.