Ingela Bohm's Blog, page 40

Rotvältor and skrömt

An uprooted tree – or a nightmarish creature reaching a skeletal hand towards you?

We see what we want to see, what we’re afraid to see, and what we’re taught to see. This is nothing new. But when I walk the woods around my home, I’m constantly reminded of that fact because of the many uprooted, fallen trees. These rotvältor, as we call them, are very easy to mistake for something else – a living shape, a creature in the dappled shadows.

What was that?

Did it move?

Is something looking at me?

It’s no wonder that people have come up with all sorts of legends about woodland spirits – skrömt. Elves and hobgoblins and ghosts of different shapes and forms, concepts to explain the feeling when we catch a glimpse of one of those natural shapes through the corner of our eye and jump out of our skin.

During the day, they’re harmless enough. A second look confirms that it was just a fallen tree or a big rock. But in twilight? With nothing but the softly glowing sky to illuminate them? Better not take any chances. Better run, in case it’s a troll.

Do we run from other fantasies, too?

The Ne knockout

I don’t know what it’s like for other INTPs, but my extraverted intuition really doesn’t need much prompting to go off on a creative spree. Today I decided to just lie down and read since I have a bad case of lumbago (too much photography in cold weather?). Well, I managed three pages before I was hit by the Ne lightning and scampered off to the computer to cram a whole truckload of ideas into my article – ideas that were mostly unrelated to the book I was reading.

I mean… this is Ne, right? Like the erratic spangles on a river, glinting here and there, almost too fast to catch. And if you don’t snap that shot, they’re gone forever.

Spring in Sweden

The north of Sweden is a tough lover. Most of the year, she is cold and silent. When spring comes and she melts a little, there’s none of your fancy flowers or lush greenery. There are pines and firs, stretching their needles towards the light. There are dry twigs and rough bark. For the longest time, there’s only grey, brown and light yellow. Last year’s grass, last year’s leaves.

But if you take the time to get to know her, she gives and gives. If you wander her woods when the sun filters through the canopy, if you stay still and watch the subtle play of light on the cold water, if you accept the austere palette and appreciate the pangs of bright colour that do exist… she will welcome you with open arms.

You just have to really look.

The trouble with focus

It seems like some kind of cosmic joke that I have trouble focusing with my new camera. I mean, it’s metaphorical enough to be a theme in a book of mine! (Actually, maybe I’ll use it. Maybe for the Midsummer story.)

I’ve been googling and also reading the old-fashioned way, so I know sharpness in images comes down to shutter speed, aperture, ISO, movement and, well, focus, and I’ve identified a few areas that need work. But ridiculously enough, the hardest one to master is the goddamn focus.

I adjust it to where I’m planning to stand (if it’s a self portrait) and then switch to manual, and then I position myself where I focused… and yet I turn out as fuzzy as I feel.

Because that’s just it: I have trouble focusing. In my life, in my writing, in my PhD. I jump from idea to idea, and the grass not only always greener, it pops out at me before I’ve even had a taste this side of the fence, which means I never get any grass at all. It doesn’t matter if my glass is full or not, because I’m already looking at something else and will never drink it.

This is the curse of extraverted intuition. But it’s also an absolute joy. I wouldn’t trade my Ne for anything. It’s what keeps me interested in life, writing – and yes, occasionally, the PhD. It’s how I can take two wildly different ideas and merge them to create a connection that wasn’t there before. It’s the basis for my sense of humour. It’s my childish excitement about everything that’s bright and shiny.

But what it lacks is focus. To harness all that wide-eyed wonder, I have to use other functions. I have to force Ne into submission for the half minute or so it takes to snap that self portrait. Because without focus, everything that Ne loves just peters out and disappears.

Trying to get some focus.

 

Spring yellow

This strange sight met me when I went for my walk last night: spring birches that looked almost yellow. These kinds of colours are more expected in autumn, but the evening sun and the dark fir tree background made them stand out.

 

This old house…

Meet the remains of a club house from the forties. Alone in the middle of the woods, it’s caving in on itself for lack of attention.

A lifetime ago, it echoed with the sounds of laughter, music and dancing. It was the place to be on a Saturday night. Travelling musicians, salesmen and vaudeville entertainers stopped by to wow the locals, and young people lined the walls in their finery, hoping to work up the courage to ask that special someone to dance.

Now those days are gone. The music is replaced by the wind in the trees and the warbling of a nearby stream. The travelling entertainers have sold their horses and opted for a stable income at one of the national theatre venues down south. The shy young wallflowers who finally took that momentous step onto the dance floor have moved to the coast and become grandparents.

But out here in the forest, the memory remains.

Dead ice tarn

Alright, this is a pointless picture to document something amazing. I didn’t really capture it that night, but I will be back with better skills/lens/light/luck. I just wanted to show an approximation of what a “dead ice tarn” looks like. I have no idea what it’s called in English. It’s a small lake left behind by the retreating Ice Age, and because it’s only made up of melted ice with no inflow from other bodies of water, it has this really eerie greenish colour. In the picture, you sort of assume the green is just reflected trees, but it’s not. It’s the water.

Ugh. Anyway, I’ll endeavour to take a better pic in future.

The beauty of the humble

Moss is such an overlooked, underrated thing. Look at those colours. This is just a quick snapshot, taken in shadow and with no post-production, and yet it glows. We don’t have a lot of flowers to boast about here (certainly not in early May), but we do have moss!

Darling buds of May

A few days late to post this, but it’s finally official: spring has reached northern Sweden. (And before its time, too!)

Drama and calm

Nothing like a little storm to bring out those evening colours.

An hour later, mist is gathering in the depths of the forest.