Tuva Simensen — Music & Art

001 — About

Who I Am

I am an independent artist combining music, poems, and visual art to express what lives beneath the surface, drawn to the deep notes, the melancholy, where heart and soul come together to quiet the storms and fill the nothingness with meaning.

My visual work is always evolving. I move freely between digital drawing, lino printing, and acrylic on canvas, sometimes combining all three into something new. My music speaks in two voices: Mölte, my rock band with a clean rock and prog feel, and Tuva Simensen, my singer-songwriter project where I portrait feelings through lyrics and transcend pain into soundwaves.

I've been performing since my teens, first stepping on stage at Haugesund Rock Fest in 2006, and playing festivals, small venues, and scenes ever since. Often the three elements find each other: a poem that becomes a song, that finally gets painted on canvas, printed digitally, or pressed by hand. One search, wearing many forms.

Currently working on a series of lino prints of birds, acrylic paintings exploring abstraction and surrealism, and writing new music for Mölte.

Based inHaugesund, Norway

Also inOslo

Active since2006

First showHaugesund Rock Fest

MediumSound · Image · Text

Available forCollabs · Shows

CurrentlyLino prints · Painting · Mölte

Contact for booking or collaboration →

003 — See

Art

Digital Art

Mölte Parade · Digital · 2023

Swan Lake · Digital · 2023

Colour Flower · Digital · 2023

Plant Room · Digital · 2023

Lino Print · Birds on the Wire

Birds on the Wire — lino prints hanging in studio

Birds on the Wire · Complete Series · Lino Print · 2024

Spøkefugl · 4/5 · Lino Print · 2024

Omsorgsfugl · 1/2 · Lino Print · 2024

Betydningsfugl · 3/10 · Lino Print · 2024

Lino Print · Poems & Lyrics

Each print begins as a poem or a lyric. The image is where the words go when language isn't enough.

Valentine · 5/20

When my body, my soul, Has stretched to the fullest, When my knees can no longer carry, And the ground gives way beneath me, Is when. My heart dissolves, disintegrates And rains down onto the floor, Is when You find me in a puddle, No arms, no legs, In a floating state.

You're No Lighthouse · 2/7

It's a stretch to put it like this. A faint and distant torch light Ships can sail towards. But you're no lighthouse. And I'm no boat. Hardly a depression antidote.

Skeleton · 1/2

Skeleton, skeleton. How are you, really? After decades and years of being buried alive? System check 1, system check 2. All systems down; our preparedness failed. We didn't train enough.

Acrylic on Canvas

Eruption · Acrylic on Canvas

Face · Acrylic on Canvas

City · Acrylic on Canvas

Portrait with butterfly — acrylic on canvas

Portrait · Acrylic on Canvas

004 — Read

Poems

Words written in the margins of other things. Some arrive with images, some with music, some arrive alone. Each is complete as it is.

Valentine

Tuva Simensen

When my body, my soul, Has stretched to the fullest, When my knees can no longer carry, And the ground gives way beneath me, Is when My heart dissolves, disintegrates And rains down onto the floor, Is when You find me in a puddle, No arms, no legs, In a floating state. Each time, You begin the delicate work, Putting me back together, One arm here, a leg there, A patchwork of cables connecting. Each time, You repair, you fix, And upgrade me, To the version you know I can be.

Skeleton

Tuva Simensen

Skeleton, skeleton. How are you, really? After decades and years of being buried alive? Cracked ribs, open skull. Mind wanders off, no single line of thought. System check 1, system check 2. All systems down; our preparedness failed. We didn't train enough. A post-mortem, we definitely need to do. We take it seriously, no doubt we do. Well, maths aside, all factors accounted for, it's not at all logical. Could it be a case of inconsistent axioms? So, skeleton, skeleton. How are you, really? I cut with my scalpel pen, unfold, layer by layer. (With these things, I need to cut deep.) I take a piece of your bone, under the microscope, test your tiny little microbes. Not sure what I'll find, what we even test you for, or even if there is a cure.

My friend Love's burnpit

Tuva Simensen

I need to get this off my chest. Before drinking aceton and erasing my memory completely. I dwelled on this for some time. Going back and forth on the decision. Removing this chapter and burning the page in my friend «Love's» burn pit. It's quite the distinct smell when you come to think of it. Keeping a burn pit in your back garden. No matter what continent you are on, the smell is unmistakable. Going back and forth on the decision again. But landing every time at the backlash of the obliviousness of kids playing in the kindergarten. They are here and now. Drawn into each moment like it was limitless eternity. The other side of the coin leaves me conflicted though. Seeing colors more brightly, tasting moments with body and soul into the hurricane's eye. It has an appeal. The kids playing, the pale colors on a postcard with greetings from a well spent holiday in Italy, it has an aesthetic to it. If I reset by acetonic water, I may not remember at all how the colors look or how the burn pit smelled. May. Be. Okay.

The Red Dragon

Tuva Simensen

I befriended the ocean. I befriended the moon. I befriended the planet Venus. (I always thought it was a star). I befriended the dirt and soil. That gave birth to fruits and toys Machine guns and OxyContin, Man and demons. I befriended death. He took place by my side. We sat and watched the ocean burn. I could not take my eyes away from the red dragon licking the sky. Eating the moon. Even Venus disappeared from the night.

Dangling

Tuva Simensen

Solid on the hard soil, Hip-width apart. My toes can actually taste the fresh-cut grass. The outlook, a canvas of a too-perfect sky. Seems painted. Unreal. Somehow this hits like a knife. There are no northern lights, no dancing stars. It's all satellites and gas moving across. You see it too, don't you?

Don't Mind the Gap

Tuva Simensen

A crevice, the tiniest little crack, In a seemingly impervious rock wall, Rain falls, wind blows, Water expands, life unfolds. It slithers and tears, Over the years, Giving away an inch at a time, Barely noticeable, if at all. "Don't mind the gap," said casually, Not minding the causality, that will be. Eventually, inevitably, Here is you, Here is me.

TuvaSimensen

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