Meeting Leif of Sweden

I’m meeting Leif at his home in south Stockholm. Traffic noises come from the street outside. Leif has bought pastries and is making us coffee, the way they make it in the northern parts of Sweden (coffee powder goes into the pot without filtering).
Having poured the coffee, he sits down in a well-worn Chesterfield armchair and seems a bit self-conscious when I switch on the tape recorder. He strokes his moustache and tells me he’s a bit nervous. I ask my first question:

What is the central theme of your creativity?
He ponders the questions for a while, and answers with a hint of a smile:
- I don’t create; I merely document what I see. But I see what you’re getting at. I’ve always been fascinated by masculinity. Muscles and masculinity. At a very young age, I could spend hours and study the details of my comic book heroes. Tarzan was one of my first favourites. Batman came later.
- But towards the end of the 70s I encountered one of my biggest influences. During one of my first visits to Stockholm, I bought a couple of magazines where I found illustrations signed Tom of Finland. I still keep the torn-out pages in a folder.
- Ever since then, I’ve just had to draw. It’s compelling – to live, I have to draw. I feel bad if I don’t. But drawing is also something very private. For instance, I never draw in public places where I might meet someone I know. I’d never be able to handle negative reviews – especially if they were fair!

But what about the images from your journeys abroad, are they private too?
Leif brings out a cigarette and rolls it between his thumb and index finger before he answers:
- Everything you do is private. My travel journals are probably a form of therapy, and a way for me to remember the places I’ve visited.
- I always travel alone and spend a lot of time by myself. My sketchbook is my companion. Some old sketchbooks still take me back through time and space.
Leif lights the cigarette he’s been holding and inhales deeply. He continues:
- With a camera, I feel the documentation becomes a bit superficial. With a pen and paper, you have to open your eyes and see what the present holds to capture the moment. Emotions and impressions seem to mix with the ink.

Do all your drawings take you back?
- Well, I’m sure I must have over a thousand images of airports in my books, and they don’t really do anything for me! I sometimes draw just to pass the time

Why didn’t you choose a creative profession?
- I grew up in an environment where there was very little culture. If things had been different, my life might have been different. But as things were, a creative profession was out of the question. My father viewed culture, and the visual arts in particular, as unmanly. The only thing that might have been worse was writing poems.
- I applied for a couple of art schools once I had moved to Stockholm, but nothing came of it. But I’m happy the way things happened. Now, when I’m not working, I can draw exactly what I want. To me, that’s freedom.