Seven years ago, a big empty wall in Rebekka’s own home set something new in motion. After two decades as a building architect, she began experimenting with large-scale wall works made from wool strands suspended from wood and coloured by hand. Her aim was to bring something she felt contemporary interiors often lacked: warmth and materiality. “I love the contrast between the tactility, warmth and colour of the fibres and the more minimalist, angular and stringent lines of architecture,” she says. “Those opposing qualities work really well together.”

For several years, Rebekka combined her fibre art with architectural projects, before the growing demand for her art eventually forced her to focus on the former. But though she focuses exclusively on her art today, she does not feel that she left the architecture behind – it remains deeply embedded in her approach to colour, materials, structure and the relationship between a work and the space around it.

Rebekka’s fibre art exhibited at Aros in Århus.

From sawdust to soft fibres

Rebekka’s interest in and love for tactile materials did not develop out of nowhere; she grew up with craftsmanship. Her parents ran a sawmill, and her grandfather had a furniture shop in Hirtshals, giving materials a presence in everyday life from an early age. “I grew up almost in a sawmill – with the smell of wood and sawdust and the feeling of materials in my hands,” she recounts. “I think that sense of something authentic has been planted in me over many years.”

Her motifs’ resemblance to landscapes enters intuitively too, from the raw coast of northern Jutland to the landscape around her home on Djursland. “I never think, now I’m going to make a landscape,” she says. “But nature comes into the work without me necessarily being conscious of it.”

Colour, one layer at a time

Each piece begins with wool strands attached individually to a wooden support. Rebekka applies liquid colour while the work hangs, leaving it to dry before returning with another layer. The slow process allows colours to bleed into one another and unexpected shades to emerge. “It’s 100 per cent handmade,” she explains. “I begin with the yarn as a kind of white canvas, then build up the colour layer by layer.”

Some clients choose an existing work; others send photographs of a room and develop a commission around scale, colour and surroundings. “It’s an artwork, but at the same time it becomes part of the interior – almost like a textile or a beautiful chair,” she says. “It has warmth and calm. It’s a bit like a warm embrace.” The distinct qualities of the works have attracted commissions from a broad range of buyers, including private homeowners, hotels, restaurants and bars as well as offices, shops and museums.

The beauty in the flaw

For Rebekka, those distinct material qualities have become even more meaningful as digital tools take over more of the creative process, with seamless outputs as the result. Instead, she is drawn to the uneven edge, unpredictable and unique colour variations, and visible traces of time and handwork. When something becomes too polished, I think it loses something,” she says. “Then it could almost just as well have been made by AI. I want you to be able to see that it’s handmade and that time has been spent on it.”

Rebekka is now carrying the same thinking into smaller sculptural works with textured surfaces and more architectural forms. “There are always small mistakes in something human, and there should be,” she says. “That’s what makes it interesting. It’s what makes it alive.”

Architect and artist Rebekka Nielsen uses both her architectural background and her love for the tactile and imperfect when creating her works.

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A human face seems to continue the scream – or roar – of a polar bear wrapped around it; on its sides, Greenlandic flora provides a quaint contrast to its rage. Like many of Astrup’s works, Inuit began not with a finished idea, but with a mouth shaped in a moment of anger. “I was incredibly angry, so I went down and made this mouth that was just screaming,” she recalls. “I then left it for a long time, and when I returned to it later, I had recently been to Greenland.

Suddenly I saw an Inuit figure, someone strong and angry, and the animal and symbols of nature grew out of that.” The intensity of such works is only one side of KaosClay. Alongside the more surreal sculptures are flowers, small female figures and gentle animals, reflecting Astrup’s equally strong attraction to colour and beauty. The flowers in particular appeal to a broad audience and are among her most popular works.

Heaven or hell.

A long way back to clay

Astrup first encountered clay at primary school, and once she had the material in her hands, she was smitten. Growing up with a mother who was a practising artist, it was natural for her to use art to both communicate and find calm, and in her early 20s she went to an art-focused folk high school, where she became fully absorbed in clay and particularly sculptural work. Yet, rather than pursue ceramics professionally, she trained as a textile designer, choosing what she considered a safer, more stable path.

Inuit.

Still, sculpture remained part of her life through courses, her own work and later teaching art and ceramics. Eventually, however, teaching others just reinforced her own need to immerse herself more deeply in making. “I can have an enormous number of thoughts, and sitting down to create gives me this incredible sense of calm,” she says. “I disappear into another world. That’s also where the name KaosClay comes from.”

