• Between Touch and Tension: A Conversation with Anna Camner

    Written by Natalia Muntean

    “I’m not a creative person, I just like to paint,” says Anna Camner. A paradoxical statement that is bound to raise eyebrows, considering how Camner’s work vibrates with tension. For Camner, painting is an act of continuous distillation, of “narrowing it down to what feels meaningful,” the Swedish artist obsessing over miniature details and labouring until “there are no question marks anywhere.” While Camner believes “it’s a human need to be creative,” her process is far from effortless. Even after decades, it remains “extremely frustrating,” demanding monastic focus, a surrender to a “trance-like state of mind” she achieves through music.

    Camner’s canvases are defined by contradictions - control and abandonment, the synthetic and organic, the weight of light and the lightness of touch - a duality she will explore in her 2025 exhibition, ‘Weight of Light.’

    Natalia Muntean: Early in your career, you painted hyper-detailed Gothic flora and fauna - bats, rats, poisonous plants. Now, your work is more abstracted, almost scientific. Was this shift intentional, or an organic shedding of layers? And what has it taught you about your artistic identity?
    Anna Camner:     Shedding of layers captures it very well. I always had this urge to paint, but when I was young, it was more difficult. I didn’t have my voice yet, so I painted what was around me. I grew up outside Stockholm and spent a lot of time in the forest by the house, walking around, looking at little plants and stuff. For the first years I started painting, I was painting zoomed-in little leaves, plants and details of things happening in nature. With time, old patterns and art historical baggage have gradually fallen away, and I am going in a more personal direction. Now I like to look forward, into the future. I’m much more curious about the future than looking back into my childhood, or art history, or what other artists have done. Over the past twenty years, the process has become less about arriving at a fixed identity, I guess, and more about allowing things to evolve. Patterns emerge, but they do so slowly and without any set destination.

    NM: Why and when did this shift happen?
    AC:     I’m not sure. I started to sneak in plastic at some point into the nature images - little bits of used plastic, or used condoms, into nature. I realised it was more interesting. Then I started doing plastic with bits of nature on it, like it had been lying outside and had little things stuck to it. It was a gradual transition, and I’m not sure why. It’s just a lot more interesting to try and figure out what’s going to happen in the future, especially with things changing so fast.

    NM: Where do you get inspiration?
    AC:     The work itself is like an ongoing dialogue with myself. It's continuous, a little bit like one painting after the other. Sometimes I always go back, like 10 paintings, and I want to return to certain topics, certain patterns. I like it when it's more chaotic, I guess. But with some sort of a sense of order. But you can never predict what that order would be like. I've done those patterns every two years, maybe. Sometimes I return to some themes I've always been working with, and sometimes I find new directions.

    NM: Why do you think you go back to themes you've explored and to older paintings?
    AC:     I don't feel like I'm done. I can keep exploring it because I still find it interesting for the same reasons I always have.

    NM: Do you feel you need to excavate it until there's nothing more to find?
    AC:     No, I can build on it. I can keep building on it.

    NM: You work with this tension, the relationship between natural and synthetic materials - do these materials serve as a metaphor for human emotions or desires?
    AC:    The layers on the bodies and faces amplify or hide gestures and expressions. I like to try to hide the obvious and expose the hidden. Hopefully, the viewer wants to fill in the blank spaces with their interpretations. Due to some sensory differences, the contrast between textures has become a bit of a fixation for me, and this finds its way into my work. When I paint, I often imagine the feeling of touching them. It’s like an obsession, especially with plastics and soft materials. I want to observe and show the different types openly and without assumptions. For me, materials are equal, with no hierarchy between natural and synthetic. It’s all part of the same world.

    NM: You also explore touch, both as sensation and communication. How do your paintings translate the intangible experience of touch into visual form?
    AC:     A painting often starts with imagining how it would feel to touch a material. The layers of different materials become an intensified skin, offering a boosted sense of connection. I play a lot with gloves because hands are very expressive. Facial expressions can be a little overwhelming, but gestures with hands and body language are quite expressive. Especially with gloves, because if you drape something and have layers on the face or body, it’s both hiding parts but also enhancing gestures.

