"The art pleases by reminding, not by deceiving."

The quote by artist John Constable (1776-1837) stuck a chord in me when I found it in E.H. Gombrich's classic study Art & Illusion: A study in the psychology of pictorial representation (org. 1960) while preparing for a seminar earlier this autumn. Why? Partly because I am trying to dig deeper into possible perceptions of art in a medieval context. Images were to a large extent used in the Christian context as a way to both remember and experience (relive) the biblical scenes. Various techniques were used to fill images with a vividness that made them evidence of that the events in biblical stories were the truth.

In the book by Gombrich the above work by Constable, Wivenhoe Park, Essex (1816), is a recurrent example throughout the study of the perceptions of art. It is a landscape painting of a park with a grand house in the background. We can see some cows belonging to the estate in the foreground and a lake with men in a boat fishing close to a pair of swans. It is a sunny summer day, but clouds are gathering and it might start to rain in a while. Even if we probably never have been to the actual place we believe it is realistically depicted since it follows established conventions of landscape painting. But Constable needed to translate his experiences into the medium of paint and he had to make some negotiations with the truth to make the painting believable. It basically looked better with some minor adjustments.

It seems like one of the greatest fears of experiencing art today is to be deceived. Occasionally voices are raised that want art to stay close to the truth and not lie to the audience or it will automatically loose its credibility. But what would happen if we thought of art more as remembrance? What Constable was trying to explain was that art makes sense when we can understand it from our own experiences. If it is reminding we can more easily connect the experience to our own lives, as something from our history or as a point of reference to personal beliefs or moral values. It will not always work, because we do not want some experiences — but so what? Art can never please us all.

A local incident have put the spotlight on the (not so) noble art of censorship. Let's begin with the context. The above image is a film still from a video message from Håkan Juholt, former leader of the Swedish Social Democratic Party, to a local leading loud-mouth politician from the same party, Lennart Holmlund. It was shown at a big event as part of celebrating Holmlund as he is about to leave politics. It is very tongue-in-cheek and as you can see Juholt chose a statue of a naked women as background to his 30 second long film. And so, the controversy begun — and it is a very interesting and multilayered problem that presented itself. The local TV-channel contacted me to make a statement, but I want to dig a little bit deeper into this than what a 5 minute interview cut to 10 seconds on the air can afford. Situations like this one happens all the time, I just wish politicians or bureaucrats could call me first for some good advice.

So where to start? Let's start with the response from the organizer of the event when they saw the video. Their immediate reaction was that this film cannot be shown as it might come across as sexist, and Umeå has an ambition of being aware of issues of gender and also has a proud feminist tradition (soon a museum focussing on women's history will open). They were probably right, but instead of communicating this to Juholt it was decided that the sculpture of the naked woman should be blurred from the image. So  it looked like this...

When a local newspaper published the original film on its website, the controversy begun. Juholt was offended both because he had not been informed of the manipulation and because the sculpture of the woman was made by his maternal grandfather, Arvid Källström. He could not understand why an artwork depicting a naked woman in this day and age should offend anybody so much that it lead to censorship — especially in Umeå, The European City of Culture 2014. It was not even offensive in 1954 when it was made. His opinion was supported locally and the organizers apologized, said that Juholt should have been contacted and that they did not realize it was a piece of art... As if not art can be offensive ever?

I can fully understand why the organizers saw a potential discussion of sexism in this film. Naked women in art are common goods, especially in Swedish public art in the 1940s and 1950s. A beautiful female nude was considered as something that most people could understand and appreciate as good art. Today discussions of objectifications of the female body does however problematize this conception of the female nude, and Juholt also missed other aspects of his inclusion of his grandfather's work. We don't see the whole sculpture, just the parts of it that inevitably focus our gaze on the breasts and the curve of the hip. I would call it a sexualized fragmentation of the sculpture and together with Juholt's speech the whole staging with this naked body comes across as very "guy-ish". When it was first shown the audience it also lacked other information on the context such as where it is placed, who made it and when. It is not as familiar to us as it is to him. Of course I can understand his intention to celebrate Holmlund by including an art work as a "secret message" to the city of Umeå (and perhaps give himself some "cultural credibility" at the same time) but this gets lost in this presentation. If the organizers' had contacted Juholt this could easily have been clarified, but instead they acted on instinct (and I don't know how much time they had to make this decision) and created a new problem. The fact that if you try to hide something, you often turn the attention to it and your act will backfire completely.