Building from the inside out

Today, Astrup’s textile approach lives on in her use of slab-building, constructing hollow sculptures from separate pieces of clay. “I make patterns and build the form from different pieces, so it’s hollow from the beginning,” she explains. “Then I can start modelling and working on the small details.”

Those details range from delicate to deliberately uncomfortable. Astrup is drawn to tactile surfaces resembling skin or wounds, finding beauty in forms that can initially appear unsettling. Elsewhere, humans, animals and natural elements merge into surreal figures. “The flowers are more about something beautiful and sensory,” she says. “The larger sculptures are different. Sometimes I can feel that there’s something that needs to come out.”

Otium.

Taking the leap

Although ceramics has followed Astrup for most of her adult life, she only began exhibiting seriously around three years ago. At her first exhibition, she sold all the works she had brought with her, giving her the confidence to follow an ambition that had long remained in the background. “I had always had this dream in the back of my mind, but I didn’t have the confidence to say, ‘Here I am,’” she says. “Then I finally started exhibiting, received an incredible response, and now I’ve decided to commit myself 110 per cent to my art.”

The next step will take Astrup to Guldagergaard, where she has received a grant-funded residency for November and December. During the stay, she plans to explore the völva figure, Nordic history and mythology through hybrid, surrealist sculptures connecting nature with the spiritual. “I like the thought that there’s something more than the everyday world we see,” she says. “When I disappear into a sculpture, I find that space – and that’s what I try to express through surrealism.”

The work of Tina Skarregaard Astrup can currently be seen at Dronninglund Kunstcenter, where she is exhibiting until 1 November.

Tina Skarregaard Astrup has been fascinated by clay ever since she was a young kid.

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Photography has followed Jens Lauridsen for most of his life, but his approach carries traces of another discipline too. Originally trained as an actor in England, he still thinks in characters, staging and atmosphere, looking for the point where observation becomes interpretation. “For me, art comes from immersing yourself in something,” he says. “You investigate, you keep asking questions, and eventually you find something that catches you.”

That curiosity now has a physical home at Kunstnerfløjen at Anneberg Kulturpark in Odsherred, where Lauridsen is an active member. Alongside his work as a teacher and acting roles, he devotes his time to photography and cultural projects, including a voluntary role as chairman of the local literature festival.

Back to the image

Lauridsen’s relationship with photography began early. At 12, his father took him to buy his first SLR camera, and photography later became part of his performing-arts studies. Acting remained his main ambition for years, but around five to eight years ago, photography moved steadily to the foreground.

Part of that return involved going backwards technologically. Frustrated by shooting countless digital images and deciding afterwards which mattered, Lauridsen returned to analogue photography to retrain his eye. Around three years ago, he then discovered platinum/palladium printing.

“I was completely taken by the tactile quality and the tonality,” he explains. With nowhere nearby to learn the process, he taught himself, building a darkroom and UV exposure unit, testing printers and sourcing chemicals from Italy. “It’s insanely expensive, which is probably why it is only nerds like me who work with it,” he says with a small self-deprecating laugh.

Photographer Jens Lauridsen is fascinated by the process and permanence of platinum/ palladium printing. Photo: Frederikke Vard

Characters, not subjects

The theatrical background remains visible in Lauridsen’s motifs. Animals feature frequently, but he does not see himself as a nature photographer. Instead, he looks for character: a gaze, posture or moment that seems almost human.

“When I photograph an animal, I’m trying to see what kind of character is sitting there,” he says. A silverback gorilla in Berlin, for instance, fascinated him through its calm, observant presence. “Sometimes I sit there thinking: am I actually the one in the zoo, while he is outside looking at me?”

That search for character could also shape a larger exhibition Lauridsen hopes to realise in 2027, inspired by Martin A. Hansen’s Løgneren. Written in Odsherred, the novel has a particular local connection for Lauridsen, who plans to use Nekselø as the real-life setting for his photographs. Rather than illustrating the story itself, he wants to explore its themes of truth, deception and desire, combining the images with typewritten texts and an analogue soundscape. “I don’t want to recreate the book,” he says. “I want to go out and photograph the themes.”

The project is still dependent on funding, but the ambition is to launch it in connection with the local literature festival in 2027.