    NM: Do you paint your own hands, hands that you know or do you just imagine them?
    AC:     Often my own. I have gloves of different materials in my studio - soft gloves, latex, different colours and some masks. I work with that.

    NM: After avoiding painting during Art School, what made you return to it?
    AC:     In school, the noise of opinions made it hard for me to stay grounded. Painting requires a kind of vulnerability, and the criticism at school felt too intrusive at the time, so I stopped painting entirely. But I did lots of other stuff - animation, video, everything else but painting. As soon as I graduated, I started doing it again. And then I had to kind of start from the beginning because it was five years of not painting at all, and I had grown up during that time. So it was like starting from scratch, in a way.

    Teaching art feels uncomfortable to me, for similar reasons, I believe that finding a voice in painting can’t be explained in steps.

    NM: That must have been difficult, to have that pause of five years of not doing it.
    AC:     I learned other things - art history, art theory, and took some philosophy classes. Some good came out of it - I probably became a little more aware, but also more anxious. The art world is so anxious about themes, contexts, and political ideas - what’s the whole point behind art? It can be a little crippling to have to relate to that all the time.

    NM: Do you feel that pressure nowadays that your art has to be political?
    AC:     No, I’m not pro this “instruction manual” thing some people claim you need to approach art with. I don’t agree with that at all. I think you could approach it like people approach music - we all have a vast reference bank in our heads. I wish more people in the arts would trust their feelings when experiencing it.

    NM: What do you think is the role of art nowadays?
    AC:    I’m not sure. It’s entertainment, of course - entertainment for grown-ups, but there’s not so much fun in it. It’s always themes and trends, and it’s not a free space. I look at fashion documentaries, and there’s so much creativity, playfulness and freedom. I don’t get that feeling often from art. You look at a piece and realise exactly why it’s approved - it’s the right theme, it ticks all the boxes. That’s not so much fun, I think. But maybe it will change.

    NM: Your alla prima (wet-on-wet) technique requires both precision and spontaneity, and you’ve also said painting is about “surrendering control.” How do control and surrender coexist in your practice?
    AC:     The space between intuition and intention is a good place for painting; a lot can happen when that balance clicks. I often picture the motif in a painting like a perfect wave coming at me. The bigger and more technically difficult it is, the more fun it becomes, like trying to stay balanced on a surfboard. I'm not a great painter, and the effort is usually beyond my skill level, but when it's just slightly out of reach, I must focus so much on staying upright that my mind stops asking “why” and just paints. That’s a kind of freedom for me. Painting with your brain isn’t a good thing for me.

    NM: But how do you manage to silence it?
    AC:     It’s a combination of music and making it a little too difficult. Sometimes it feels like I can’t do this. And I do it anyway. That’s the most fun - when it’s that hard and you take a break from yourself. You’re in the painting instead of overthinking.

    NM: Can you tell me a little bit about Black Iris and how it came to be, and how it influences your work?
    AC:     I started it together with my husband a few years ago, during the pandemic. I think it could be a good thing, working together in a way. There's such a strong emphasis on the ideas behind art: politics, social commentary, identity, historical context, and art theory. The visual experience often takes a back seat. With Black Iris, and the symbol of the wide-open pupil, I wanted to suggest that it's okay to look at art with an open mind, and without following any provided manual. The theme of all the exhibitions has been perception, seeing, and just experiencing it. We wanted to bring a sense of freedom when experiencing art.

    I’m not sure it has affected me a lot, but I’ve had social anxiety and been very shy in the past, really scared of making contact. It was a big step for me to reach out to these artists. I knew a lot of them, but not all, and I admire all of them. Also, to think about all parts of making an exhibition, it was a good lesson to learn.

    NM: Where do you see it going in the future?
    AC:     For now, it’s just an expensive hobby for me and my husband. Maybe we’ll have to think about whether we can continue, but if we find the right space, maybe we’ll do another exhibition, but it takes quite a lot of time for us to do these things.

    NM: How do you pick the artists that are part of it?
    AC:     We picked everyone when we started, and we haven’t taken in new ones. We wanted to choose artists who have been consistent - a lot of people do one show and have 15 minutes of fame, but not many continue doing good work. We wanted some consistency because that’s kind of difficult in the art world.

