Stalheim

Gato

Sunk

Dreams

Alley

Fade

Oppression 

Blob

Dissolve II

Disturbed

Hollow

Sagrada

Garden 

Three shadows

Birdbox

Guard

Entry

Fall

Bent

Tree

West

Abused

Bound

Frail

Untitled

Gate

Abyss 

Mirror

Church

Dock of the bay

Creature

Tied up

Tunnel 

Hallway 

Hall

Annhikation

Untited

Hole

Hung

Balcony

Lady

Cave

Nature

Window

Disturbed II

Derelict 

Woman

Drifter

A place

Road

The Morningstar - Untitled 

Rio Caraiva

Light

The wait

Bang

Oil on canvas. New frame made of bones (chicken). New pictures will be posted soon. 

The Morningstar - B&W

Bright

Dismay

Tunnel

Lookout

Dissolve 

The Morningstar - Donker Yellow

The Morningstar - Carmine

Surfaces

Swish

Eyes

Squeeze

The Morningstar - Pitch Black 

Forest

Enchanted

Staircase 

A disruption

Swirl

Ascend

Alugo

Bahia

Untitled 

Misty Man

Fold

.  .

Sagrada Família 

Chapada 

Sinister man

Back

My tree

Sailing away

Winter

Kick

Caraiva

As a child, sharks occupied a disproportionate space in my mind. The great white appeared as something absolute, reduced in my imagination to its most unsettling features — the dark, unblinking eyes, the pale body, the teeth arranged with mechanical precision.

I encountered Jaws too early. I watched the films repeatedly, not with excitement, but with a persistent mixture of fascination and dread. My father encouraged the fixation, bringing home books, films, documentaries on VHS. I absorbed them without resistance.

The fear gradually detached itself from the screen. It entered ordinary situations. The bathtub. The swimming pool. The sea. The surface of the water no longer felt neutral. It suggested concealment.

Yet water was never avoided. On the contrary, it remained the environment I preferred. Even then, the contradiction required no resolution. Fear and attraction coexisted without difficulty.

This pool defined much of my childhood. It was where I learned to swim, where hesitation first became perceptible. I rarely remained alone for long, though I was persistently drawn underwater, toward the quiet suspension beneath the surface.

Looking at it now, the earlier fear appears altered in character. The intensity has diminished. What remains is something more abstract. The animal itself has receded, leaving behind an idea constructed from memory, images, repetition.

Certain distances, however, remain conditional.

A shark is a shark is a shark. 

Arthur Dandelion Storhaug

Address

Sign up for our newsletter