Call me next time, because you clearly need some art historical competence! Art historians do not just know the names of numerous artists and the titles of various art works. We also know about the perception of art, visual culture, we can also explain historical contexts as well as contemporary readings and a whole lot more.

Back from the summer vacation I have been doing guided art tours for a number of times: on campus, in the city center and in Umedalens Sculpture Park. As some of you probably know I love it! On many levels it is the ideal way of introducing students, art lovers, and others to art and art history. But on the Welcome Fair for new students last week, where my department organized a guided tour, a female student of twenty-something looked at me and asked kind of sceptic: "Why should I do that?". Before I could answer her she was gone to some other activity. I guess we all need a reality check occasionally, for — lo and behold — what one takes for granted is not what everybody else might consider fun, important or necessary. I just wish she could have stayed just a few more minutes, so that we could had a longer talk. Most likely it would have been an important lesson for me.

Besides art and art history, I do have a passion for football/soccer. Since the World Cup begun yesterday I want to celebrate this with a treat from Leonardo (and a Brasilian design studio).

May the best team win... ! (digital art by Davide di Tria)

June 6 is Sweden's National Day, so I thought about writing something on Swedish art... But since that is quite impossible in so many ways in a single blog post, I tried a Google search on "swedish art" and look what I found at the top — a photo of  Dala horses! I thought some old fin-se-siécle artist like Anders Zorn, Bruno Liljefors or Carl Larsson (the so-called ABC of Swedish art) would be the result, but it was actually just Larsson who made it to the top ten on my search. So here we go, the Dala horse!

Many tourists traveling to Sweden get to know the Dala horse even if they do not visit its origin, the region of Dalarna. It is sold as a souvenir all over the country, but of course you should really buy them in the village of Nusnäs where they are made today. It is hand made, carved in pine and painted in a pattern that is about 150-160 years old. The red horse is the most famous, but as you can see, they come in many colors and sizes. It is also used as design and decoration on almost anything you can imagine. It can even be found as monumental sculpture in various places in Dalarna, and in some American cities with communities of Swedish immigrants. 

I must say that the Dala horse is probably as exotic for me as for any tourist from abroad. For Swedes it is the symbol of Dalarna (I bought my horse on a vacation-trip), and perhaps it is also a reminder of an agricultural period long gone preserved by making it a tourist attraction and a cultural heritage. Originally the horse was made as a toy and sold as an extra income for farmers from Dalarna on annual periods of working in factories in Stockholm. They were then sold as souvenirs to tourists from Stockholm visiting Dalarna from late nineteenth century. In the late 1930s the Dala horse was exposed in international exhibitions in Paris and New York, and that is probably when its international fame begun and it became a symbol of Sweden. 

Sometimes I use the Dala horse as a start when discussing ethnicity and post-colonialism with students on seminars. I think it is useful to start discussing your own national stereotypes before making statements on other cultures and nations. To see how familiar, but in a sense strange, icons are created and why. I then end the discussions with a newer version of the Dala horse, the Rinkeby horse, that appeared in the 1990s. The artist Ylva Ekman wanted to create a symbol of the contemporary Sweden and started to paint small plastic toy camels, tigers, elephants, and other animals with the pattern of a Dala horse. She calls them Rinkeby horses after a multicultural suburb of Stockholm, stereotypically used in media as a metaphor for opportunities and problems connected to immigration. She still uses the pattern on different animals, the examples below are from 2007, since they have become quite popular (and you can find more on her art here: http://www.swedishart.se/ylva.ekman/). Would it not be fun if this also made it to the tourist shops at Arlanda International airport?

