Maja Sten - A Life in Balance

How does Stockholm shape your creativity?

What moves me most about Stockholm is the closeness to water and nature. I'm not particularly urban by nature, so I don't need wine bars or concrete much, but the water is magnetic to me. I swim in the waters of Stockholm, the sea Mälaren, as often as I can, even in winter, though I usually warm up in the sauna first.

I grew up in Vaxholm, a small town by the sea where the archipelago begins. There were seagulls, the white Waxholm boats that looked like shoeboxes, and the sound of foghorns echoing through the mist. That's where my love for water began, and it remains my best therapy, the calm for my busy head, a kind of comfort.

Can you describe a typical day in your studio?

A typical day starts with some soft yoga at home. Nothing glamorous, no perfect light or calm music, just me in the middle of my teenage girls shouting about who took whose brush. But I still enjoy it.

If it's a good day, I enjoy getting dressed and finding colour combinations that make me happy. On an ordinary day, it's jeans and a sweater. Then I walk to my studio, about half an hour away. I love that walk, there's always something that catches my eye: the way an old man moves, the colour of a child's raincoat, the pattern on a tree. Sometimes I take a picture to sketch it later. These small details often become part of my work.

When I arrive, I make coffee and sometimes do ten minutes of meditation (with that English guy!) to focus. I drink my coffee and write down three key things to do that day. If I skip this, I'm all over the place. Structure doesn't come naturally; I've had to learn it.

If I'm in a productive phase, I listen to music to help me find flow. I love painting to music and letting my hand follow instinctively. If I'm sketching or thinking, I prefer instrumental music so I can hear my own thoughts. On other days, I listen to podcasts. I confess, I used to be a true crime addict, though I'm finally getting over that.

Too often, I bring work home, my bag heavier in the evening than it was in the morning. Recently, I've started leaving my computer at the studio - it's a small but important step. For years, I've struggled with balance. After COVID, or perhaps burnout, I'm not sure which, maybe both, I've had to learn new limits. I used to crash in the hallway when I came home. Now I don't work evenings, and instead, I enjoy time with my family.

Sometimes I create little family cartoons, just for myself, or scribble before bed, like my mother used to do. My daughter does it now, too. It's become a quiet ritual between us.

How do you capture the balance between simplicity and expression in your work?

That's the challenge, isn't it? I'm not sure I can explain it. Creativity and decision-making are entirely intuitive for me; I just keep going until it feels right. It's always terrible at first, but I've learned to trust the process.

Coincidence often helps me move away from the predictable, toward something playful and new. You have to stay present and aware, but relaxed. Not too tense. It's a bit like playing jazz.

Sweden's seasons are famously distinct. How do they influence you?

Yes, very distinct, though all of them have become a little warmer. But I love the change, and how it shapes our rituals, from packing a swimsuit alongside my laptop on a Tuesday in June, to watching skaters glide across the frozen lake in January. Last year, a friend went downhill skiing on a hilly road in central Stockholm - hilarious.

The first snow always thrills me. I have a secret collection of snowmen on my phone. Outside our flat, there's a tin roof beneath a huge oak. Every autumn, it drops its acorns, clattering like a tiny concert in the wind. We always say, Ah, that season again.

What feeling do you hope your work leaves with people?

Joy. Like a happy-day gospel.

Was there a moment that changed the direction of your work?

There were a few. At Konstfack, I took an engraving course that I absolutely loved. Since then, I've explored and simplified that technique, but the idea of building forms through lines has stayed with me.

Another turning point came during my time at the RCA, when I had a virus that affected my sense of balance. I could only work lying down, using what I had - paper and pencils. The limitations ended up freeing me; I even won an award for that series.

Later, I co-hosted an exhibition of monkey portraits with a friend. I decided to paint in gouache - I fell in love with the colours, and it's been my main medium ever since.

What spaces in Stockholm inspire you?

I'm a rather boring flâneur; I rarely explore my own city. But I love Pen Store, a dangerous shop full of pens and paper. I'm also a devoted second-hand hunter, and Södermalm has excellent vintage spots. Café Svedjan, located by Zinkensdamm, serves the best cinnamon buns (and semlor in February). I also love Trädgårdscaféet in Vinterviken, where you can sit in a beautiful garden for lunch or coffee. And the view over Stockholm from Ivar Los Park never fails to lift me.

Which artists or makers do you return to, whether it be for comfort, courage, or inspiration?

Nellie Mae Rowe, David Hockney, Enzo Mari, Josabet Sjöberg, and Saul Steinberg.

If your work could live anywhere, where would that be and why?

Maybe in a playground or a public swimming pool. I think it would enjoy that. I hope my work carries a sense of playfulness, that it might spark more joy and play in others, as well.

Finally, what does Lagom mean to you, in life or in art?

Lagom has never come easily to me. I'm full of energy and always want to do more. But over time, I've learned that lagom is gold, it's having enough energy left for the ones you love, and for yourself.

Growing up in Sweden, lagom was something we were all taught - don't be too loud, don't laugh too much, don't dress too strangely. I used to think it meant being boring. But now I see it differently. I laugh too loudly, wear too much colour and lipstick, and greet too many people, and that's lagom for me. It's about finding your own balance.

To live lagom is to stop giving away all your energy and keep some for yourself. In art, lagom is that moment when I stop, when my intuition feels satisfied. Lagom beautiful, lagom ugly, lagom intriguing.