Author: hkaroliussen

September 15, 2026 Inspiration

I’ve been Lynda Barrying

I read a post on Substack a while back about The Artists Way by Julia Cameron. It turns out, I am not alone in never having finished it! Morning pages, artist date, the end. 

Every. Time. 

No criticism of Julia Cameron or the book! I just forget to continue it as soon as I start the morning pages.

I used to do the morning pages religiously for many years, but lately I have developed quite severe tremors in, mostly, my right hand. Not ideal for someone who is right handed and draws for a living… So writing for an extended period of time has become painful, both literally and due to the ridiculously slow speed. Goodbye morning pages.

Then I found Lynda Barry‘s book What It Is. I had it on my wishlist for months, and finally splurged just before summer and bought not just that one, but all three of her (teaching) books; What It Is, Syllabus, Making Comics. They were my summer reading and drawing project. 

Of the three Syllabus is my favourite, but they all cover Barry’s different types of techniques for being creative through writing and drawing. And I’ll be honest, at first I didn’t quite get it, I didn’t understand what it was she wanted to say. The books were a bit confusing at first. But as soon as I got into it, it totally made sense. 

In one of the exercises she asks you to list 10 things you did that day, 10 things you heard, write half a page about one of the things you did/heard, and then draw the situation on the other half of the page. I love this approach, as it makes you really pay attention to your surroundings and what is happening. I think that is something many of us have lost being on our screens and with headphones on at all times.

I did this for a while, but still found it was too much writing, so I had to get creative. 

I started doodling my day, little random snippets from here and there. (Martha Rich does something similar, where she writes down snippets of conversation she hears on her commute).  

My day in doodles.
A doodle page from my journal. Monsters and mountains!

Then, thinking of comics, I divided my page into 12 boxes, and decided to draw my day more or less chronologically. 12 little snippets of what I did, saw, heard or thought. Some days were easy, because stuff happened, but on the quiet days I was challenged! 

I have been doing this for a couple of months now, and I absolutely love going back to see what I did or what happened. Having little snippets recorded makes me remember much more stuff that also happened that I didn’t record. I have visual hooks I can hang my memories on. So get doodling, get Lynda Barrying, and record your life. It is more exciting than you might think!

My day in comics format.
An exciting day with rain and coffee.
September 2, 2026 Inspiration

Michael J. Fox made me do it

This isn’t really a post about Michael J. Fox. I don’t know him and have never met him. It is a post about drawing, and about believing in yourself. Just so you don’t expect something juicy, and get disappointed when it’s a rather mundane story about an art kid figuring out she could be a good art kid.  

I don’t remember exactly when it was. It could have been right after Back to the Future or right after Back to the Future II. In any case I am aging myself, but who cares.

A friend and I were in my room drawing. We were sitting on the floor under my slanted roof. She was my only artsy friend, and she was really good at drawing, which I thought was so cool. I enjoyed drawing, but wasn’t particularly good at it. I hadn’t gotten out of the “kids drawing faze” and started to draw “properly”. She had and it was such an inspiration to me. 

I have no idea what she was working on, for how long we were sitting there or what we talked about. I can only assume we talked about drawing, perhaps school, and that we were sitting there for quite a while, because I finished a portrait of Michael J. Fox.

Anyway, the point of all of this is: the drawing was good! I don’t have it anymore – I wish I did – but I was amazed. She was amazed. “The eyes are amazing,” she said. Or something to that effect. The eyes were particularly good, I remember. And I also remember thinking “I can do this, I am actually good at this”. I think it was the first time ever, I had that feeling. 

Then, for many many years, I forgot I was good at it. I became good at many other things, and not so good at even more things, but the feeling never left me. How I remembered I was good at drawing again is a story for another day (it involves an angler fish and a smoking man with a fat neck) but the point is; most days I know I can draw. I am good at it. And I am proud of it. Other days I don’t think I can do it at all, but isn’t that just life? 

The trick, I think, is to draw anyway, to sit down and work, and if you and your brain can’t remember how good you are your hands definitely will.

Two people holding hands on a green stripy background.
August 24, 2026 Life

The boy I never knew

The age gap between my brother and me is seven years. When we were kids it was a massive gap, but it slowly evened out as we got older, getting seemingly smaller.

Then he died. Suddenly and unexpectedly. We lived far away from each other, and weren’t involved in each other’s daily lives other than the occasional phone call, and meeting up for holidays at our parents house. But the space he left behind when he passed is still enormous. It’s been 2 ½ years.

My father passed away just before Christmas last year. I was there, I got to say goodbye, grief had a place to live. In summer I went back home to help my mom sort through his things. It was lots. Books, gadgets, papers. And photos. Thousands of photos. From when he was young all the way to the early 2000s, when he started to get too affected by his arthritis to do pretty much anything. 

Looking through the images of my brother as a young boy and teenager, I realised that, even though I was there, I didn’t know that boy at all. The one with the shy smile, the kind face and the skinny, lanky body. I was 7 when he was 14, we might as well have been living on different planets. 

I only remember bits and pieces. Him letting me ride on his big bike, him walking me to school, having ice cream on vacation in Sweden. I don’t remember a Christmas or a birthday. I don’t remember dinners or homework or hanging out. I don’t remember him. How was his laugh, what did he sound like when he talked, what did he enjoy.

I never knew that boy.

And looking through all these images left by my father, made the loss so real. We should have looked through all those photos together. We should have talked and laughed, and said “oh yes, I remember that!”. We should have revisited the memories together. 

I am very grateful for all the years I got with my brother, for knowing the man he became, even though it was way too short. He was kind, funny and caring. He was still that gentle boy from the pictures. 

So, brother, raise another pint
Rev up the engine and drive off in the night
See you somewhere some place some time
I know there’s better brothers, but you’re the only one that’s mine
I know there’s better brothers, but you’re the only one that’s mine

Brother, Murder by Death