Mixed Media on Canvas, 2010 (Ask for price)
Welcome. This is my page. A bag of mixed emotions, feelings and expression – crafted by my hand, muscles, brain, eyes and ears. My name is Mikki KV Nylund and I am an artist, painter, photographer, writer, composer and a musician.
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I was born and grew up in Scandinavia where I attended art and writing schools, had several exhibitions over there, but also in the northern New England, as well as many, many places in NYC and Brooklyn where I currently work and live.
This website is an experiment. Instead of categorizing things stricly, I've decided to just throw them out like a Big Bang. No particular strict order, just a temple (or template) of my creations whatever they may be.
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Thank you for coming. And thank you for looking.
Thank you for listening, and thank you for feeling.
Peace. Love.
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I'd say it was lit as a candle inside of me at avery young age. Although I didn't have a clue what it meant or would mean (still don't), I started making drawings when I was around 7 y.o. in a small town of Finland. I tried to sell them to my neighbors and I recall I did in fact sell a few, although I am sure it was more so because I was a cute 7 y.o. than the quality of my "art".
I don't like to talk much about my visual art. I am sure I am not the only artist feeling this way. I truly don't know much about my relationship with my art – or on the other hand I could write books about it. I just don't want to spoil the magic, and I am happy with that. To instead, still being able to surprise myself, and others; that has become the true value of my art.
Art to me means a lot of practising and once in a while, in between the moments of hard work, something extraordinary happens...
I am stupid. I stand there with fucking brush in my hand and some tubes of colors to press, bend and squeese. And...I do it. This is almost always how it happens. I stand in front of whatever I've chosen to paint on, but I am standing there like a blind soldier. I am ready for a war I can't see nor imagine. My hand starts to move. First restricted, like it's not allowed to, then more, and more.
At some point I am not really there anymore. Well, I am of course, but I am possesed. I don't know what is being processed in my mind – if anything at all – I am crazy. This is the purest moments that I am always trying to reach. My drug, my fix. When and if I do, I come out of it like a bum and need to rest for weeks. It's a physical dance with the devil.
I compose. I play instruments. I sing.
I write. I think. I write some more. I edit. I try to find the melody between my lines. I throw them up here as wrok-in-progress and appreciates feedback.
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