Why do we have public art? It was one of the questions a journalist asked me last week when I was being interviewed on the new guide to the art on Umeå university campus. There are of course many possible answers to this question; political, aesthetic and social, so I can only comment briefly on the subject in this blog post.

Historically public art was a way to expose power, either by commissioning a monument or portrait of/for yourself or your family/clan, or by donating an art work reflecting your agenda and placing it in a public area. In modern times more democratic reasons are to be detected in the question of public art. In Sweden there has been a policy since the 1930s that 1% of the building cost of public buildings (or larger renovations) should be spent on art. The reasons behind this policy of spending tax money on art are political. The main argument was that people should be able to see and experience art on an almost daily basis. You do not have to pay entrance to art museums or visit private art collections in order to study art, it can be found in your neighborhood, at work, at schools, in hospitals etc. The other argument is that this policy also guarantees a certain amount of jobs for artists through public commissions.

The commission of public art is organized in different ways depending on the various responsibilities in local or central governments and public institutions, but one very important actor is Statens konstråd (Public Art Agency Sweden: http://www.statenskonstrad.se/en/). For instance Statens Konstråd have until now commissioned 14 site specific art works at Umeå university, one of them is the above detail of Lage Lindell's 95 meters long mural painting from 1970-1972. (You can see the artist sitting with a pair of scissors in front of his very messy work desk, while his wife is studying his work behind it). Another one will probably appear during spring 2015 (outside the Faculty of Arts building). This kind of work is really an important opportunity for artists to make larger projects — and to meet new audiences. It is also a great chance for the staff and students of the university to experience contemporary art.

Art sure makes the space it decorates more interesting and it can be a point of reference, a ground for debate and discussion, or just a plain meeting point. Never forget that art is in many ways a collective experience, something we often encounter with other people — with more or less interaction, communication, talk and debate. The art works interfere in our daily life as much as we want to, occasionally in ways we are not aware of (until an art work is replaced). Sometimes we hate it! It may offend your ethics or aesthetic taste so that it makes you embarrassed for its presence, or feel bad since it does not represent your opinions. Sometimes we love it, because having a great piece of art in your environment can make you feel good, proud and smart! You can also love it because it provokes you, makes you think, argue well or completely change your perspectives. So my question would be: Why don't we have more public art?

On Friday I was devastated by news coming in from Glasgow. The wonderful Glasgow School of Art building by Charles Rennie Mackintosh was on fire. And it looked really bad on photos and films spread through social media with high flames from the roof and lots of smoke coming from the broken windows. Students were preparing for their final exhibitions, and fortunately no one was injured. But the building, its collections and particularly the wonderful library was in severe danger. I felt grief... Can you really mourn a building? I really battled with this question during the evening while my heart was aching...

I wrote my doctoral thesis on the interior design of Charles Rennie Mackintosh and Margaret Macdonald (finished 2003). During that project I had the fortune to work in the Mackintosh archive at the GSA, located in the library. It contained letters, reports from international exhibitions, documentation from local exhibitions, photos and unique, wonderful small water-colour paintings from both Mackintosh and Macdonald and their fellow students. Many tourists walking the guided tours tried to get a glance of the paintings I studied, asking me questions. The library itself was a architectural gem with the interior design and most of the furniture intact. On photos it might look dark and gloomy, but with floor to (over) ceiling windows it flooded with light. The small inserts of color glimmering on the dark pillars of wood created an impression of you being in a forrest — or perhaps more according to its size, in a grove. 

