Years ago, I frequently took a cab to our favorite airport, Københavns Lufthavn. On several occasions, I had the same driver, a tall, slender man with a neatly kept beard,  a loosely hanging red scarf and a wide, gentle smile. He was a good-looking fellow that if I had to guess, came from somewhere in northern China, or, perhaps Mongolia.

As usual, I bombarded my driver with a spate of questions, the first being where he originally came from. As an immigrant myself, I’ve always felt legitimized to make such inquiries, even on a reasonably personal level, regardless really of wherever in the world I’ve taken a cab.

When my driver replied Afghanistan, I told him how his answer surprised me and that I had guessed somewhere many thousands of miles further northeast. Without taking his eyes off the road, the driver smiled and spent the rest of our time together enlightening me about Afghanistan’s many tribes and ethnicities.

As we neared the airport’s drop-off zone, he told me that my guess wasn’t too far off, that he in fact belonged to the Hazara tribe, which according to legend are descendants of Genghis Khan, the founder of the Mongol Empire.

Mongol soldiers swept through the region of what is today’s Afghanistan sometime during the 13th century. Wary from war, many of Genghis’ soldiers settled down and their Asiatic features and language – a dialect of Persian – set them apart from other tribes, including the predominant Pashtun.

Now that the Taliban have once again overtaken Afghanistan, a country shared by Pashtun, Tajik, Hazara, Uzbek, Aimaq, Turkmen, Baloch, Pashai, Nuristani, Gujjar, Arab, Brahui, Qizilbash, Pamiri, Kyrgyz, Sadat, and many others, smaller tribes, I wonder if the medal-laden leadership at the Pentagon feel as embarrassingly incompetent as their Russian counterparts did when they abandoned Afghanistan back in February 1989. It boggles the mind how little is learned from history. From epic mistakes. From massive fuckups. How it took 2 trillion taxpayer dollars, twenty years and thousands if not tens of thousands of civillian and military casualites to realize that the endeavor was doomed to fail, that the strategy was flawed to begin with and it was only a matter of time before the zealots would return, is just incredible. So much tragedy. Eisenhower was so right when he warmed against the Military Industrial Complex. For they are the only winners.

23rd Wedding Anniversary

On this auspicious day, 23 years ago, Charlotte and I were married at Brunnby Church near Mölle-by-the-Sea by the family priest Ola Stålnacke. The photo above was taken during our very first trip to Asia – the year before our memorable wedding on August 15, 1998. Both Charlotte and I had been to Southeast Asia before, but never together. This was also my very first time in India.

When I snapped this shot of her outside of our bungalow in Goa, it was very early in the morning and we’d just woken up after spending the better part of the previous evening and most of the night sick as dogs from eating grilled shrimp that had gone bad.

Our marriage is nearing a quarter of a century, which is a long time, no matter how you slice it. Yes, we’ve had our fair share of challenges and a few seemingly unsurmountable uphill treks. But when I think of all the good times, unforgettable adventures, and, most importantly, our ability to teamwork our way through tough patches, I realize that our relationship has always had a solid foundation built on love, trust, and loyalty.

We were both hard-core singles when we met sometime in the fall of 1996 and truth be told, both of us had more or less given up on the idea of starting a family. But once we’d committed to sharing life together and seeing where our pact would take us, as long as we had fun doing so, life evolved.  Just a couple of years later, we were blessed with Elle.

To this day, despite all kinds of weird shit going on in our world and on this troubled rock we share with everyone else, Charlotte and I still have a lot of fun and laugh a lot together, and, thankfully, at each other. Life as a concept is way too absurd not to laugh at oneself from time to time.

Happy Anniversary to us and to everybody that attended our wedding ceremony and the unforgettable party afterward.

Funeral & Mingle for Eva Bendz Hellström

Nothing reminds me more of my own mortality than on the rare occasion when I am invited to a funeral. I suppose the remainder will become more and more evidential the older I get.