    NM: Why is it important for you to disrupt this traditional gallery setting?
    AC:     Not sure I wanted to disrupt it. I've always been really happy working with galleries. I've always done that, and it's been a really good collaboration for me. But there could be other ways of showing art. Gallery spaces with white walls are so beautiful and neutral. But it's also refreshing to put together an exhibition in a rough, worn-down space because it brings in a different kind of energy that interacts with the work visually. And it’s been fun to work with spaces that have been closed to the public, or at least have not been opened in an art context before.  It's fun to play with that. The idea was to have complete freedom - you don’t have to work with certain topics, and it doesn’t have to be commercial. We sell pieces, but we don’t take a cut. We’re just trying to create some exhibitions that are memorable or at least enjoyable. The art world can be so serious, like, where did all the fun go? It's fun to do a little breathing space where art can be fun. That was the idea - not to take it so seriously but to create a space of freedom for people.

    NM: Last year, you had two exhibitions—one at Liljevalchs (“Cosmology”), and one at Loyal. Can you tell me a little about those?
    AC:     I also had others in Japan, Los Angeles, and New York. It was a very busy year. The Liljevalchs show was a group show curated by Joanna Sandell and Emil Ivedal. I showed about 11 big oil paintings. It was very feminine—a lot of pink, female bodies.

    NM: Do you paint more female bodies?
    AC:     Yes, because it's a sensitive area, I guess. I identify as a woman, so for me, it’s natural. In a way, they’re self-portraits, mostly. It wouldn’t make sense for me to paint otherwise.

    NM: You have an upcoming solo show with the Ståhl Collection in 2025. Can you share any hints about the new direction of this work?
    AC:     The exhibition is called The Weight of Light. It’s a series of abstract and figurative oil paintings. The motifs are a lot of clay, eyes, silver costumes and odd shapes from my mind. The aim is to catch weightless stuff, like light. The opening is on August 23, and the exhibition runs through January 2026.

    NM: Having exhibited in different countries, Japan, the US and Sweden, how do these contexts affect the reception of your art?
    AC:     The art world is surprisingly similar everywhere - same trends, same references. It’s more fun to show abroad because visiting places is inspiring. But the art world is so similar. It’s crazy how identical the dialogue is.

    NM: Last question: What’s a question about your work you’ve never been asked but wish you were?
    AC:     Oh, that’s difficult. Maybe about my brush obsession. Painters tend to be crazy about pigments, but for me, it’s brushes. I could create the illusion of any colour - colours are just an illusion depending on what’s next to them. But with brushes, you can’t work with a bad one. You have to have the right tools.

    photography Sandra Myhrberg

  • Alexandre Diop About Truth, Keith Haring and His Creative Process

    Written by Natalia Muntean

    In Puer Veritas creates the space for a dialogue between Keith Haring’s legendary Subway Drawings and Alexandre Diop’s assemblages on salvaged doors. Though separated by generations, both artists share a kinship: creating with found materials, in public spaces, for a world they refuse to accept as it is. On display at CFHILL Gallery, Stockholm between May 14 and August 8, 2025, the exhibition frames their shared urgency - Haring's chalked figures dancing across subway ads, Diop's nail-pierced doors bearing witness to forgotten histories.

    The French-Senegalese artist discusses why “good enough” never is, his creative process and the creative dialogue with Keith Haring.


    Natalia Muntean: In Puer Veritas suggests an unfiltered honesty, which is often found in children. How do you think this idea manifests in your work?
    Alexandre Diop:     I think it’s not just about unfiltered truth; it’s also about a genuine point of view. In French, we say that “the truth comes out of the child's mouth.” This reflects the conviction that, as a child, you still have positive, pure intentions, while the adult world is often corrupted by many things. I see this in my work. I always strive to have fun and to please myself above anyone else because I believe in my aesthetics and what’s important for me to create as an object.

    NM: Were you always confident in your work?
    AD:     Not at all. Even today, I still have moments of struggle and doubt. I think it’s part of the practice to experience doubt. It’s like a child’s doubt, perhaps.

