PAINTINGS ARE BORN AS STORIES...
I always paint when something makes me stop.
Landscapes are not just "beautiful landscapes" but always moments of realization for me.
The words just flood into my head and I write a story about them. Then I take my story and use them to create a painting.
In 2017 I published a book of my art that bears the name: Painting with words and colors."
So, I've gathered some that are important to me here: stories and painting by Anne Mattila.
ps: These are not poems but stories about paintings...
The child knew more about life he wept for the abundance of his heart
and laughed at love
The only thing he didn't understand
was to lose faith in tomorrow
Is time wiser? With love to be a skill?
Morning brings light
Time for that peace
But the child shows
how beautiful life is
How does love speak?
It does not say that it existsit...
It exists even though it does not
shout out alive!
How to Touch Love?
It does not intentionally squeeze the heart.
It guides home from under the darkness.
How do you see love?
It is not afraid
even in the darkest room!
It sees, even if you doesn't!
Because love exists, without being there
Thus it is protected
from all evil!
It had been a rainy day.
The air smelled rusty.
Water drops glittering on the meadow, as if the fairies had made
their home for them.
Only one bird was sleeping in his house anymore..
Everything was quiet
And I was sure I heard the bird sing:
How happy his time was.
I was thinking about time.
I was thinking about beauty.
Why does everything disappear?
So I painted this moment
so I could even get a piece of it, which will disappear
from us all too soon
Every morning traveling that bird blue,
give us hope to bring.
Bring the roses to grow,
each one he puts on the window.
To the first one tweets;
Let the leaves flourish with love.
To another, he points out;
take care if the fear knocks on the door.
trust in the sound of the Heart.
For the fourth, the bird sings its song;
Why would I be so happy if everyone was here.
We have more time than you think
hope morning dawns
The cold had almost stopped the river
The trees stood cold, stripped waiting for his white coat.
The pink sky wandered into purple darkness and frost.
The affected tree stared at itself.
He had long mirrored that image and remembered how much more it was sometimes to watch.
Year after year, time broke one hand and another.
But the years of one tree branch confirmed, replacing the missing branch ...
-And the other trees leaned over to look
how life saw a tree,
carried his broken branches.
I know the woods and the rocks hear our
Even thoughts know ...
Rapids don't stop seethe,
and if you listen closely
you can't miss
It gives strength and comfort.
In the shelter of the rock you can fall asleep with your worries
This nature knows,
only one name out of millions.
It is Finland
And we don't stop believing in it.