Despite having several close family members pass away prematurely, as a concept, death still feels remarkably abstract and distant. Not that I don’t think about my own mortality almost every day, because I do. But I don’t fixate on it, or, let it steer the day’s agenda. Someone wiser has said that it’s healthy to think about death once a day. It keeps you humble about how great it is to be alive.

Yesterday’s funeral for a family friend, neighbor and Charlotte’s distant relative Eva Bendz Hellström was a celebration more than a sad affair. I didn’t know Eva very well but I have had the privilege of enjoying her humor, spontaneity, and enviable unpretentiousness.

Barkåkra church is both cozy and beautifully well-kept and the music and speeches held in her honor were both emotional and inspiring.

Eva’s children, Klara, Anna, Anders, and husband Bengt had arranged a joyful, celebratory after-church memory mingle in their garden.

In Trouble: Planet Earth

Finally a new installment in my Resurfaced series. I haven’t been giving it much attention lately. Hope to remedy this soon. I honestly don’t remember where I shot this utility box. Possibly in Malmö. Maybe in Göteborg.

With the release of the United Nations pan-governmental climate report yesterday, one can either envision a forboding cataclysmic doomsday scenario or, see this as the beginning of the most exciting era to be a human. Either way, there’s no denying that planet Earth is in dire straits.

I prefer the latter position.

Why? Because the contents of said report, the urgency it proclaims, means we must now wholeheartedly embrace the climate crisis just to have a fighting chance at staving off the potentially devastating consequences of our neglect and ignorance – which means that a lot of really smart people will need to come up with some incredibly smart ideas very, very soon.

Then again, perhaps all everybody has to do is just sit down for a minute, take inventory of how we live our lives, and come to the reasonable conclusion and insight that we all actually have many of the required solutions within reach…

We went for a lovely long walk here in Vejbystrand yesterday evening. The day’s intense rainfall had finally ceased and a wonderful smell of fresh, robot-cut lawns permeated the air.

Not every house, but most of those we walked past had two rain-washed cars parked in driveways and under carports. All but a few of them were really fancy automobiles, some electric, others hybrid but most were fossil-fueled.

As we walked past the cavalcade of shiny vehicles, I thought to myself how difficult it’s going to be to legislate against leading a lifestyle that at least from a global warming perspective can’t be described as anything but excessive and collectively ruinous to the planet. The same goes for what we wear, what we drink and eat (contents and volume) as well with long-distance and regional travel.

The most optimistic scientists don’t think the problems at hand are unsurmountable. Demanding? Yes! Life-changing? Yes, for sure!

And this is what makes this era so exciting!

Being coerced verbally or legally into redefine so much of what we’ve taken for granted for so long is undoubtedly going to take a lot of effort. Especially for us lucky folk that live up here in northern Europe where we don’t much realize how rich we actually are.

I’ve said it before and now I’ll say it again. We’re going to need a lot of philosophers and psychologists to help us appreciate life with less.

I don’t have the faintest idea how we’re going to get where we need to be for the planet to cool down some. But I am looking forward to taking part in the master plan – however it rolls out.

I’ve been shifting gears, switching paths, and changing goals all my life. I wouldn’t have a hard time at all. You know what? The pandemic has been inadvertently helpful in getting me to appreciate more with less and feeling more content with what I have.

I don’t think many governments will take drastic action after this latest report. That would just lead to panic and more violent disruption. I mean, if so many people refuse to take a simple vaccine to help against Covid-19, just imagine the insanity if the EPA and other nation’s equivalent environmental agencies mandated against owning more than one car or shopping for H&M clothes more than once a quarter. Just conceptualize the havoc if you as a meat-lover could only eat steak, pork chop, or, fried chicken once a month? Weekend trip to Paris or London? Fuhgeddaboudit!

I do hope that countries like China and the US immediately close all operating and planned coal-fueled power plants. And more importantly, I sincerely hope that Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, and Larry Page – along with their teams backed up by us minions – use their spectacular brain power and formidable money muscle to help Earth get through this crisis.

