Maria Saveland Swedish, b. 1965

Maria Saveland, b. 1965, lives and works in Stockholm. Saveland holds a Master of Fine Arts degree from Konstfack, with a specialization in Fine Arts, and has studied as a project student at the Royal Institute of Art in Stockholm. Drawing inspiration from randomly selected fragments, images, or lingering words, Maria seeks a visual expression for what she wants to convey through various media such as film, photography, painting, and sculpture. Central themes in her artistic practice revolve around existential questions of belonging and alienation. Her art consistently explores the experience of nature and silent dialogues with the essence of animals.

 Creating images of what I need to see (about Saveland’s paintings in Springbrunn group exhibition).

Thief of Time.  As I look through old photographs, memories of a time that has passed come flooding back. The young mother standing by the window, the cats lounging on the couch, capturing celebrations as well as the essence of everyday life. Frozen in time, these images encompass various events in my life, in different homes, creating a peculiar sense of proximity and yet, a lingering distance. A small plaster sculpture remains consistent in several of the photographs, usually sitting on a windowsill or a shelf in the background. The sculpture depicts a relaxed young man, slightly crouched, his gaze fixed on a specific point. He holds a long staff–is it a weapon? Is he waiting for his prey? With wings at his ankles and on his helmet, it must be the God Hermes, the one who sped across the celestial vaults,
earning him the title Messenger of the Gods. Also known as the God of Thieves, is he the one to blame? His constant presence in everything that later disappeared sparks my curiousity. I feel the need to paint him, envisioning his exploits as he travels across the celestial vault with messages that may never find their way to me.

The Last Bird.  I worry so much about the birds; only the large magpies come to visit our fat balls and oat clusters. Where have all the small birds gone? During my visit to a bird station, they told me about the impact of climate change on bird behavior, detailing a progressively southward shift in nesting sites. The notion of a silent spring seems inevitable; will the last bird inevitably meet its demise? The painting The Last Bird serves as a means to alleviate these anxieties. As I fix my gaze upon it, uncertainly lingers—has the bird fallen from the sky or simply taken flight from the ground?