Today I
went to Hasselblad Center to have a look at the Ishiuchi Miyako exhibition
"The
Fabric of Photography". I very much liked her illustration of time as
wrinkled hands. Some day I'll do a black-and-white series too.
I couldn't
resist browsing through the books in the souvenir shop. Because of the
celebration of the birth of Tove Jansson 100
years ago, there was a section with books written and/or illustrated by
her. A thin and pale hardcover caught my eye: The
Hunting of the Snark by Lewis Carroll. Apparently Tove was commissioned to
illustrate a Swedish edition of this book in 1959, but it was forgotten for
more than fifty years.
I stood there for
more than a minute with the book in my hands, indecisive. It wasn't expensive,
so I could easily have bought the book for myself. Especially since I could justify
such an extravagance by claiming I deserved it since I have been ill. Still am. Finally, I
put it down.
I wanted
the book. Still do. However, I realised that I wanted it to be a true gift.
From somebody who knows how much I adore English literature, that I read heaps
of it and feel a bit embarrassed about how few Swedish authors I'm acquainted
with (especially the contemporary ones). Who recognises I have a background in
ICT and that I'm obsessed with metaphors and thus should enjoy Lewis Carroll. Who appreciates my
weakness for Nordic design and have seen my coasters depicting Moomin running
through the dark and scary woods. And knows what went through my mind when I
bought them, or at least was concerned enough to ask. Who sees that when I'm
close to tears I play the CD with
the music from the Lewis TV series, since the oboe seems to have a soothing
effect on me. And who understands that the connection between the book and the
TV series is not the name Lewis, but that one of the TV episodes, The
Soul of Genius, was about "The Hunting of the Snark". And who remembers
that, although I do like Oxford, I simply love Cambridge.
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| From Pilane 2011 |
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