Made to outlast us

While Lauridsen exhibits and sells his work, commerce is not what drives it. “For me, selling is not important,” he says. “What interests me is being able to immerse myself in something and investigate it.”

Platinum/palladium printing suits that mindset through both its craft and its permanence. The image penetrates the fibres of the paper rather than sitting simply on its surface, giving the print a longevity that Lauridsen finds increasingly meaningful in a world where personal histories sit on phones, servers and in the cloud.

“We’ve digitalised everything, and all our pictures are in the cloud. What happens if one day it all closes down?” he asks. “With platinum/palladium, the photograph can exist for as long as the paper exists.”

For Lauridsen, that contrast gives the painstaking process another layer of meaning. Each print is an artwork, but also a physical record intended to remain – a deliberately slow response to a culture in which images can appear and disappear in seconds.

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Karin Bach’s paintings often begin with colour rather than a figure. She builds an abstract background first, then allows a body or face to emerge from the layers, drawing on life studies and photographs as she works. “I keep thinking that it mustn’t become too polished,” she says. “I want it to be raw, layered and expressive. What matters to me is catching the right atmosphere and expression.”

The result sits between abstraction and figuration. Bodies remain recognisable, while faces often carry the quieter, more melancholic moods that draw Bach in. For years, that ability also made Bach a sought-after portrait painter. Today, however, she takes on far fewer commissions, preferring work that gives her greater freedom to explore the human form.

Learning to let go

That search for freedom began with a disciplined foundation. Bach trained at the Danish Design School, where life drawing and the body were central to her education. “I was formally trained and could draw and paint these stylish female figures,” she says. “But I felt it could become too neat.”

She began taking local oil-painting classes and experimenting with ways of loosening her technique. Then, in 2007, a serious motorway accident left her with a skull fracture and brain trauma. After more than six months away from work, she eventually reduced her hours as a graphic designer and began painting more seriously. “I found my peace and quiet in painting,” she says. “Standing there with a painting and simply disappearing into it became completely meditative for me.”

Another turning point came in 2019, when Bach entered the television competition Danmarks bedste portrætmaler (Denmark’s best portrait painter). Nervous enough to consider withdrawing after being accepted, she stayed and reached the final at Copenhagen’s Glyptotek. Afterwards, the exposure brought a surge of portrait commissions. “I was contacted by so many people,” she recalls. “I spent the following year painting portraits.”

Artist Karin Bach has won praise and recognition for her portrayals and explorations of the human form.

Mood before likeness

Although television brought recognition through portraiture, Bach’s wider work has continued moving towards a freer expression. She is particularly drawn to people who seem to carry traces of life’s darker experiences, which helps explain the quiet melancholy running through many of her figures. “I never really paint someone smiling and laughing,” she says. “I like it when the viewer wonders what has happened to her, or why she looks sad.”

Reaching that expression is often a slow process. Bach works patiently in layers, using broad brushes and palette knives to build a raw, rustic surface that deliberately pushes against the polished technique of her design training.

Fatherly love

That interest in human emotion has recently taken Bach in a new direction. After becoming a grandmother and watching her son-in-law care for his baby, she began thinking about fathers more broadly. The result is Fathers of the World, a series portraying fathers and children across different settings and cultures, recently exhibited at CPH Art Space at Docken. “The love and care you have for your child is probably the same wherever you are in the world and whatever social background you come from,” she says.

Karin Bach’s art series Alle Verdens Fædre (The Fathers of the World) was inspired by her own son-in-law.

The series has also drawn attention for the intimacy Bach brings to the subject. In a review, Tom Jørgensen, editor of Kunstavisen and former art critic at the newspaper Jyllands-Posten, describes the paintings as “fresh and immediate,” while highlighting the empathy behind Bach’s portrayals of fathers absorbed in moments of closeness with their children. For Jørgensen, it is this emotional engagement, rather than technical ability alone, that makes the works affecting.

Painting into calm

Today, Bach works part-time as a graphic designer and paints from a small studio at home, exhibiting selectively in Denmark and through her Swedish gallerist Kabusa Art in Motions, who is currently exhibiting at the Qalops boutique and gallery in Österlen. Rather than returning to the commissioned portrait work that once filled her calendar, she is giving herself more room to follow colour, figures and mood.