Stora Hult Strand

I vividly remember the very first time I visited Stora Hult Strand in Vejbystrand. It was the spring of 1997 and Charlotte and I had been dating for about six months. After a night in Malmö, we made a quick pitstop at her summer house on our way back to Göteborg.

The ancient name of the area within the village of Vejbystrand where the family house sits is Stora Hult, which roughly translates into “the big forest”. There’s not much of a forest here today, though.

The image above is from last night at the beach in Stora Hult. The first time I walked along it, I remember thinking how wonderfully untouched it looked. Unlike any of the beaches I’d ever been to thus far, much of Stora Hult Strand was covered with seaweed, rocks, and driftwood. As we walked along the shoreline, a pungent smell from rotting seaweed lingered but didn’t disturb us at all.

Stora Hult Strand is unique and about as far as you can get from your typical postcard-perfect beaches in the Seychelles, on the Greek islands, in Spain, Hawaii, along Southern California’s coast, or South East Asia. And because it was so unapologetically natural, I thought it looked really exotic.

I was alone there last night. Most people were at home, sitting in front of the “tube”, utterly oblivious of the phenomenal scene playing out down by the sea. What a privilege it was.

Back in Vejby

Met this curious creature on my way back from last night’s dip in the sea. Good to be back in Vejby again after an intense visit to Malmö. Finishing up the new book next week as the printer’s deadline is rapidly approaching. Will be heading back up to the Gylsboda this Saturday to shoot stills and footage from the annual festival which has been added to the book’s scope.

Indian in Malmö

I’ve been in Malmö for 24 hours to meet with Joanna and Rikard, long-time clients (whom, like most of my clients, are also good friends) at their new restaurant Utbåtshallen to see if a giant print of one of my images could add to the milieu. I think we came up with an idea that could do just that spectacularly.

For dinner last night, I ate at the relatively new Indian restaurant Kontrast Ghee by the Sea in Västra Hamnen with Tommy, an old friend.

Admittedly, I am not an expert on Indian food. I’ve been to India a half dozen times and even spent a few weeks surfing in Sri Lanka. So I certainly enjoy eating Indian cuisine – not nearly as much as I lust for Japanese or Mexican dishes. Still, it’s definitely on my Top 5 list of favorites. Is it above or below Greek food on that list? Not sure.

Anyway, the meal I shared with my pal last night was absolutely superb. Not only that, but the table service too was on par with what I’m used to experiencing from the subcontinent. Snappy yet casual in a welcoming, easy-going way. Highly recommend a meal there.

Stayed once again at Clarion Hotel Malmö Live where spectacular views, a super comfy bed, and a giant, sumptuous breakfast buffet continue to make me look forward to every visit.

Beautiful Skies

A series of powerful storms have been passing through northwestern Skåne for the last two weeks. Torrential rains are often followed by beautiful, dramatic skies like the one above, shot night before last.

Compared with the summer’s prolonged heatwave, the temperature has now dropped to a much more agreeable level, oscillating gently, but never reaching July’s feverish peaks. Today it’s a mere 18C/60F.

Fallen Tree

There’s no shortage of drama here in Vejbystrand. The day before last, while a powerful summer storm flew through the village, I stepped outside the studio to take a picture of how the gusty winds forcefully bent the bamboo canes and elephant grass.

Just then, at that very moment, the garden’s large Aspen gave in to the strong rush of wind and fell over, nearly landing on top of me. Yeah, it was surreal.

Our local garden and tree expert Östen, believed the thicker of the tree’s sprawling roots had succumbed to some kind of fungus. While the tree itself was fine and looked very healthy, under ground, just below its trunk, there was so much rot that very little was actually holding it upright.

Yesterday, the trunk and branches were cut into manageable pieces and I hauled them off to my compost in the back of the garden and to our firewood shed.