According to the latest news most of the collections and the archives seems to have been saved, together with most of the students works (see: http://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2014/may/24/glasgow-school-of-art-fire-uk-government-help-pay-repairs). The building is not completely damaged, but the library is lost. Already plans are being made for the GSA-building to be renovated and the library reconstructed. There is some hope, but still ... can you really feel sad over a building? Short answer: Yes. Long answer: A building can represent a place of experiences, knowledge and aesthetics — if it is destroyed these immaterial values might also get lost. Photographs is a way to remember, but to actually visit and physically move around and use a building is a much more intense, unique and valuable experience.

Today I went for a walk in the park. During lunch I guided a group of visitors through Umedalens Skulpturpark, a public park filled with contemporary sculpture (see this link for more information: http://www.umedalenskulptur.se/us/). 

The collection of 44 sculptures really expose the great variety of this particular artform; sustainable material like stone, metal, wood, and concrete are mixed with more delicate works of textile and plastic. Some are really monumental and almost screaming for your attention. Others you risk missing because of size or form, they may look like they are part of the milieu. The interesting thing is when you look at art actively in an environment like this, everything created by man has a potential of being an artwork. Post-modernism is partly to blame, but you also start looking at the world around you with a different perspective. I notice this every time when I guide groups on art walks, people start looking for the next piece of art and notice potential candidates in a most active and creative way. Art is never just decorative or entertaining, besides containing some sort of message it also involves participation from viewers and this is often a collective experience. The more we share, the more we gain and understand — of the art, of our self and of our contexts.

Above is a detail of one of my favorites in Umedalens Skulpturpark, Jaume Plensa's Nostros (2008). A man sitting on the ground, with the hands folded round his knees, forms this open cathedral. In my photo from the inside, you can see how the head turns into a cupola. The surface is made of letters of eight different alphabets, a collection of knowledge from all corners of the world that unites into becoming the title - Ours. It may be the academic in me that finds hope and comfort in the written word and its possibilities of communication, but I do think there is a great need for a public sacral space for global understanding. This is what Plensa have provided for me in this sculpture and I am ever grateful.

Yesterday it was finally released - the long awaited guide over the art at Umeå university campus. Students, colleagues and visitors have often asked me (and others) if there is information available on the university's art collection. It was an interesting and fun job to be part of, analyzing artworks (both old and new to me) and writing short introductions. All the photos are new, as most of the texts, and it also includes an essay on the architectural developments on campus. The university have a collection of c. 1200 artworks, so it was a challenge to select the 51 that made it to the guide. We had to consider accessibility, variation and representation on many levels, but I am so proud of the book (that will be available in English in the future). But it is not just a book, it is also a free digital product so people walking around campus can find QR-signs near the selected artworks with both the information on the particular object and access to the whole publication. You can also find it here: http://umu-konstguide.onspotstory.com/sv/webapp/guide/sv/1251

In October 2013 I wrote a blog post on a signature of a weaver, Gunn Leander-Bjurström, that made a tapestry designed by Berta Hansson. Now it is time to present the artwork, Livets träd (The tree of life), 1960, and give you a small taste of Umeå university's collection of art. I have the luxury of seeing this masterpiece almost daily since it decorates a main corridor of Humanisthuset (Faculty of Arts building) where I work.

Berta Hansson (1910-1994) made her first solo exhibition in 1943 and was living on her art just a few years after her debut. She painted portraits, landscapes and religious themes. She has described how she after the Second World War was inspired by art she experienced as a child: bible cards used in the biblical teaching in church and the illustrated Bible of Gustave Doré. 

Livets träd can be read as a collage of these cards, mixing scenes from both the Old and the New Testaments; Adam and Eve, Noah, Moses and the life of Jesus. A common way of adapting stories from the Bible into a combined program of the Christian message of God's love and Salvation. Each depicted scene can be read as both evidence and witness of that the message is the truth. In this tapestry we see figures with reduced forms, almost a bit naive in expression with rather large heads. Grand rhetorical gestures makes the viewer understand what each figure wants to communicate. Yet it is also full of finer details; leafs, flowers, animals etc. that together with its strong colors makes it a vibrant and vital composition. The Biblical scenes follow models from early Christian art that makes them easy to identify if you are familiar with the textual and/or visual narrative. What scenes do you recognize? 

