Inner peace, coloured emotions, modern art

I was cycling through the woods yesterday, I had just finished working. The weather was great: around twenty-something degrees (Celsius, I'm not a masochist), not a single cloud in the whole wide sky. And the sky above Uppsala is really wide, there are no mountains teasing the eye, just endless fields, low-rolling hills and lots of woods. It is also kinda pale. Not the saturated blue of the southern skies, it seems like some angel accidentally dropped his milk glass, thereby diluting the sky. Far on the horizon it goes into more milk-with-blue whitish than the blue-with-milk just above your head. So the only clouds in the whole azure were the jet streams of the occasional airplane, highlighting the whole blue pureness, just as a minor defect in a diamond makes it even more beautiful. Inside the coniferous woods in Uppsala there are cycling ways that snake to the left and to the right, around big glacier-age boulders and between tree giants - pines, mostly - that have seen more springs than I have seen dawns.

I was doing my usual cycle sprint which takes me 8-10 minutes from the faculty to the place where I hang my jacket (the time it takes me to walk this distance is about 45 minutes to one hour). Suddenly I asked myself: "Where the heck am I rushing to?" I had nothing important to do, my exam had just passed, the work for today was finished. All that was remaining was an enjoyable evening of resting my senses and talking to friends. Like in a dangerous fight, time slowed down, and with it I slowed down as well. Cycling leisurely, being passed by the hectic Swedes who were hurrying to get to the stores, shop, make dinner and hit the couch in front of the TV before their favourite show starts, I was being engulfed by the magic atmosphere of the forest. A bug hummed next to my year, then a sunbeam that has managed to go down all the way between the spread-out branches danced on my face as if asking: "Do you want to play, slow one?" Before I could even start considering the question, the medallion on my chest reflected the ray and sent on the ground, accepting the challenge: "Game on, sunny!"

The blue sky, the green forest and the yellow sun made me wonder if emotions could be described as colours. Like an immense canvas, there was the deep purple majestic feeling of the surrounding trees. Then there was a warm mahogany joy that my beloved one has passed her exams, combined with the deep blue admiration I have for her - she is a great person plus she had passed three consecutive exams with only a single day to study between them, a feat
I still find nigh-impossible. And due to the fact that her work was unfairly judged - a flashing, pulsating jagged lightning of angry orange. Next came the soft green self-satisfaction that my plans and goals are slowly being fulfilled and a yellowish longing for my family, for her, for my friends. Like ink in a water glass, there was azure optimism and hope, no, faith, that everything is going to be just fine.

Then I came to the reason why I don't like modern art. The art of modernists, impressionists and futurists - it reflects inner feelings, fears, hopes and desires, sometimes things even the artists are not aware of. Therefore the best location for a modern art piece is at is creator's home. Only then and there, in the surroundings of this persons environment, the message encoded in the work can be communicated to the others. And the others... well, they are friends and relatives, people that know the artist, know how he thinks and feels and reacts. They will know how to listen to his wordless speech.

Now the time of reflections is over, it's time to plunge again head-first into the everyday challenges of life. I have lessons to attend, a project to develop, two jobs to go to and lots of people to make smile. See ya.