    NM: How do you overcome those moments of doubt?
    AD:     By distancing myself from it and trying to understand where it’s coming from. Doubt is just that - doubt; it’s not a concrete reality. It feels similar to anxiety or fear about how others will react to your work. I remind myself that I don’t create art for others. As Sartre said, “Hell is other people.” His idea suggests that many of our problems arise from how we perceive the opinions of others. Of course, art prompts discussion, so you can’t create an artwork without considering the audience, but I always create for myself. My journey began because I was truly inspired by many artists, musicians, poets, philosophers and filmmakers. I loved their work so much that I wanted to try creating my own. When you're passionately interested in something, you naturally want to explore it yourself. Each piece helps expand my archives and process, and eventually, I will consider sharing it with others.

    NM: Keith Haring worked quickly with chalk, and your art looks like you work in layers; it seems more intensive. How do you balance spontaneity with craftsmanship and deliberate actions?
    AD:     It often starts with a spontaneous and fast sketch. Everything comes from a sketch, a drawing, or a painting I’ll do directly on the surface. It’s about playing with the contrast of how the drawing becomes sculpture and how the combination of the initial drawing with applied material creates a visual effect. There’s a lot of rushed action because it’s physically demanding. If you start overthinking how to place each object, it takes too much time. After years of working with these techniques, it’s become practical for me. Most pieces take one to four days; some even one night, especially with pre-cut materials. There’s also destruction - sometimes I apply something and destroy it. Most of my work, even when physically demanding, is made extremely fast. If I spend too much time on the sketch, I’ll never see what it could become. Sometimes, the sketch is so strong that it carries the message itself. For faces, hands, or symbolic parts, I take more time to choose elements that match the composition and visibility.

    NM: So you kind of start with a plan, but then you let your intuition guide you?
    AD:     Yeah, sometimes I do. For example, I have an idea, I start working on it, and then it becomes something totally different because I realise it’s not good, or I find something much more interesting in the composition. This happens often. The work becomes complex, with many layers, and it can take weeks or months. Sometimes I can’t even work on the piece - I have to hide it. But when I start working, I’m completely immersed and it affects me, in good and bad ways.

    NM: Do you work on several works at the same time, or do you dedicate yourself to one?
    AD:     I like to work on different things, but when I start something, I want to finish it because I’m already dreaming of the idea. I think it would be nice to see this come to life soon. I also do it for myself because I want to see this beautiful object on my wall.
    When I was younger, I started drawing because I lived in a white apartment in Berlin and thought it was so sad. I didn’t want to put up football posters, so I drew. Now, I work on many things at once because some pieces need to dry, or some aren’t working well. It’s easier for me to work in a series - it keeps me from being too fixated on one piece.

    NM: You’ve said these doors lived lives before you. Can you share a story behind one in this exhibition?
    AD:     I started working with doors thanks to one of my oldest friends from Berlin. He knows how I work, how I collect materials. Back then, he helped me carry wood when I started painting on doors. Later, in Vienna, I grew bored with pre-made wood panels. I asked him to help me find old doors, raw wood, because I want to return to my initial practice. Early on in my career, I only did black work, hard, big pieces. In Vienna, entering the art world pulled me out of my darkness, my anger. When I was young, I thought I’d never paint in colour.

    NM: Why were you angry?
    AD:     I’m still angry because there are many problems in this world, so much injustice. So many elites dominate the world, so many things aren’t right—it’s been thousands of years, centuries at least. I think it’s normal to be angry. I was angry because I can’t stand injustice - I think I got that from my parents. My mother is a social worker; my father is extremely calm and wise. They taught me not to accept everything, to follow my intuition.
    When I was younger, I was angry at the perverted art market, how it assigned value based on what fit bourgeois tastes - certain colours, certain lines. I worked so hard in a dark, big studio, yet felt unrecognised. I was sure I was better than superficial artists, but it frustrated me. It didn’t stop me, though - it pushed me. If they didn’t want my work like that, I’d never try to fit in. I’d keep working in black.
    My manager helped me see things differently. A good manager gives confidence, helps you discover how to transmit ideas. Amir said, “Colours don’t belong to the bourgeoisie - they belong to humanity.” I tried and realised I enjoyed colour. There were always colours in my work, but surrounded by black. I accepted it, created some of my greatest works - full of colour, but I reminded myself not to stray too far from my initial practice. Art shouldn’t just be about aesthetics - it’s about emotion. Now I’m returning to Berlin, where I started my black works, and I want to rediscover that initial roughness. I don’t want to become what I criticised.