After the initial surprise, a little sadness came over me. I mean, what a shock it must have been for the relatively old Aspen tree. After about 35 years (according to the trunk rings I counted), it just fell over and died. Then again, it might have somehow known it was doomed.

We’ve already started looking at a replacement. Perhaps the next tree to occupy the space will be chestnut or a maple tree.

Walk in Vejbystrand

Continues to feel both humbled and privileged to have such beautiful and varied nature experiences literally around the corner. Although I walk pretty much the same distances over and over again, I still never get tired. Why? Well, because the colors, the light, and the smells are constantly changing. So even though the landscape itself is familiar and adorable, it’s when I observe and appreciate the sometimes small nuances that each walk still feels so unique, exciting, and inspiring. 

Pizza, Places & Porcupine

Met this little fella last night while eating a pizza down by the harbor in Vejbystrand. He lived under the restaurant’s wooden deck and made short, intense trips between his home and the restaurant’s outdoor tables and chairs, looking for scraps of food.

It’s been almost a year since I was abroad and almost two since traveling to Asia or America. Thanks to my archive of film and photos, my memories aren’t fading anytime soon.

The last time I set foot on foreign soil was first in Stuttgart and then in Münich, Germany.
Even if my passport hasn’t been used much since we moved back from Malaga, I’ve still continued to travel domestically to both familiar and a few new places. Some for work, others for pleasure.

While sharing last night’s meal with friends and with the above cute porcupine scurrying around under our table, we spoke of travels near and far. Of Inter Railing across Europe and backpacking throughout East Asia. Of wild adventures, bleached hair, and indulgence bordering on unholy decadence.

At some point between beer one and two, I had an epiphany of how much of the world I’ve been fortunate enough to have seen through work and pleasure. While the size of my pension fund isn’t very impressive, I’ve certainly done my best to fill my time on this planet with a wealth of fabulous experiences. I’ve always been terrible at managing boredom.

Kayak Short

A few clips from our brilliant kayaking trip the other day.


Celebrating my 58th year on this wondrous planet today. I suggested to Charlotte the other day that we’d add an activity after the traditional birthday breakfast-in-bed. And since we’ve both always wanted to go kayaking up and down Rönne å, a narrow, winding river lined by gorgeous lush vegetation in Ängelholm, that’s exactly what we did this morning. Amazing way to start any day of the year.

As of this writing, it’s just a couple of hours before a half dozen or so friends arrive for what promises to be an evening with tasty food, drink, and laughter in almost Southern Californian weather.

Tyko Blake Eskil Raboff 1967-2003

Quietly celebrating Tyko today on what would have been his 54th birthday.

The echo of emptiness from lost loved ones eventually dwindles, becoming faint and distant with time.

Yes, notwithstanding the level of preparedness, the initial flood of pain inevitably fills our hearts and almost drowns us. But in due course, the ebb arrives and the sadness recedes into a gentle sea of seemingly perpetual, yet overcomable sorrow.

Hesitantly at first, we slowly begin to nourish the memories of lost ones, somehow encouraging their souls to linger secretly in the depths of our hearts, and, conciseness.

Why would we allow remarkable friendships to ever be forgotten?

While the healing process often begins long before the inevitable final act has been revealed, we are left with a deep emotional laceration – collateral damage from life itself – one that we must accept and endure as it is a contribution to the human experience.

At some point in life, the cumulative departure of family, friends, and contemporaries, it begins to dawn upon us; the ephemerality of our existence, the mysterious realm of mortality, and, if we are humbled by our fate and destiny, perhaps even genuine gratitude for the allowance of time we were granted life in a physical form. Of being a being.

Sorrow and emptiness must certainly give way to cherished memories of those who have moved on but quietly continue to fill our lives with inspiration and, ultimately, love. Eternal love.