The trained designer who once knew exactly how to draw stylish ladies is still there – but Bach is now far more interested in what happens when she lets the painting move somewhere less predictable.

The post Karin Bach: Beyond the perfect figure appeared first on Scan Magazine.

Painting from her home in Rødovre, Charlotte creates large, colourful works alive with energy, contrast and fleeting motifs. Faces and figures often emerge spontaneously from the layers, lending some works an almost spiritual dimension. The artist herself believes part of the magic comes from her choice to paint with her hands rather than a brush. “It creates a special connection between me, the colours and the canvas,” she explains. “And it gives the work a freer, more personal expression.”

Charlotte discovered painting almost by accident while training as a social and healthcare assistant. During an exercise connected to mental healthcare, she was given paper and paint and found herself completely absorbed. With no formal art education, she began teaching herself, mostly through online tutorials. “I had no idea I could paint,” she recalls. “But I practised and practised, and gradually found the style that people recognise as mine. It’s a lot about the energy, lines and colours.”

Brushes were part of those early experiments, but not for long. Tired of buying new ones when the brushes dried out and broke, Charlotte tried painting with her hands instead. “That was when the magic happened,” she says.

What remained a hobby for years gradually found an audience in the early days through Facebook Marketplace and later Instagram. Today, she also exhibits regularly, welcomes buyers into her home to see the paintings, and sells works across Denmark and abroad. She also accepts commissions and continues to explore new ideas, most recently painting second-hand pots and vases with acrylics to explore colour and form.

The post Frusander Kunst: Magic, colour and energy – from fingertips to canvas appeared first on Scan Magazine.

Loopyful Design stands for bold colour, mischievous characters and a deep affection for Iceland. Yet behind the cheerful postcards, puffin bookmarks, rainbow-street magnets and museum-ready collections lies a story of reinvention. When Luana Adriani moved from Rome to Iceland, she expected adventure. Instead, she recalls: “A world pandemic was the last challenge I expected to face.” With tourism halted and work disappearing overnight, she focused on creativity, as she puts it, “just to keep myself sane.”

Houses of Reykjavik postcard.

That impulse soon became a business. Drawing on her background as a graphic designer, Luana returned to sketching and studied surface and pattern design online. The name came naturally: during her time in the UK, Adriani acquired the nickname Loopy Lou, and Loopyful Design now carries, as she puts it, “the soul of Loopy.”

Puffin bookmark.

Iceland supplied the spark. Luana had always drawn what caught her eye, but relocating north reawakened that instinct. “Everything catches my attention here: the light, the flowers, the wild nature, the turning of the seasons, the culture and the language,” she says. “There’s simply not enough time to draw it all.” Influenced by the manga culture she grew up with in 1980s Italy, Adriani brings a cartoony warmth to landscapes, local sayings and beloved creatures.

Poppies silk scarf.

Today, Loopyful Design produces small-batch giftware for selected Reykjavik souvenir shops and museums, from postcards, bookmarks and stickers to mugs, while expanding into art licensing for stationery, fashion and home décor. “My designs stand out through bold colours, cute characters, humour and genuine love for this island,” Luana explains, offering visitors a memory of Iceland through her “very personal point of view.”

“Out of the ashes of years of office work that left me tired, bitter and probably burned out, I gave myself a new chance, starting from zero at 43,” she says. In reconnecting with childhood joy, Luana has built a brand that feels intimate, adventurous and unmistakably northern — one Loopyful design at a time.

Niceland sticker.

The post Loopyful Design: From Rome’s chaos to Reykjavik’s colours: The Loopyful world of Icelandic-inspired design appeared first on Scan Magazine.

For many artists, the paper is a blank surface onto which they can project their vision, but Marie Louise Steuch sees things differently. She sees, finds and subtly exposes the beauty in paper and its patina. In her meticulously composed collages, the viewer discovers layer after layer of small pieces of torn paper, old letters, wallpaper and, perhaps, an old stamp. “Old handwritten letters are already a part of the past; they have their own story, but what I love is when I can give a letter, or book cover, a new story,” the artist explains. “And I love patina, when something shows the natural signs of ageing, like a navy blue colour – it might be beautiful from the outset, but it just gains more character when it ages.”

Framed in antireflective museum glass to expose its depth and tactility, the work is an almost meditative art form, muted in its expression yet intriguing and full of hidden stories.