    NM: If we go back to the story about the doors…
    AD:     Right. I needed rough doors, but Vienna is too clean. A friend said, “The only place I know is my grandmother’s in Poland - an abandoned factory.” He went to Warsaw and brought back doors - some unused for 20 years, maybe older than me. We treated them; some even had mushrooms. Every door has a story I don’t know. All my materials come from different places - China, India, the streets.

    NM: How do you get your materials?
    AD:     It’s a big part of my work. I started collecting out of frustration with painting. In Berlin, there’s so much abandoned stuff - dirty, wild. I’d go with a backpack and scissors - I love that adrenaline because it’s on the edge of legality, and I have had encounters with police who thought I was stealing. But it’s one of my favourite parts of the job.

    NM: That’s what you enjoy most?
    AD:     Yes. Sometimes I struggle with my work because I don’t have the right materials. You’re working with leftovers. When I find new materials, ideas flow. If you conceptualise too much, it’s hard - but if you hunt for the right stuff, the work becomes easy.

    NM: But when you go and find this material, do you already have an idea in mind of what you -
    AD:     I'm looking for shiny gold, but rusty. I don't need anything too plastic, too new. It should feel malleable because I need to go through it with a nail or hammer - it's delicate. I'm looking for stuff that looks antique. A lot of my inspiration comes from Africa - African sculpture, art, and my father brought from his trips to Congo, all over Africa. The material is a medium, like in African sculpture - a gateway to another world. I want material that creates an image beyond what you see. Does it create a feeling? If you look at it from the side, it shines. From another angle, it looks different. It's a lot about abstraction.

    NM: Which material in this show surprised you the most? Maybe something you found by accident that changed the whole piece?
    AD:     Not surprised, but there's always one that's really cool. The problem is, the coolest materials are always limited. So I think, okay, this is super cool - I need to use it at the right moment. I treat this material with respect. In the show, there's this little copper piece - super beautiful, perfect for hair.

    NM: What makes your work similar to Haring’s, and what makes it different?
    AD:     Similar? Maybe growing up in cities with creative energy around us. He grew up in 80s New York with Black gay communities, Puerto Ricans, and faced early capitalism. I grew up in Paris, then moved to Berlin in 2014. What we share first is being party kids - ravers. Both of us spent a crazy time in clubs. He was there in rave culture's most intense days. When you live in that world, it becomes like a refuge for people who don't fit into society.

    NM: What did those parties give you?
    AD:     They were super intense. Twelve hours dancing - it gives freedom, opens your mind. The man I am was shaped by my parents, but also by Berlin. In Berlin, I was around people living completely different lives, sexually, and how they consumed everything. I arrived young and fell into the hardest scene. My crew became family, part of this Black Sheep collective. Some died. Some succeeded. It was a lot to process at 18.

    NM: You said clubs are places where labels don't matter. Is your art trying to recreate that feeling?
    AD:     Yes, in a way. I try to show quality. Quality is universal, timeless. Someone once told me my work looks old, not modern. I said, I prefer to make old-quality work. My father said: If you do something, do it well or don't do it. Life is pressure—raising kids, relationships and art. Now I'm well-paid, so the pressure's higher.

    NM: Okay, so people should feel more pressure.
    AD:     They should feel much more of everything. 

    NM: So “good enough” is not a concept you work with?
    AD:     Good enough? No. Of course, I'm not a fanatic dictator, and I've done many things people might think aren't cool. But good enough is not good. I'm here to speak about that, to talk, to receive criticism. You do something, people don't like it, they tell you that, you say, “Excuse me, next time I'll do better.” As an artist, what you should respect most is the public. If not, what are you doing? I make things for myself, but also for others. I want to be loved, of course.
     

    NM: Your art is a fight to remember - what are you trying to make people remember?
    AD:     That I was here. That many people like me were here. That it's possible to be like me and to exist. I'm here to inspire young people, to give power back to values I believe aren't respected enough. When I say “remember me,” I mean remember these convictions I carry and defend.