This is a view of Barbro’s place near the city of Grästorp, about an hour northeast of Göteborg. I spent just shy of 24hrs there earlier this week and enjoyed both Barbro’s company and her generous hospitality. We spoke of many things, high and low, wide and narrow, deep and shallow. There was plenty of laughter and a fair share of seriousness during our talks. Sitting in the sprawling garden on the very farm where she, her siblings as well as her parents, and their family grew up, certainly added a historic dimension to our multi-topical conversations.

As much as I like to think of myself as an “Angeleno” gone astray, there is no denying that through my trips this summer, I have become heavily influenced by my Swedish heritage. Right now I feel much more drawn to the quiet, spacious life of rural Sweden than I do to the hustle and bustle of L.A. or, any other urban destination for that matter. However, I know myself well enough to know that I need both environments to feel whole…


I’ve fallen in love with Sweden again. It’s pretty easy to do and for me, it’s much the same romance as every summer.

I’m just as rhapsodic about how beautiful the country is this time of year as I am full of tribulation during the cold and dark winter months.

But right now, everything is forgiven.

I’m really enjoying my short excursions hither and thither. Like yesterday’s pleasant afternoon trip to Norsesund, a tiny hamlet less than an hour outside of Göteborg yesterday (at least as the crow flies).

Always interesting to catch up with my old buddy and namesake Joakim and his wife Gunnel. We ate, chatted and cooled off in a nearby lake before it was time for me to head back to the sweltering apartment on Vidblicksgatan in Göteborg.

I’ve actually been to Norsesund once before. In February. So no big surprise that I didn’t recognize myself after getting off the train.

I love that you only have to travel a short distance from most major Swedish cities in order be seduced by an intense nature experience.

Today it’s time for Grästorp and a visit with Barbro, a friend, and coworker of my late aunt Lillemor and a relatively new friend of mine. I’m writing this on the train bound once again for Trollhättan, a town I’ve got some history in but will gladly pass through today.

Living by Water

I miss the sea.

I’ve been away from the sea for almost 4 weeks now. Mostly in Göteborg. I’m starting to feel claustrophobic, visually saturated, and audibly overwhelmed by the abundance of stimuli that city life throws at you.

Heading out to visit an old friend that lives near a lake today. Brought my swim trunks.

The photo above is from Vejbystrand.

Ernest Raboff 100

As if I hadn’t had enough family history for a spell, when I got back to Göteborg today, something prompted me to check the date. I knew the 13th was significant somehow. And then I remembered. It was my father’s birthday and since he was born in 1921, so had Ernest Lloyd Raboff been alive, he would have been 100 today.

While an epic failure at parenting, there’s plenty of evidence of his creativity. Interestingly, Ernest’s college buddy and longtime friend, Fred Nicholas, just turned 101 years old. Every time I’m in L.A. I either have lunch or dinner with him. Have to make it out there soon.

The portrait above is from when my father was about to enter World War II as a war correspondent in France and Italy for the Army paper “Stars and Stripes

Here’s an interview with him from 1966. Here are some of my father’s books in the Art for Children series. Click here to see his IMDB profile page.

Leaving Mellerud

Feels like I’ve been on some kind of reconciliation trip. Not that I believe I will ever be able to absolve my mother (or, father, for that matter) from their shitty parenting. But at least I’ve now found a few more missing pieces to my giant family puzzle by visiting childhood places where she must have experienced happiness. This seems to help me offset the fact that I can only remember her expressing anger, sadness, and pessimism.

Of course, I knew there had to have been many, many times throughout my mother’s earliest years when she was joyous, adventurous, and full of unbridled optimism. But now I’ve also seen (and documented) places where I’m certain she played, laughed, and had fun.

I am leaving now, standing on the very same platform my mother stood in the mid-1940s, waiting for a southbound train. An adventure was about to begin. And though it certainly didn’t end well for her, the journey, the adventure, and the courage needed to leave the security and familiarity of small-town life must have been thrilling.

Our society judges, measures, and defines success through the narrow lens of fame and fortune.   But for all her shortcomings as a  parent, I can’t help but admire my mother for at least trying to follow her rainbow and fulfill her dreams.

