The first thing you see in this painting are just blues and whites wildly slathered on the plate, mixing with each other, dripping down, incised and elevated. It looks wild, chaotic and confusing.
Your eye moves down to be met by a sharp edge. The chaos becomes directed, the colours wash towards you. At the bottom they disperse in dark swirls. Now you recognise the force of water. Roaring, dancing waves crash down in front of you and the foaming water rushes over the stones and pebbles.
At the very last, here at the bottom, you see the flower. Small and fragile, seemingly unimportant in its placement, yet upright and persistent it stands before the gigantic waves.
I see myself in this flower these days. A chaos of things past, present and future is crashing down in front of me, filling all the space. I am just a tiny, insignificant part of it, rooted down there in the corner with nowhere to go.
Like the flowers, I strive to stay upright and to keep my buds and blossoms above the oncoming flood.
Artwork: August Strindberg, 1892, Blomman vid stranden (Flowers at the Beach). Oil on zinc.