    NM: If Keith Haring were alive today, what conversation would you want to have with him about this show?
    AD:     Just to have a conversation with him would be a blessing. I wouldn't even ask anything specific. He's semi-god to me, and I'd probably be shy. Maybe I would ask how he came up with his ideas because he practically invented the smiley! He was so smart, such an entrepreneur of humanity. Gilles Vasquez, who runs his foundation now, was a 17-year-old fan back then. My level of fame is nothing compared to Haring or Basquiat - they were icons. We could never do a show together, because I'll always be far from them. And that's good. Hierarchy matters. Legends should stay legends. I'm just happy they existed.

    NM: Last question - going back to kids and truth. What's one truth you've learned from children or your younger self that guides your art today?
    AD:     Always follow your intuition. Always. Children have this ability, even when parents or systems tell them otherwise. You can try to shape them, but children will always do what they want. They find a way. 

  • photography Sandra Myhrberg

    fashion Louise Dyhrfort


    top and skirt Ono Ateliers
    earrings and ring Ole Lynggaard

    Diane Emerita on Music, Memory, and Momentum

    Written by Sandra Myhrberg

    After a whirlwind year filled with praise from major media outlets, airplay on P3, and a standout performance at Way Out West, singer-songwriter Diane Emerita finds herself both exhilarated and grounded. Her music—intimate, conceptual, and often rooted in family and memory—has resonated widely, yet she still writes songs on her mother’s piano and juggles her music career with a mathematics degree.

    Sandra: You’ve had quite a whirlwind year—praise from major media, airplay on P3, and a performance at Way Out West. How has this rise affected you, both creatively and personally?
    Diane:     It is fun and scary and interesting. I am taking my time to process it all. I still can't believe I have done certain things like having a song of mine in the game SIMS. But then most of the times I am just myself and not my “artist persona” so really I am quite calm and don't think about it too much. I study a bachelor in maths and besides music that pretty much fills up my thoughts. Creatively, I am just excited that people seem to get something out of my music and buy tickets to my shows and that I get to see how far the music can reach. I remember a line in Frank Ocean's song Futura Free saying “Play these songs, it's therapy momma, they payin' me momma, I should be payin' them” and I resonate with it a lot. I get so much out of reflecting my own thoughts and emotions and expressing them through my music that mostly I am just thankful that I get to do and make a living out of it as well. So then, I write and sing to find out what I have to say.

    S: Your music feels deeply personal, often rooted in storytelling. “Indigo Bruised” is another collection of songs based on stories about your family. What draws you to these themes, and what can listeners expect from this EP?
    D:     I looove storytelling. I like to intentionally work with concepts because it somehow becomes a challenge for me to master - a problem solver. Music and the visual expressions, including styling and performances become so much easier for me to coordinate when they have a connected concept. I get emotionally invested. Also I think it is quite refreshing working with themes because it is easier for me to understand where I start and where I draw the line and move on to the next project. For instance “Indigo Bruised” has four tracks in it because I wanted to dedicate one song to my mom, sister, father and brother, simultaneously as making each symbolise a season as well. But there are only four seasons, so that is how many songs I made. Listen to “Indigo Bruised” and see if you can guess which song is what season. (Either way you are right)

    S: You’ve continued working with producer Hampus Norén, who also contributed to “Traveling Forever.” What is it about this collaboration that keeps you coming back? How has your sound evolved together?
    D: I think I like the way how he challenges me to let go a bit. To see it all more as a game than something serious. Well I still take music very serious because it makes me feel so much, but it has definitely been a nice journey to allow some imperfections into creating the sound of my songs. There is a clear seriousness to the songs I released before “Travelling Forever”. Hampus brings in an aspect of playfulness and “dirt” into the productions. He likes for it all to not sound all too clean and perfect, which I think helps giving the music emotional depth. And also it takes a long time for me to let someone into my creative space, so he has also become a comfortable teammate to keep because he know gets me. I know what I want my music to sound like and I always have very clear references for the production if I am not producing myself and then he always manages to give me more than I've asked for, which is great. And then we have our incredible mixer Sven Johansson who just elevates everything we do and gives the sound the last needed edge.