One layer at a time

Inspired by an old moving box full of letters and documents, Steuch began exploring collage almost two decades ago. She later attended Spektrum art school in Copenhagen and, in recent years, has exhibited her work at several juried exhibitions.

Today she works at her atelier and gallery, Studio M, in Charlottenlund, north of Copenhagen, where she quietly leafs through stacks of paper collected in second-hand stores, forgotten boxes and everyday life. As small details catch her eye, she rips and layers the paper to gradually draw in the viewer. “It might be a crease left in the paper, a mark, a spot or a drop that suddenly catches my eye and makes me curious. Working with layer upon layer I strive to recreate that curiosity; there’s always something that’s hidden. You might see some words from a letter peeking out or the image of a girl looking through a hole, and you can see the layers; it’s almost three-dimensional,” she explains.

In this way, the finished composition emerges almost on its own, through the delicate nuances of the materials and a few simple additional elements, such as an old ink stamp or a straight red line.

A piece of calm

The sense of calm that viewers encounter in Steuch’s work is no coincidence. She describes how a feeling of inner quiet often follows her into the studio and shapes the way she works. “A lot of it comes naturally. I wake up in the morning with this sense of inner peace, then I go to the studio and work quietly with my stacks of paper,” she says. “Sometimes a piece comes together in half an hour because I just know how it should be. Other times it takes days, weeks or even years.”

The finished works offer a quiet contrast to the constant stream of stimuli in everyday life. Filled with small details, they draw the eye gently rather than demanding attention, allowing each element to retain its own presence.

“We live in an incredibly busy world, with impressions coming at us all the time,” says Steuch. “I like the idea of creating something you can have on your wall that feels very calm, but still has presence and beauty. Something that makes your home feel like a safe space, where you do not have to process anything, but can simply be.”

Studio M is open by appointment.
Phone: +45 24822242

Artist Marie Louise Steuch with her work.

The post Marie Louise Steuch: The quiet language of paper appeared first on Scan Magazine.

Interviewed at her home in Græsted, Lise Trampedach sits in a space that seems to embody her lifelong creative energy. The house is a converted cinema, once a windowless hall but now a bright, open space with large windows and a high ceiling. At the far end, a large portrait immediately catches the eye, while paints and tools gather in one corner.

The paint is handmade by Lise Trampedach, who started her fascination with traditional limewash, made from lime powder and pigments, more than a decade ago. Drawing on her training as a decorator, she developed unique shades and mixed them all by hand. “I’ve worked all my life creatively – sewing, making textile prints, homemade presents; you name it.
There’s hardly anything I haven’t tried,” she says. “But I never thought I would become a painter, never.”

Over the years, she developed and sold hundreds of shades and was eventually commissioned to use her paints to create distinctive photographic backdrops. Among them were backgrounds for official portraits of the Danish King and Queen, including one that also featured on a Greenlandic stamp. As her own paintings began to sell, however, she gradually shifted her focus and now dedicates all her time to her art.

A place of her own

That Lise Trampedach would eventually become a painter was far from obvious. Growing up as one of seven siblings, she was surrounded by creativity, particularly through her mother, who hand-coloured black-and-white aerial photographs and also drew and painted. Yet her older brother Kurt had already occupied the role of artist in the family, becoming one of Denmark’s most prominent painters and sculptors after his breakthrough in the 1960s.

“I was just a little girl when Kurt entered the art world, and he filled a lot,” she recalls. “I think I convinced myself that if you were going to be an artist, you had to be different, special. I never thought: I should try that too. Never.”

Still around 2017, after Lise Trampedach began producing limewash backdrops for photographers and stylists, the urge to paint her own works suddenly emerged. Not out of nowhere, but from her colours. One day, while wiping excess colour from a brush across a backdrop, she suddenly saw the outline of a dress. “I don’t think I would ever have started painting if I hadn’t had limewash everywhere,” she says. “I didn’t have this need to express myself artistically. It came in through the backdoor.”

Light in the lime

That accidental dress became the beginning of a recurring motif. Since then, Lise Trampedach’s repertoire has expanded to portraits, abstract works and flowers, but lime remains the foundation. Mixed with natural pigments, the material traditionally used on exterior walls creates a tactile surface very different from acrylic or oil paint. “It gives this beautiful matte, almost velvety quality that people respond to,” she explains. “The crystals in the lime catch the light, as you see with a white church in moonlight – it looks like it glows, and that’s the effect of the crystals in the limewash.”

