This is Carl.
CF CHiLL is my ateliér.
Turning a stockholmer deprived of his dignity into something useful.
Welcome to my hometown.
For a while I moved comfortably between business, culture and music. A good place to learn strategy, finance, and academia.
Built and supported things.
Turned ideas into reality.
As long as I was useful, people needed me.
Then life took a different route.
Several years inside psychiatric systems.
Locked wards.
Institutions.
Places the business world, art world and music industry never visit.
Entire parallel societies full of people quietly written off.
History remembers a few of them.
Van Gogh.
Carl Fredrik Hill.
Ester Henning.
Mostly after they die.
LA belle indifférence
In August Strindberg’s Inferno, he vividly paints the pictures of being bombarded by the voices of the world as he explored Paris.
As I explored Los Angeles a decade ago, I experienced something similar but chose to listen to those voices.
I knew it would fuck up my life and hurt people, but i did the calculation that it was worth it. In hindsight it wasn’t.
Los Angeles was a global signal tower back then, much like Paris once was.
Cultures and people broadcasting everywhere at once.
Nations meeting nations, capital meeting artists, artists meeting dreamers and dreamers meeting healers, healers meeting doctors.
I processed that cacophony and identify ethereal qualities and patterns amongst to guide my work amidst the noice. This is nothing new really, but I was really mindful to to not start anything that would end up in disaster, given the global pool of resources present in LA back then.
I worked diligently, hard, crashed, burned and traumatized a lot of people.
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