    S: Despite all the buzz, you still write your songs at your mother’s piano. Is that a grounding ritual for you? What’s your songwriting process like—does melody come first, or do lyrics lead the way?
    D    :I have a lot of siblings, so my mother's place is a very lively house. Most of all I love playing on her piano because I get to disappear into my own bubble in the way I always have done even when I was younger and was still living there. So I float away into my bubble, but life around me kind of goes on. My songwriting process is a long one, I play the piano and after some time, perhaps weeks or a day or a second lyrics arrive. But the music, the playing always comes before the singing starts. I also love when some of my siblings start singing to along to what I am playing. You could indeed call it a grounding ritual, it gets my creativity flowing. I feel like Sampha's song “No One Knows Me Like The Piano” when I play.

    S: You’ve described Malmö as a creatively thriving scene. How has the city and its artistic community influenced your work?
    D:     Malmö feels warm and open both in climate and culture of the people. I really love the fact the artistic community is inclusive and welcomes everybody. Like there is no need to feel like you are competing with other artists for attention of others, everyone kind of supports everyone. It sounds very cheesy but ultimately I find it to be a very respectful, warm and vibrant place. I work mostly in Stockholm when it comes to music, so when I am at home in Malmö I get to chill and study which for me has been such a necessary place of refuge.

    S: Your handmade “ugly cups” have become something of a signature. What sparked the idea, and do you see this kind of hands-on creativity as an extension of your artistry?D: My mom has had ceramics as a passion of hers for as long as I can remember. So I used to come along to her studio and just spend hours exploring clay without ever really properly learning how you throw or build in a traditional way. That's were the idea came from to make “ugly cups” when I started picking up ceramics again in my own studio in Malmö last year. To make cups not because they would be perfect, but make them because it was fun. It is a nice way to show appreciation for the people that listen to my music, because I sold them very cheap and they were very much made with love and care - each exemplar was unique. But making ceramics merch was such a long and intense process taking several weeks for cups to get done. So I am taking a small break from it for now before starting producing cups again for when I release my album next spring.

    S: “Indigo Bruised” is described as both ‘driving and soft’ with intricate production details. How do you approach this contrast in your music—balancing energy with emotional depth?
    D:     Most of my songs include the first take or single takes of me singing. Which basically means that I like to keep the first impressions that I gave when singing the songs for the first time in a microphone. I think that gives my lyrics emotional depth. I like the idea of honesty in it, surely I am quite the perfectionist at times and also can try to take the same line of singing a thousand times to make it as perfect as I think it can be. But ultimately and most often I chose to go with the first time I recorded a song, it becomes symbolic, like a picture of the time I find myself in at the moment. But both Hampus and I strive very much towards good dynamics in the sound of the songs, I want there to be a driving pulse, he wants to feel the honesty in my voice. And Voilá a diane emerita song is made, soft and driving.

    S: With so much momentum behind you, what’s next? Do you see yourself experimenting with new sounds or collaborating with other artists in the near future?
    D:     I am making an album right now, and it is almost done, but I also haven't written most of the songs yet. Which is funny. But in my head it is very clear that “what is next” will always be me exploring my musicality and effectively the time of my life when I write it. So basically I am just making a soundtrack to my own life. So yes there will be new sounds and collaborations. For this new album I am seeing a lot of colour in the sound (whatever that might mean) and a dancing pulse. And I am counting with at least two, three featuring collaborations. But like I said, I now need to go and actually let the ideas out of my head and make them listenable to others. I am sure everything will fall into place.

    S: If you could collaborate with any artist—living or dead—who would it be, and why?
    D    : Uh nice and hard question. Too many to choose from, and the list is always changing. But I'll give you a cute short list:
    - Little Simz, because she is the greatest rapper of all time
    - Obongjayar, because of the way he sings
    - Jeff Buckley, I liked his lyrics
    - Robyn, because I love to dance to her songs  

    S: Finally, what’s something unexpected
    D:     I really like libraries, I think they should become the new supermarkets.

    top Ono Ateliers
    trousers Kristin Svensson
    shoes Cos
    earrings Stylist's Own
    rings Taffy Rainbow
    top Kristin Svensson
    trousers Stylist's Own
    shoes Carin Wester
    earrings Pearl Octopuss.y

    photography Sandra Myhrberg
    fashion Louise Dyhrfort

    makeup Alicia Hurst

    body Sini Saavala
    skirt Avalon For All
    shoes Julia Broscheit
    ring Ole Lynggaard

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