It started almost 20 years ago, when I was working in my atelier in the former dockyard in Elsinore. All of a sudden I found myself painting something, that looked like Arabic writing. It felt naturally, and at the time I didn´t reflect on it. Not until 2009 when I stayed for a month in the house of an Arab female musician in the Arab part of Granada, and so easily found my way into her Arab world – ways, food, music – that I remembered the paintings from back then. So I began studying the Arabic graphic characters. One by one. Painted them. Wrote them. Tried to write words and sentences. Not out of an ambition to learn Arabic, I would never be able to do that. But because my hand and my heart felt a strange familiarity with the Arab written language. Its elegance. Its musicality. As if, in some ancient past, my first book actually was written in Arabic. The thought of which always connects me with something very rich and very powerful. Like my heart, maybe even my cells, in some sense have roots in the core of the Arab heart, and I have to understand what it´s all about.
While staying in Granada in 2009, I began writing a book with the working title – “The Arab Heart”. However when I got back it was impossible for me to continue writing the book. It felt somehow suddenly a closed matter. Having almost given up on it, I was very surprised when a week ago it suddenly re-opened. From the beginning it felt a very important book to write. Important because it contains a voice that needs to be heard – a voice that hasn´t been able to speak before.