"Love yourself. Then forget it. Then, love the world."
a pairing of Mary Oliver and Hilma af Klint
sometimes images are not enough without words to breathe soul into a visual expression. when it comes to words, however, they conjure up images effortlessly. this is the power of words.
while we have touched upon the healing properties of visual experiences, we could not claim to have explored all corners of art without entering the literary realm. below, I share one of my favourite poems by Mary Oliver. I recommend visiting it a few times throughout your day to see how its marvels open up to you, like the petals of a flower, one by one.
how does it move you? what images arise in your mind? how would you define your own “witchery of living?”
To Begin With, The Sweet Grass by Mary Oliver
I.
Will the hungry ox stand in the field and not eat
of the sweet grass? Will the owl bite off its own wings?
Will the lark forget to lift its body in the air or
forget to sing?
Will the rivers run upstream?
Behold, I say—behold
the reliability and the finery and the teachings
of this gritty earth gift.
II.
Eat bread and understand comfort.
Drink water, and understand delight.
Visit the garden where the scarlet trumpets
are opening their bodies for the hummingbirds
who are drinking the sweetness, who are
thrillingly gluttonous.
For one thing leads to another.
Soon you will notice how stones shine underfoot.
Eventually tides will be the only calendar you believe in.
And someone's face, whom you love, will be as a star
both intimate and ultimate,
and you will be both heart-shaken and respectful.
And you will hear the air itself, like a beloved, whisper:
oh, let me, for a while longer, enter the two
beautiful bodies of your lungs.
III.
The witchery of living
is my whole conversation
with you, my darlings.
All I can tell you is what I know.
Look, and look again.
This world is not just a little thrill for the eyes.
It's more than bones.
It's more than the delicate wrist with its personal pulse.
It's more than the beating of the single heart.
It's praising.
It's giving until the giving feels like receiving.
You have a life—just imagine that!
You have this day, and maybe another, and maybe
still another.
IV.
Someday I am going to ask my friend Paulus,
the dancer, the potter,
to make me a begging bowl
which I believe
my soul needs.
And if I come to you,
to the door of your comfortable house
with unwashed clothes and unclean fingernails,
will you put something into it?
I would like to take this chance. I would like to give you this chance.
V.
We do one thing or another; we stay the same, or we
change.
Congratulations, if
you have changed.
VI.
Let me ask you this. Do you also think that beauty exists for some
fabulous reason?
And, if you have not been enchanted by this adventure—
your life—
what would do for you?
VII.
What I loved in the beginning, I think, was mostly myself.
Never mind that I had to, since somebody had to.
That was many years ago.
Since then I have gone out from my confinements,
though with difficulty.
I mean the ones that thought to rule my heart.
I cast them out, I put them on the mush pile.
They will be nourishment somehow (everything is nourishment
somehow or another).
And I have become the child of the clouds, and of hope.
I have become the friend of the enemy, whoever that is.
I have become older and, cherishing what I have learned,
I have become younger.
And what do I risk to tell you this, which is all I know?
Love yourself. Then forget it. Then, love the world.
Personally for me, the poem pairs deliciously with the work of Hilma af Klint, particularly her Childhood painting from the 1907 series, The Ten Largest.
This painting pair symbolises Childhood, through which the artist introduces the duality of male and female energies, respresented by the rose and the lily. At the center of the first painting, a circular form encloses two grain-like or egg-shaped figures, hinting at the origins of life.
The letters “a” and “v” stand for vestal and ascetic—terms laden with spiritual significance. In ancient Rome, Vestal Virgins were priestesses of the goddess Vesta, entrusted with tending the sacred flame. Ascetics, on the other hand, renounce physical desires in pursuit of enlightenment. Within af Klint’s symbolic language, asceticism aligns with the color yellow and the male principle, while the Vestal Virgins correspond to blue and the female principle.
In the second painting, large orange and blue circles continue this exploration of duality, carrying a similar symbolic resonance.
Some questions to guide your experience of reading Oliver’s poem with visual accompaniment by af Klint:
Read in parallel with keeping af Klint’s work in your mind’s eye, how do you allow the poem to envelope itself around you this time? do certain words and phrases saturate some parts of the paintings more? and vice versa, does looking at the painting aid in your experience of transposing the poem visually?
and if you’d like to learn more about the context of af Klint's series…
Hilma af Klint’s The Ten Largest: A Vision Beyond Time
In September 1907, Swedish artist Hilma af Klint recorded a striking vision—she foresaw the creation of “ten paradisaically beautiful paintings” that would offer humanity a glimpse into the stages of life. Just a month later, she embarked on one of her most extraordinary works: The Ten Largest.
Towering in scale and predominantly abstract, these monumental paintings depict four phases of human development—childhood, youth, adulthood, and old age. Af Klint intertwined botanical motifs throughout, reinforcing her belief in the deep connection between humanity and the natural world. Scattered among the compositions are words—some invented, some channeled through spiritual guides—often appearing as exuberant, swirling text.
In an astonishing display of artistic intensity, each of the ten works was completed in just four days. Guided by spiritual directives, af Klint enlisted fellow artist and member of The Five, Cornelia Cederberg, to assist—though always under her precise direction.
Given their sheer size, the paintings were likely created directly on the studio floor—a radical departure from the conventional easel painting of the time. Af Klint envisioned them displayed together in a spiraling temple, forming what she described as a “beautiful wall covering”—a concept far ahead of its time, blending art, spirituality, and immersive experience in a way that continues to captivate audiences today.