If you have read Douglas Adams' The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy you know that the answer to the question of life is 42. The problem is that nobody remembers the question. This image is something I keep coming back to in my research, being new to medieval studies. Since the Christian dogma pretty much was controlling societies within the Church, the answer to images, texts and all other artifacts describing and communicating messages was the same. God became human through his son Jesus Christ, born from Virgin Mary, sacrificed to free all believing humans from eternal sin when crucified on Golgotha… Well, I might have left out some details to the story but Salvation made possible through Incarnation is the main bit, while faith and obedience are important pieces of the puzzle.

The main point in Christian Medieval art is the various path to the images and the right answer. Different techniques were used in order to make the viewers read and understand what was depicted. Aesthetics was the experience of beauty, not an ideal of beauty - images should do, not just represent, something. They moved the viewers, made them active in faith and spirituality through prayer or meditation. Since the levels of knowledge and learning varied widely in most congregations, images must also be able to communicate  to a wide audience.

The Pietá from Endre parish church (Gotland) below is part of a larger program with multiple scenes from the Story of the Passion. The Virgin Mary holds her dead son in her arms and two other women (also called Mary) are witnessing and sharing her grief. The dead body of Christ is well exposed as a sign of the sacrifice needed for the Salvation. The image both expose emotions and very realistic and matter of fact information. It is taking the viewer to the place of the Virgin and one can experience her pain, and this is what makes the image true and believable. It also reflects the images of The Virgin with Child, so the image can also be said to contain the Incarnation. And, finally (for this post at least, because I am just scratching the surface here of all the possible ways of reading this single image) this sad moment is also a message of joy. Christ will resurrect and save all that believes in God and that he was born and died a human in order to free all Christians from sin.

Be good on the soon approaching Holy Week, enjoy some of the fantastic music composed on the theme of Stabat Mater, and I promise to be back after Easter.

I recently re-read Umberto Eco's novel The Name of the Rose (and I saw the movie as well but, as usual, the book is better) where the plot is based on if laughter and joy is equal of sin. A common stereotype of medieval culture is that it was dark, melancholy and very serious because of the Christian dogma that was pretty much organizing the society. And of course, you should be cautious and stay out of sin so that you would not be eternally damned in the afterlife. But as Mary Carruthers states in her latest book The Experience of Beauty in the Middle Ages (2013) laughter and play was also essential in order to balance your moods and bodily fluids for both spiritual and medical reasons. This is why images in churches might include puns and curiosities for both more intellectual and common visitors. Above is a prophet discussing with a monkey from Odensala church, and below a camel from Härkeberga church — both painted by the Albertus Pictor workshop - but there can also be scrolls with riddles and jokes. And yes, I was April fooled yesterday!

Since it is March 25 it is perhaps not a surprise that there would be a blog post on the Annunciation — the celebration of the Virgin Mary receiving the message through the angel Gabriel that she would conceive the Son of God. When she accepted this message the Incarnation could happen, that is God could become man. The story is being told in the Bible, Luke 1:26-38, and since the Incarnation is a most fundamental part of Christianity the story of the Annunciation have also been central in Christian art.

I first became fascinated with depictions of the Annunciation during a Ph D-course in Italian art history at the Istituto Svedese in Rome 2002. There were so many variations on the theme depending on what part of this short story the artist was focussing on together with the context of the image itself. Both the Virgin and the angel had different looks, various gestures and activities, and the scene was set in diverse places. Before this I thought the Annunciation strictly just followed both scripture and a given models for images. It kind of does, but especially from the renaissance on there are some interesting renditions of the motif. In this short post I can only present two of my Annunication favorites.

