I am Bjorn Bengtsson. I create to embody and enliven love. In painting, writing, music, and business; my endeavor is love. My creations give life, never take life. I keep creations spiritually human; allowing the static mystic muffle to remain in song,  the texture to rise in paint, how word found way with me, why the painting you love now adorns the wall.

I offer my creative work in high marketable value, situated at the spiritual point in which creation is made necessary, beautiful, momentarily eternal. The world needs love, more than anything, I offer love with colors, words, images and sounds. My creative work is my heart, I give you my heart. I intend to be the greatest artist to love, to live, to be apart of your collection.

What is an artist statement if not in the breath of beauty? What is an Artist if not a medium for God’s beauty? What is Art if not a window to the first hour of eternity? What are we if not formation, transformation, the eternal minds eternal recreation?

My breath smells like poetry and coffee. Hand rolled cigarette burns line the inside of my fingers. I breathe in death, breathe out divine. Cyans, siennas, and coalescing cadmiums cover my body. Black and white naked photogenic souls dress the plaster walls. With estranged eyes and my evanescent mind I forgive my lack of familiarity in this phenomenal world. I know not how I have come to be. Though I am comfortable in the unknown. Feeling my way in the light leaving corners of my mind I see only in color. I reach contorting hands as leaf like fingers from the tree of life. Each branch a brush, a pen. I seek something to hold on to, something to keep, something to call my own. But something apart wants to be known, an estranged spirit, a will-o-the-wisp idea over unconscious waters. It drifts in an eternal northwest wind and wanders into the recesses of my makeshift mind. I am within and without and angels and seraphim dance about. It’s a ceremonial song. It’s a carefree no-space, no-time state of mind. Something apart wishes to breathe, to be imbued with life and I give it my own. It calls itself art. It always has and always will be. It is heaven sent and earth grown since antiquity. It finds life in me.

In Love, Bjorn Bengtsson