News & Updates

Google
Thursday, April 24. 2008

I googled the net tonight, and found a super-abundance of people, who link to my site and comment upon my name. Aside from book links, literature and Photoshop related sites, countless mentionings by people having used my imagery, brushes, or whatever in their artwork, I am also a character in someone's vampire chronicle (?). Others present my artwork as their own creation, and sell their crappy mouse pads, watches, t-shirts, cups (and whatnot) with my imagery plastered all over the place on Ebay. I found one person who has taken one of my portraits and Photoshopped her way to a rather disturbing vision of herself and put it in the autobiography section of her website. Apparently anything goes on the Internet. I adore this one too:

From the Ontario Empoblog. Friday, July 22, 2005

Wow. I am impressed. Take three.

If you perform a Google search on 'Annika', you will find that the Annika who authors Annika's Journal is second on Google's list.

Golfer Annika Sorenstam is third.

So who's first?...

Annika von Holdt, a Danish author who is compared to Stephen King. (So does Annika von Holdt play in a band with the Danish Dave Barry?)

Err, sorry to be nearly three years late with the obvious, no bands, Dave Berry, or otherwise. She doesn't have a brother, wear geekish glasses, live in Maine, or look like the arch-type of a horror writer, either. Nor did she wipe her arse in poisonous leaves when she was a child. (I always enjoy talking about myself in third person. It's like I am not there...)

Did you know, by the way, that 'Annika' means gracious or graceful and is a variation of 'Anna'? You can learn many-a-useless thing on Google, if you don't have anything better to do.

Like for instance ... Erik & Anni are still together! The soap opera continues. Who gives a flying fuck, anyway? Well, I'll summarize (just because I already mentioned them, and now you are probably curious), for those of you who are not familiar with the couple. Erik Damgaard became a billionaire when he sold Navision to Microsoft in 2002, and until he met Anni and got involved in the late night excuse for entertainment, "Erik & Anni goes to Hollywood" ('goes' although they are in fact two people), he was actually a respected businessman, boardmember and visionary.

After having seen an episode of the show last night, based entirely on lips, breasts, stupidity and nothingness, it is clear that there is something really wrong with the guy. Not only is Anni a plasticsurgical nightmare with an IQ the size of a pea, lips that look like she was stuck in a pool drain and breasts big enough to have their own zip code (I mean there are breasts, breasts on a grand scale, and then are ludicrous breasts), she is also a former massage girl, and not the kind of massage that would cure an acking back, mind you, charged and convicted of hustling. Why on earth, I ask, would a relatively good-looking guy with money enough to buy a small country, or at least a decent-looking girl, go out with ... well, nevermind. Some things I just don't get.

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In two shakes of a lamb's tail...
Thursday, March 27. 2008

I ain't dead. Far from, in fact. I am more alive than ever, which actually explains the lack of updates on this completely neglected website. Over the years I have become less and less present online, but I asure you, I am still very much here, if only between the lines. I just don't have the free time, I did in the past, to update, blog or otherwise share my foolish wisdom. I am completely sandwiched between work and motherhood at the current moment. I've also signed up for the New York marathon, so any personal time I do have, is spent on serious fysical training.

I barely survived easter with it's required hostings, gatherings, lunches, birthday parties, dinner parties, Lukas' play dates ... (and his modelling gig). Tradition lives on in this family ;o)

Yesterday evening we celebrated Birgers birthday in a yummi little sushi restaurant, just the three of us. Lukas wasn't a fan.

I've almost completed the research project, that I've been working on. My new book, "Dust & Ashes" (just its work title, mind you), is nearly realized, as well, and without any further delay, I am going to free myself from the noisy world and fly off to pastel painted Harbor Island for a much needed vacation. Upon my return, I do hope spring has settled here in the high north. It's needed.

And much anticipated.

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Godspeed...
Wednesday, January 2. 2008

Another year has passed in the blink of an eye link. Or so it seems. Happy New Year everyone. Godspeed.

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Tis the season...
Friday, December 21.

I used to be a bohemian (student) and a nomad (model); I lived comfortably and carefree where I hung my hat, shifting between an apartment in Milan, a studio in New York, and a loft in Paris. I travelled circa 200 days of the year, and I carried the most important things in my life with me. No passing day looked like the next. The cultural climate shifted and changed constantly. Places, people and names came and went. Only one scene remained the same year after year; I always spent Christmas with my grandmother. No matter where I was, what I did, or who was with me ... when December raced towards the end, I always felt the urge to "go home".

I had lost my mother, when I was very young, my father was just a memory, as well, so "home", at that time, was under the roof and wings of my grandmother, a sanctuary of unconditional love, peace of mind, of knowledge and wisdom, honesty, humour, warmth ... and the smell of fresh coffee and ripe apples. She held my secrets close, protected me like a lioness and knew me better than anyone.

But yesterday is gone forever. I lost my grandmother in august this year. She died alone in a nursing-home. A stranger held her hand, as she passed, another stranger disposed of her belongings, and yet a third person, she had never met in her life and time, sent her on her final journey. She didn't want any drama, didn't want a funeral service, didn't want a grave site. She just wanted to be burned, carried away in silence and forgotten. She made me promise, I wouldn't mourn over her. She didn't want anyone to mourn over her, least of all me. As a matter of fact, I think she would rather have liked me to raise a little Hell in her honour...

I'll never forget her, of course, not ever, and I am still mourning. Albeit, in all honesty, I buried my grandmother about a year ago. She fell and fractured her hip, had a partial hip-replacement, woke up from surgery and didn't have a clue. She never really knew, who I was after that day. And even though I said my silent farewell to her then (or at least to the woman she once was), there will always be a white coffin, I didn't say properly goodbye to. And I regret that now, regardless of my honouring her last wishes. Furthermore, it feels odd, somehow, that the only evidence of her having ever been here, is me, my son, my memories and a few treasured photographs. But I guess that is true for most of us (minus, perhaps, a headstone and a memorable obituary). However, if I had a time machine and could butterfly-effect one single change in my life, I'd go to her funeral service.

Although the essence of my grandmother's soul has stayed with me (and always will); I miss her actual presence. I miss her at the other end of my phone, too. When I lost my way, and I often did (and do), she would always know the right thing to say, or the proper thing to do. She was smart and sassy, not afraid to say it like it really was, a voice of sanity in the midst of the muck. She would drink her coffee and laugh her arse off -- and make me laugh my arse off, as well (she had a heart-melter of a grin, my grandmother) and make everything better. "Be who you are", she said "and say what you feel, because those who mind, don't matter and those who matter, don't mind".

In just a few days, I'll be prepairing the Christmas dinner, just like she always did, when she was here. I've trimmed the tree and decorated every window in the house with her antique silver ornaments, sent the holiday greeting cards, invited family and friends to the obligatory lunches throughout december, and I've done all of my Christmas shopping. Funny how time shift us round in a slow circle. I've become "home" to someone else.

Merry Christmas everyone, and remember, the reason for the season has nothing to do with Jewish prophets, but everything to do with feasting, friends and loved ones!

My beloved grandmother and I.
New Years Eve 2004.

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