The colors play the games of contrasts, strike the characters against us or suck them

into dull tones. Her color forms and rhytmic nerve of energetic repetition are

completely intertwined stories. They could not have been shaped otherwise. This makes

them closed, but we should keep in mind : “Every poem must incarnate its own secret,

its own secret self-consciousness.”

(Pia Tafstrup)


Finally, ask me how much this is about Helmtrud Nyström herself? Except the purely personalized

imagery, are there experiences that give her pictures a form?

Nobody can answer this, but I think I can help with the aid of Sara Kirsch and give an explanation

of the life in the mystery of her pictures: “Ein Spiegel mit mir darin, weil sonst niemand da ist”

Thomas Millroth, 2004