Moderud: Mother’s Humble Beginnings

After my plans to head up the coast from Göteborg had to be scrapped, I decided to tick off a really old checkbox today by traveling by train to Mellerud and then beyond to the ancient village of Järn where the farmstead my mother and two of her three sisters grew up at during the 1930s.

I’d actually been to my grandparent’s old farm “Moderud” once before. It was sometime in the mid-1970s when the place was in total shambles.

The farm had been abandoned from the time when my grandfather Eskil and grandmother Agnes Andersson had left it and moved south to start a new life in Trollhättan sometime in 1944.

That first visit was with my youngest aunt Lillemor (the only one not to have lived there). We found a pair of tiny children’s shoes among the debris inside the house and I clearly remember thinking that those cute little shoes just might have belonged to my mother (whom at the time, at least in my mind, was anything but cute).

It was Pia and her husband David, the kind folks that own Lindens, the B&B I’m staying at in Mellerud, that offered to take me to the old farm this evening. And just as we arrived, a friendly neighbor showed up and provided some historic context.

I haven’t spent much time on any of my literary projects recently. And while I certainly didn’t jack-up my expectations, that today’s experience was going to be super revelatory, the visit to Moderud did (somewhat surprisingly) have a humbling effect on me. I mean, as picturesque and idyllic as the farm looked today, at some point, I just stood there and tried to imagine what it must have been like to live there in the 1930s and early 1940s. It was definitely no bed of roses, that’s for sure.

Perhaps my mother’s desire to flee Moderud, Mellerud and Sweden was not just innocent post-war wanderlust. Maybe it was life-threatening desperation. Something or someone she urgently needed to distance herself to but could never quite get free from, regardless of how far or deep she fled…

Riai Taiko

While walking back from a café where I’d been working on selecting images for the new book, I noticed this colorful crew. After a few seconds, I knew that the event had to be, if not internalized then certainly eternalized via the collection of clips you see above. All shot on my nearly three-year-old iPhone.

The Dojo these fine drummers belong to has a homepage. Visit it by clicking here. More of my super short films can be found here.

From Gylsboda to Göteborg

Shot this intriguing valve or duct in an old repair shop whilst in Gylsboda last week. I’m currently in Göteborg selecting and editing the forthcoming book’s images.

Bought a few ingredients for last night’s crunchy salad at Saluhallen, the old downtown market, just as I did back in the old days when I called Göteborg my hometown.

I don’t feel like I’m a tourist here. More of a familiar visitor with enough history to allow me to navigate between my errands comfortably.

Certified Outhouse

Just picked up my vaccination card at – the Swedish branch of the pan-European effort to certify/authorize those of us that have smart enough to get vaxxed. The rest of you…well, the jury’s still out.

I do feel relieved. However, I was a little worried about the document’s top headline, which reads, “EU Digital COVID Certificate”. With a heading like that, it rather makes it sound as if I can now officially prove that I carry the virus and that I am also a certified superspreader.


From yesterday’s Rock’n’roll shoot at a diabase rock quarry in the northeastern Swedish province of Skåne. With two stationary 4k cameras and one drone, also shooting at 4k, from a filmmaking perspective, this was definitely one of the most complicated three-camera scenes I’ve ever attempted. Interestingly, I was as calm as the two quarrymen that worked there.

The Dive

I shot this one very early morning a few years back in Malmö. I vividly remember how stressful it was to first position the drone and then allow it to hover 25-30 meters above me while I dove into the sea. A nonetheless interesting technical and creative challenge.

Road Trip with Lennart

Sembo, the travel agency, and a subsidiary of Stena Line Travel Group AB, recently hired me to produce an inspirational road trip commercial with Lennart in the lead and Charlotte as a supporting actor. We spent a night at a castle and a day shooting in the coastal villages of Rå and Bortashusen. Here’s Sembo’s SoMe page

Blue: Joni Mitchell

I’ve admired Joni Mitchell for about 40 years. Her voice, musicianship and storytelling continue to inspire me. Happy to hear that she’s steadily recovering from a 2015 aneurysm.

