emilie lindsten

paper canvas 18

watercolour on paper 18 archive of selected works other media writing publications workshops about
Inner Silence
enchanted silence
inhabits forests
of the world
you move caressing
the souls of those who listen

you are found after the darkest nights

your presence
relaxes my deepest worries

uncurls the most curved spines

your silence holds me

soft and warm


tenderly guiding me
towards the true essence of my soul

beyond confusion
the certainty
of your presence
melts me
in a puddle of awareness.
.Carmarthen, Wales 2018
Bodies of Earth


are made of earth
and with her
in her
we fall


        in love.



For two years I lived in the forest, by the southern coast of Sweden. She is the dwelling of Japanese-looking crooked pine trees and birches standing on sandy dunes covered with the softest moss.
I decided to move here from London to live in my grandmother's empty house. Then, I had only a vague idea that it would become a healing place, a place to cocoon and unravel in deep rest. As I lived my own life-rhythm blended in with the patient pace of nature, I felt my body and soul rewind to a pristine state where I could merge in my surroundings, like a moth on bark.



Many a time recently I have had conversations with women about our bodies.

It seems to be so difficult for us to tap into the body’s ancestral wisdom, a wisdom that is so much entwined with this living Earth we inhabit. Yet there is this invisible wall between us and her soft, dark and vivacious sensuality. Her fertility. Her seasons.

Our bodies speak to us of her, our bodily landscape and her landscape are one.







How to nourish ourselves in a time of synthetic distraction-
How to nourish our bodies-

How do we nourish the land-
How do we keep this dialogue alive between us and her –

Is not our body the vehicle-
Is not our body the solution-
Is not our body the thread between us where true understanding can happen-

A merging.

The past years in Sweden I started to observe nature closely, not only the forest but also the garden, working in and with it, this meeting place between human dwelling and wilderness. The way she responds to care and freedom. The way the more I work with her, I become more attuned to her and myself.


As I grow closer to her and fall in her I can see that when I deprive my body of nourishment, I feel the earth as suffocated by rivers of asphalt. When I constrict my body in unhealthy regimens to be accepted or loved I see the earth being drilled in, in the name of progress. When I allow my body’s safety to be broken I see humans not taking her needs into account. What is it with our body that we don’t listen to her?


Where do we hear the voice of the land?


She and I are one and the same.
I put my hands on the dark soil and feel my heartbeat echoed in her.


So I observe her closely and I feel the surface of my skin prickle.
I see the invisible winds, I feel spaceousness within my lungs. When I look at the waves, I feel the pulse of lymph like a river within. She breathes with my organs and I am held
by her.

London, 2017