song null. face null. space null. / 9
iET
Can You Carry Me
There is the promise of spring. Insects are emerging from the earth; they, too, are longing for what is to come, for change. My hands are rooting in the soil of this little garden. It is my green world, the place where roots are interlaced. Where life is different each day, where flowers are blooming, plants form a jungle. This is where butterflies are flying, bees are humming.
Where I am growing as well
The cat caresses my ankles with its tail. In the autumn of 2018 — it seems like only a few weeks ago — I first looked into the eyes of my child. It was her that I carried right under my heart for nine months. We didn’t know each other yet, but at the same time we knew everything about each other. The world, which had already shrunk during my pregnancy, enveloped me completely. Nothing mattered, except her and her father.
Since then, it has been like this every day. Even for my other great love, music, there is no place in my heart, for now. Nothing could have prepared me for this change. I had wanted to be a mother for so long, and now it sometimes seems impossible to be anything but a mother. I miss the creation of beauty, and at the same time I don’t seem to be able to create space for it.
In this garden I can always breathe, find oxygen.
Sometimes I hear music in the distance, when I am carrying my child in my arms. The notes sound like a soft promise, which I cling to. Also at moments when the earth sinks beneath my feet, and I fear that I will never create again. My music has always been a way to leave reality behind me. A mysterious world in which I feel good.
I live inside my music. It comforts. It stimulates.
I allowed the garden to enter my house. Potted plants with leaves soft as velvet. The strong fig that grows in my studio. Flowers in vases. The scent of the outside world that wafts in through the french windows. The filtered light that slants through the windows. I take my hands out of the soil, sit up and see the first green sprigs break through the soil, growing towards the light. I hum a melody.
I get up and as I do so, the melody grows as well.
The sun appears from behind a cloud. I open the doors of my studio and sit behind the piano. I listen to my inner world. I feed the music with all that I have in me and around me. Nature’s beauty. The warm environment of my house. The love for my child and my husband. I, the mother, the lover, the daughter, the sister, the woman.
I come to life.
This is me. This is iET.
iET:
“In my first year as a mother I hardly managed to occupy myself with anything but Linne, but after more than a year I entered the studio again and wrote Can You Carry Me. It is about this struggle – the feelings of guilt – but also about the intense love that I experience, and the support from my great love and musical partner Budy. There, at that piano, I was so overwhelmingly happy that I was still able to write, sing, play and record. Each time I listen to this song I get emotional because it reminds me so much of how lost I felt at the time.”
There is the promise of spring. Insects are emerging from the earth; they, too, are longing for what is to come, for change. My hands are rooting in the soil of this little garden. It is my green world, the place where roots are interlaced. Where life is different each day, where flowers are blooming, plants form a jungle. This is where butterflies are flying, bees are humming.
Where I am growing as well
The cat caresses my ankles with its tail. In the autumn of 2018 — it seems like only a few weeks ago — I first looked into the eyes of my child. It was her that I carried right under my heart for nine months. We didn’t know each other yet, but at the same time we knew everything about each other. The world, which had already shrunk during my pregnancy, enveloped me completely. Nothing mattered, except her and her father.
Since then, it has been like this every day. Even for my other great love, music, there is no place in my heart, for now. Nothing could have prepared me for this change. I had wanted to be a mother for so long, and now it sometimes seems impossible to be anything but a mother. I miss the creation of beauty, and at the same time I don’t seem to be able to create space for it.
In this garden I can always breathe, find oxygen.
Sometimes I hear music in the distance, when I am carrying my child in my arms. The notes sound like a soft promise, which I cling to. Also at moments when the earth sinks beneath my feet, and I fear that I will never create again. My music has always been a way to leave reality behind me. A mysterious world in which I feel good.
I live inside my music. It comforts. It stimulates.
I allowed the garden to enter my house. Potted plants with leaves soft as velvet. The strong fig that grows in my studio. Flowers in vases. The scent of the outside world that wafts in through the french windows. The filtered light that slants through the windows. I take my hands out of the soil, sit up and see the first green sprigs break through the soil, growing towards the light. I hum a melody.
I get up and as I do so, the melody grows as well.
The sun appears from behind a cloud. I open the doors of my studio and sit behind the piano. I listen to my inner world. I feed the music with all that I have in me and around me. Nature’s beauty. The warm environment of my house. The love for my child and my husband. I, the mother, the lover, the daughter, the sister, the woman.
I come to life.
This is me. This is iET.
iET:
“In my first year as a mother I hardly managed to occupy myself with anything but Linne, but after more than a year I entered the studio again and wrote Can You Carry Me. It is about this struggle – the feelings of guilt – but also about the intense love that I experience, and the support from my great love and musical partner Budy. There, at that piano, I was so overwhelmingly happy that I was still able to write, sing, play and record. Each time I listen to this song I get emotional because it reminds me so much of how lost I felt at the time.”