Though I can appreciate him as an artist, I’ve never been a fan of Dylan. Maybe it’s the voice or Bob’s inability to vocally harmonize with his unique melodies. I realize I’m missing out, but so be it.

I don’t have to choose, but I tend to focus on bands and musicians that I feel best to represent the genre they belong to The Beatles vs the Stones, Led Zeppelin vs Deep Purple, Joni Mitchell vs Bob Dylan.

Joni’s now 50-year-old album Blue isn’t my favorite, but I totally recognize its greatness and there are some incredible tunes on it. My list of her best albums: Court and SparkMingusNight Ride HomeChalkmark in a Rainstorm, and Turbulent Indigo.

An interesting anecdote about Joni that I heard from someone a long time ago was how rock musicians she played with would get frustrated by her complicated jazz tuning/chords/melodies and jazz musicians would find her pop and rock n roll songs boring to play.

In addition to being a musical virtuoso and lyricist, Joni Mitchell is also an amazing painter. Back in my painting days, in the mid to late 1980s, when I’d converted the tiny kitchen in my small apartment in Göteborg to a miniature art studio, Joni’s music would often keep me company, keep me going.

Here are some of her visual works.

Another Moon

Off the cuff, from the hip, out of the blue, spontaneously shot this moon earlier tonight. Saving up my creativity for next week’s shoot in Bohuslän.

Lennart visits Bohuslän

Another ad starring Lennart went live the other day. This time, Lennart visits beautiful Grebbestad in Bohuslän along Sweden’s southwest coastline. Produced for the Tourism Board of Western Sweden.

Random Sushi

I don’t remember where or when I shot this. Could have been in Malmö a few weeks ago. I pretty much always take a photo of my sushi meals, regardless really of whether or not they were tasty or nicely presented. It’s maniacal, I know. Have been putting off watching the documentary Seaspiracy for a while. Not sure I want to see it before lab-grown fish is readily available…

Clarion Hotel Malmö Live

A teaser ad for a new rooftop bar opening in August 2021. Shot in less than an hour last week for friends/clients at Clarion Hotel Malmö Live in Malmö. A huge thanks for helping out goes to my buddies and Extras Michael Poe and Giedre Gaizauskaite Poe.

The Wall

Love this wall. Shot somewhere in Malmö. The hues, patina, and texture give me goosebumps. Creatively speaking.

New Book Project

Don’t want to disclose much at this time, but I was just recently commissioned to produce a new book about a most interesting artists’ colony here in southern Sweden. This is one of the first images captured for this project, shot earlier today.

Timelapse Göteborg

This is timelapse from Göteborg shows the view our hotel room in Göteborg provided during our 22-hour visit from Thursday the 3rd of June to Friday the 4th. We were in our old hometown to celebrate the graduation of our friend’s daughter, but also to spend some time with Elle. I even got a chance to hang out with Lars for a few hours. The weather was spectacular, just as when Elle graduated in Malmö in 2019.

Illustrating Poems: Return to Normalcy II

For a while now, I’ve been illustrating poems. Not my own poems, though. I haven’t written one since my English teacher, Mr. Greenspan, gave me and my fellow seventh grade classmates an assignment to create a collection of sonnets, haikus, and limericks during the spring semester of 1977.

Several family members on my father’s side write poetry, but only one, Paul Raboff, is a Poet. Interestingly, there’s not much creativity on my mother’s side of the family. I’ve heard that at some stage in her life, my mother was decent at drawing.

Illustrating poetry is an inspiring challenge. It’s also a process with a fairly steep learning curve. While creating a new piece for my Resurfaced series takes time, by trying to decipher the soul of a poem, I am provided with helpful clues and/or guidance in my choices of color, composition, and cohesiveness. The above work is called, “Return to Normalcy II”