The dresses, in particular, have prompted unexpectedly emotional reactions. “I’ve had people cry when they buy one of the dresses,” says Lise Trampedach. “They may never have danced – I’ve never danced myself – but somehow the movement touches them.”

Finding her own expression

The paintings first left the walls of Lise Trampedach’s own home almost by chance. A customer buying paint asked if he could include them in an exhibition his sister was curating, and one exhibition led to another. Today, people discover her paintings through exhibitions, Instagram and word of mouth, but sharing them still feels vulnerable. “Deep down, I’m a shy person,” she says. With a small laugh, she adds: “But, of course, with age, that goes away a bit. You go out into the world and discover that you can actually do some things.”

As more people have discovered her paintings, commissions have followed, especially for larger works. And just like that, Lise Trampedach has quietly found her own corner in the world of art.

Photo: Storm Noorwind

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Based outside Fjällbacka in Bohuslän, Ann Carlsson Korneev and Viktor Korneev have lived and worked together for some 25 years. Surrounded by the mountains and the sea along the rugged Swedish west coast, the couple has Europe as their creative playground.

With a similar classical education and approach, the artists have different themes, expressions and contexts in their work. While Viktor focuses on the human form and psychology, Ann is inspired by the coastal landscape and often interprets nature and its elements.

Touch by Viktor Korneev.

Nature’s elements and human psychology

“The coastal landscape is a great source of inspiration to me,” says Ann. Her theme ‘archipelago – listen to the sea’ depicts landscapes from different perspectives, both beautiful as we wish them to be and eroded as they increasingly are. “It’s a theme I’ve been working with for some time, and it has followed me in sculpture, painting and public works.” Another of Ann’s themes is ‘man between micro- and macrocosm’, which is about trying to see existence from a larger universal, human perspective, exploring the great cycles of nature and the cosmos through art.

Viktor, on the other hand, portrays humans and their minds – contrasting outer form with inner psychology, finding expression and personality in his sculptures and bringing them to life. “For me, sculpture is a way of communicating with the viewer’s subconscious,” he says. “My main theme is the contrast and connection between the external visible and internal invisible psychological nature of man. I’m interested in the balance between the external form and its internal, psychological content.”

Infant by Viktor Korneev.

Collaborative art for insights and contemplation

One of the couple’s notable public art collaborations is Insikt – Utsikt (Insight – View), placed in front of the vibrant Culture Centre Sjöängen in Askersund, by the shore of Lake Vättern. Completed for Sjöängen’s inauguration in 2016, the sculpture group in bronze and granite is a meeting place for students and visitors of all ages – encouraging both play and rest, with a view of the lake.

Insikt – Utsikt, a collaboration between Ann Carlsson Korneev and Viktor Korneev, Askersund.

“Often our works are based on different layers of content, such as allegories and poetry,” says Viktor. “As artists, we live in the process of understanding ourselves, each other and others. To explore our participation in nature, in the world, in the universe, in our time. The works create an inner and outer movement, a presence.”

Fibonacci shell by Ann Carlsson Korneev.

Another intriguing collaboration is the more recent Portal mot himlen (Portal to the sky), completed in 2024 at Norra Kyrkogården in Örebro. The sculpture consists of two pillars of red granite forming an open portal, with the pillars connected by a floating cloud of white granite. The site is a place for meetings, conversations and contemplation, yet without a clear connection to any religion.

Girl full of visions by Viktor Korneev.

“We engage in a dialogue with each other and with the viewer, whom we invite to find their own experience of our works,” says Ann. “Sculpture awaits the audience’s thoughts and feelings. Sculpture gains meaning in the interaction with the viewer. The artist creates a new world and invites the viewer to participate in this process.”

Ongoing exhibitions in Sweden and Denmark

Works by Viktor and Ann are on display at multiple venues, including the outdoor exhibitions at Udden Skulptur in Hunnebostrand and the collective sculpture workshop KKV Bohuslän in Hamburgsund.

The artist couple also welcomes visitors to their own gallery at home in Fjällbacka. “We have visitors coming to see our works, for instance art associations,” says Ann. “Just give us a heads-up, and hopefully we can welcome you to our gallery.”

Portal mot himlen, a collaboration between Ann Carlsson Korneev and Viktor Korneev, Örebro.

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