heart sings and the birds fly {fly [fly (away)]}
At art school in Tartu, a professor gave us tubes of oil paint with “ОКСИД ХРОМА ЗЕЛЕНЫЙ” written on them. I was born into a family of painters during the 90s in Estonia, and I started painting with oil colours very early. I remember going through cardboard boxes of paint tubes with strange letters on them; some of them were brown, some yellow, some red. But mostly, when my hand pulled out another tube, hoping it would at least be black, I was disappointed: ОКСИД ХРОМА ЗЕЛЕНЫЙ. Because I don’t understand Russian, I never learned the names of pigments. I had no words for colours.
It is 1989 in Tallinn, Estonian SSR, five years before I am born. My mother and father are taking photos. The three photos have a central composition and since the subjects are out of focus, it seems as if the camera was held by unsteady hands. Even though the photos seemed to be simple by-products of the mechanical act of pushing a button, I was amazed by their beauty. For three months, I painted copies of the images. I have painted my parents many times before and I think it relates to the fact that they embody someone I once wanted to look like.
It seems I have caught Painting and I have to distance myself.
It looks as if I have caught Painting in my tummy and I feel my face is drained of colour.
Because I was sweating green sweat all night, I’ve got the impression that I have finally caught Painting.

I have written a poem of and for my dog Bella where I used sounds that my dog liked and that invited her to be close to me when we were walking in the woods. "heart sings and the birds fly {fly [fly (away)]}" is about a different kind of communicative act between two entities. 
It is about expectations, confusion and distance. 
When I made the decision about the topic of my Kuvan Kevät work, I went back to the two beginnings of my artistic life. First being working from photographs, and second, painting my mother. I started working with a photograph of her taken in 1989. Initially, I copied the picture for two months, then I did clay copies of its size, and eventually I painted the silhouette of her and Disney bluebirds on yellowish-pinkish and green grid. The silhouettes of the figures and the grid leave room for confusion and uncertainty, which itself is a contrast to the simple, almost mindless repetition of the green rectangle.​​​​​​​
My Kuvan Kevät paintings centre around a specific tone of green, chromium oxide green. This colour is interesting to me since it is almost in-between being natural and artificial in its effect on the viewer; it is both and neither at the same time. It also brings into my (but also incidentally to my supervisor’s, Heli Hiltunen’s) mind a teak sofa…
When Estonia regained independence in 1991, there was a great yearning for “European” things. There is a phrase in Estonian, ‘euroremont’ which literally means ‘European renovation’. This referred to the way people started to redecorate and renovate their homes so they would look more “European”. My family did not go along with this trend and largely kept the soviet time furniture. As a teenager I was jealous of my friends whose homes had new furniture, fancy wallpapers, and flat screen TVs. The previously mentioned teak sofa was one of the pieces of furniture that my mother decided to keep. This sofa and the colour of the green strongly relates to me as something that I do not necessarily want but what I get; it is not usually the expected green, but it is what you, as a viewer, get.