Painting in my studio from the exhibition KROPP, ca. 2x1,4m
#body #rydenhov #romanticism #robinrydenhov #contemporary #artists #artwork #artistsoninstagram #swedishartist #swedishpainter #abstract #portrait

Parent with child, pencil & burnt sienna oil color, A3 #robinrydenhov #contemporary #artists #artistsoninstagram #artwork #swedishartist #swedishpainter #oilcolor #pencil #sketch #parent #child #romanticism

Study of unknown photo, pencil and burnt sienna oil color on linnen canvas, A3

Study of Edward Hopper’s, ‘Man sitting on bed’, pencil & burnt sienna oil color on paper, A3
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Pencil & Burnt Sienna Oil color, Ca.A3

Study of Jacob, burnt sienna oil on paper, ca.A3

Study of Robert D’Aristas work, pencil sketch A3

Study of Zoran Mušic, pencil & markers, A4

Study of Robert D’Arista sketch, pencil sketch, A3

Robert D’Arista study, pencil sketch A3

Wild Dandelion Fields

Short Story by Robin Rydenhov

Wild Dandelion Fields - Chapter 3


The afternoon was bathing in a sea of ​​light. The path that showed our visitors to the porch looked like a flowing stream of melted metal , gravel and stone looked to be wrapped in crispy golden leaves. The crickets that crossed, wore shell in aluminum to protect themselves from the steaming river in the heat wave , like astronauts in space suits on Mars.

   I sat and watched their struggle from the front porch, squinted , so the sun’s blade would not stick me in the eyes , it cut me, however in the skin , leaving a trail of dead skin , like splinters under the saw blades.

   As a person I was then careful, in good preparation for the most, but not prepared for the sun, it always managed to notice me . My arms looked like firewood , hard , angular , brown and dry as tinder .

The wind caressed chilly and left a perfume basket filled with the smells of poppies , turpentine and baked bread that concur in the bass , rhythm and melody on the veranda steps. Furthermore , it spread my tone , the smell of burnt skin. The air was moist yet pleasant , my tongue tasted iron and was swollen, it was better to be cautious , I thought, stood up and shoved the old rocking chair in the shade. The chair scraped against the floor and disturbed the otherwise quiet moment it was.

   Over Central Europe the sun was of a hazard, harvested human life on the land and drove the townspeople crazy. The only people who thrived in the heat was our leaf cacti. We had no interest in plants , nor to care for them. Flowers should be wild was our thought . But when we rented the house we got the cacti in the bargain. They differed from the bushes or grass , they looked different , like people. Above all , they had the characteristic that they took care of themselves and did not need our care … which was appreciated .

   I scratched the windowsill as if it were the neck of a cat . Its elastic skin with soft fur , I massaged it and seemed to hear a sound of pleasure from the front porch, it warmed me from the inside as if the sun was in my chest. The windowsills dry deep blue color was torn up and crumbled over the floor, ancient cork oak came, or appeared was a better description as it was entertaining to follow the maze of tree rings.

   The porches planks were old, the painting peeled like bark stripped by a predator who sharpened their claws .

   Me and Ann appreciated the passage of time, there was something charming with the used porch. Here we had lived like other lived, time flowed on more than one direction, it formed a kind of basic eternity . What we shared permeated our bodies and painted walls , floor and ceiling with a mood of tranquility and perfectness . Life was then in good balance sitting in our rocking chair.

Ann and I never saw ourselves as a traditional couple , but we were , in my opinion , the following states ;
heterosexual ,
promised fidelity,
I gave and she took.

   Anns poinion was that our relationship has not restricted ourselves as individuals, that we spiritually grew in each other’s company and it was a sexless love, platonic such … she was partly right but also wrong. The tanks were free but we practiced togetherness which none of us had any objection against.

   This thought was disturbed by her clattering of crockery in the kitchen which was at the other end of the house. A composition of carpenter music.

   I closed my eyes and found myself at a cafe where the waiters fussed for customers, I ears- eavesdropping on an American couple vacationing but thanked finally for my coffee , handsome in Hungarian, ” Köszönöm szépen ” , when my interest waned for the tourists’ conversation … “Everything is just amazing with this city ” … Ann preferred to be inside at this time of day , she was warm-blooded, unlike me whose hands and feet were of icy character.

   My desire was awakened by the thought of her bodily presence , a glimpse of her backs hill that sloped down towards the plump butt , like the dunes which stretch marks look like streaks of salt in the sand . She was shouting at me from the kitchen but I chose not to respond , the sound of her voice was a figure of vibrations that echoed between the walls through the house.

   This melody I did not want to disturb , my concerns were that it would cease. Got up from the chair but dizzy from the heat, the body tottered and fell down into a open window.

   Rested my tired eyes in the room between the porch and the kitchen , waited , she would come out to ask the question she had not asked. As if I directed it all, she appeared in the doorway and like a skilled actress Ann looks surprised to see me , though she knew all along that I expected her, she knew me well .

   Ann leaned against the door frame, looked me in the eye , smiled , rested one hand on her hip, pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows slightly to let me go swimming in her eyes. Then she started dancing like the most colorful bird my imagination could paint , she stretched her neck, bared its plumage and moved firmly, gracefully and securely over the tile floor.

   The herringbone pattern created small ways for her as she playfully jumped , did not broke my gaze, stood at last on one leg and flapped with the wings to keep her balance , then Ann turned into an elegant long-legged bird in my misty eyes. The way she chose led her into my arms , she smelled nectarine around the lips , and cumin from the armpits , at a glance my love looked like a dancer from an spicy kingdom.

