denmark diaries {april 2022}

denmark:

where crayons provide shelter for those standing guard; where church, the royal family, & the arts are in perfect alignment; and where "danishes" are called "vienna bread" because the danes are just that humble.

p.s. in america, lagahueset bakery exists, just under a different name because pronouncing it in english is, well, not great. so next itme you’re in nyc, look for “ole & steen!” best pastries (er, danishes?) i’ve EVER had!! (esp. these poppy seed things and the chocolate spirals that look like cinnamon rolls!)

i shall endeavor not to spend the days, weeks, or months ahead counting the successive mornings in which i do not wake up in denmark.

the days where the sun rises at 4:45 (even before me), and lingers long enough that i can remain awake until ten or eleven pm without getting groggy-cranky-sleepy-delusional. 

perhaps it would be best to spend the next few days lying on my living room rug, staring at the (much-too-plain) ceiling, meditating on all the details and atmosphere and prolonged history of the country of introverts i've left behind.

there were flower markets lining the cobbled streets. ice cream shops on the harbors. opera houses and the national ballet; daily processions of uniformed, marching guards leading masses through the city to the palace gates, trumpets and drums keeping time. clanging cathedral bells and a ship for sailors hanging from the rafters in every church.

rolling fields of brilliant yellow canola stalks; u-shaped farm houses to protect from the winter winds; dancing cows let out for spring; and clean commuter trains that thanked you for taking your trash with you.

there were faerie tale legends, philosophers, libraries old and new, and the calm relief that modern can integrate itself without destruction of the old—each piece of architecture elevating the other to its own relevant place in time and history.

there was assurance that we don't need to hurry as much as we do; that there's more to breathe in than the world on the other side of our phone screens. and the comforting fact that it's really not that hard to care for our neighbors and treat each other as worthy, capable human beings.

in town, the cemetery stones were worn smooth, memories lost to weather and time. 

the common crows with their penguin-tuxedoed bellies and cerulean tipped wings felt more inspired than their simple label of "pests." the pigeons were the size of chickens. ducks have their own fantasy-themed houses on human-less islands where they can lay their eggs in peace. and i heard the elusive squirrels look more like foxes, but never got to see one. 

i return contemplating whether or not miraculous sights only exist elsewhere. or can the fact of having seen them, even if only once, train our eyes to see beauty in the environments perpetually waiting for us back home?

can the differences we see encourage us to do better when we return? to be the spark of kindness that changes the world one person at a time from wherever we are? to create beauty in unlikely corners. to turn our faces to the sun when it shines, not taking its beams for granted. 

can a magical theme park exist in our imaginations even when we're not walking under the weeping willows swaying over hundreds and thousands of multi-colored tulips? on cue, can we conjure the memory of breathing the air that smells of sugar and popcorn and cotton candy wafting around every gabled corner?

can we be so overwhelmingly grateful for the trip of a lifetime—a trip that wildly exceeded expectations and childhood bucket list dreams of seeing the land of the little mermaid—and now be content back at the everyday routine of life in america?

what magic and sights and inspiration can i continue to carry with me—to maintain the happy tears of seeing elsinore castle for the first time, of stepping into an installation that felt like the inside of princess poppy's technicolor imagination? of learning that "tivoli" literally means "sprinkles," and giggling for the rest of my train ride into the city?

how can i carry the pre-medieval charms of sagging yellow houses and the snores of an underground sleeping viking giant with me as i drive across town for groceries instead of walking to the market for what i need for the day, the hatted crosswalk man welcoming me as a local?

i'll ask the ceiling and let you know.

p.s. i saved three highlight reels on my instagram page if you’d like to flip through more photos of my artist residency in denmark: art, architecture, sights, sounds, cultural differences, and of course story and illustration ideas abound. :)