The sweat on my chest she rubbed with the palm of her hand , she ran her fingers through my hair and I closed my eyes , melting in the heat … until our bodies became one , as an amorphous mass of an old candle on the windowsills bed .

Wild Dandelion Fields

Short story by Robin Rydenhov

Wild Dandelion Fields - Chapter 2


In the wild dandelion field I have peace and is painting the expanses below the horizons pink luster. With a piece of canvas and my pencils sketching out the roses which remotely resembles chickens that have been hiding in the tall grass for mother hen . The violet soil in front of me becomes a pedestrian and squares among vegetation towering structure , framed by shimmering lights. Alcohol in the pens creates an exclusive perfumed scent, ” pissenlit sauvage parfum ,” I say in my poor French. The neck hurts , I often forget the time when I paint , especially to eat.

   My stomach growls loud enough to get a pigeon’s attention. The Bird looks for something to eat at the paths smorgasbord of insects. My cardamom -scented bread lunch, I share with the pidgeon and we both drink water with great thirst from a bowl.

   Farther away glimpse sugar bits of hay in a row. In the end is a ball whose plastic upholstery worn and looks more like piped meringue , a reminder that it’s time for coffee , though my coffee to be ” noir ” , no sweets .

   Steel Cylinder thermos shines like the water in the hot sun and burning in the hand, unfortunately , the content is cold and hard , but I drink it for health , and welcomes new forces .

   When my focus leaves the art , it becomes muddled thoughts , or more oppressive behind the eyes. They force me to remember Ann, sometimes it feels like a cruel joke. It has now been three months since she left me , the passage of time has become difficult to measure as the days go by quickly, the sun rises only to disappear in a hurry although it is spring , summer tomorrow .

   It has been good days , should not complain , a gallery selling my paintings in Skåne Malmö and I have worked hard . Often I think of our first night together.

   We met through a good friend but found no direct interest in each other , next week from our first meeting , we were seen by pure chance , and one night she followed me home. We fell asleep next to each other in duvet covers bed after a deep conversation . The next morning , I took courage and kissed her, she replied my kiss with another and then there was an us and we did not question that .

   Ann has always been aware of my intentions , one of her qualities that I do not hold in high regard … but her voluptuous breasts , intellect and charming nonchalant attitude to life was enticing, numbing , comforting and wonderful. She often praised my talents and my appearance ,
studied my cheek bones , bushy eyebrows , Adam’s apple and ears and compared me to a famous actor she was secretly in love with .

Unfortunately , we also shared dark sides , depression and meaningless tender feelings. The feelings from anger to sadness, my disbelief is great, no longer do I trust the surroundings or the love in the world we live in. Now she’s on the move, heard from a friend that it was in Scotland or Turkey. Ann certainly has a lover or more as she is beautiful. I am nervous about seeing her , it’s inevitable when we are both going to celebrate her sister’s graduation party in Gothenburg at the end of the spring months ,
What will happen?
Will I be able to stand up straight and do not see the hurt look?
Be disgraced?

The thoughts dissipated, to my relief …

Horizon’s luster has now transitioned into a dazzling golden bronze cutting blade and the day’s final sunbath washes over me , sitting , slumped in the grass throne . With squinting eyes in a light game , the soil have turned into a dreamy water in purple and the green is like a floating bridge of lily pads , streams of gold from sunbeams stuck on the water coat of glue.

The loss of the dream-like existence with Ann seemed insignificant in the suns company but soon is heaven’s fire lit and the dandelions glows like throwing cigarette butts in the last wave of light that flows out across the field.

The time when we were in love … it was wonderful times … think that we met. The thought warms me, though I spend our tomorrow alone.

Improve in blues

Wild Dandelion fields

Short story by Robin Rydenhov

Wild dandelion fields - Chapter 1

Original language, swedish

- I do not think we’ll be a couple anymore , ‘said Ann .

We sat at bar counters end , face to face , holding each other’s hands .
She slipped out of my mind
became a shadow
cast by the woman I loved.

The buzz from Gothenburgs bar visitors choked, stripped by strangers minds , wipe the tears that fell from my eyes.
Tear drops ran into a heavy rain , which swoop wildly over the bar, wrath fell upon me .
Ann struck sail in tears saltwater , a groan of horror gave tailwind in her sails and she floated away .
Under my feet the floor boards came off ,
they gushed out
from the flooded room.

Fell into the water, salt burned the lips, eyes, the taste of liquid seaweed fruits brought retching.
Helplessly , oh helplessly , hands trying grabbing at the chair,
tables, people, but then everything was covered with slippery algae,
stabbing sea cacti of shells and drills.
Fell awkwardly down again with my hands covered in the sea creeps
hooks. With squinting eyes was Ann
to a dark Figure.
I Swam after her, but the distance seemed growing for
each swim stroke. Legs and feet torn on sharp rocks , hidden.

Blood stained whipping water against my body and its
salt and iron taste pouring into the mouth down the throat
and melded to an anchor in the stomach.

Ann was barely any more , my legs carrying me no longer , and she disappeared into a dark mass,
while my feet were chained in seagrass,
left behind to be engulfed ,
of the hungry depths opened within me.
The memories of our loving play on the beach where we bathed in sunshine swishing by like scenery on a train ride and our homes disappear behind me , now alone , wondering … how could we be separated like this?

I just added a new piece of art to Saatchi Art!  KROPP 4

I just added a new piece of art to Saatchi Art! KROPP 4