Above you find a medieval relief from a baptismal font of Grötlingbo parish church (Gotland, Sweden) made c. 1200. The angel approaches the Virgin from the left side with a palm leaf in "his" hand (angels are not human, and therefor also of no particular gender). The Virgin Mary is standing on the right side, facing the viewer frontally with her hands folded in front of her. Usually this is understood as a receiving gesture, as sign of how she accepts the angel's message. Her slightly tilted head shows that she is listening to "him" and her gaze to the ground depicts how she actually did not see the angel. Since Gabriel is shown in profile with the feet visible, we can read in some activity in this character. Compare it with the feet of the Virgin and we can see how she is depicted as standing still. Since this sculpture has so much fine detail (even if its color is gone) it is very decorative and moving. The problem is how one should interpret the Virgins expression. It is very easy to fall into anachronistic speculations because it seems so vivid.

Below you find a Annunciation of Antoniazzo Romano painted c. 1500 in Santa Maria sopra Minerva (Rome). It depicts a scene full of different characters but the angel Gabriel still approaches the Virgin Mary from the left, and she … well, what is she doing? Hardly listening or even noticing what is going on, even if we can see how God is sending the dove of the Holy Spirit to make her pregnant with the Son of God. Instead a man and a group of girls are getting the Virgin's full attention, and she is giving one of the girls a bag full of money. It was made for the chapel of a fraternity called Compania della Santissima Annunziata. It was founded by the depicted cardinal, Juan de Torquemada, and the aim of the fraternity was to collect money for dowries to poor women in Rome (and these were given to the selected women on March 25 - sometimes by the Pope). Antoniazzo Romano has combine the two narratives into his depiction of the Annunciation.

If you are curious of learning a bit more of this last image you can find a paper presentation I gave at Leeds International Medieval Congress in 2006 here (together with other interesting papers from other members of Umeå Group of Premodern Studies): http://www.org.umu.se/ugps/eng/working-paper-series/ Then remember to look for images of the Annunciation on your future church visits and discover all the fascinating variations - in looks, gestures, expressions, activities, locations and other characters.

Fragments of history... Doing historical research is often compared to solving puzzles, since finding clues to a problem is basically what research is about (and accidentally many academics I know do like crime fiction). Depending on your line of research the sources differ, but in my current work the main focus is on the medieval images (primarily mural paintings and sculpture in wood and stone). Sometimes the artifacts are fragmented in various ways. Long after the reformation images were forgotten, destroyed or just neglected, then from the late nineteenth century onwards removed, restored or manipulated. The question of authenticity occasionally creeps in, especially if something is almost too good to be true.

From the initial study of an image I compare my readings with texts (medieval revelations, prayers, sermons, theological teachings etc.) that give clues to the narrative and meaning, but also with documents from archives (for instance inventories, old photographs, and reports from restorers) that, together with previous research, bring information on the history of the artifact. This is when I find out if something was too good to be true. And when you discover that the painting or altarpiece you found so interesting have been heavily restored or, even worse, is an included original piece by the restorer  — you might get a little pissed off. The intention behind the manipulations is usually that the restorer wanted to give the viewer a more authentic experience of the image: to make it more medieval but also more beautiful.

Here I will present two short examples of how the restored authenticity might look like in the material I use: both are of a workshop from Gotland called "Passionsmästaren". Above you find a detail of a Presentation from Öja parish church, with the inclusion of a consecration cross.  The original painting have been partially destroyed when restored from the later white-washing, but then a few red lines have been added to give an idea of what it probably looked like originally. The addition is obvious in a sense, and if you have seen other murals by the same workshop you can also believe its authenticity. In my research I can only use it in comparison with better preserved example.

Below there is another example of a Presentation in Hemse parish church, but this one is restored in a different way. In this case the restorer wanted to present a complete work of art in order to present a full experience of a medieval church interior. It was criticized almost immediately, but one can read the restorer's long defense in archives. He claimed to have both studied other better preserved examples of the workshop and used the expertise of a local priest. If the intention is to give visitors an idea of what this church might have looked like in another age it might be ok (and I like it even better if information of the history of the interior and its paintings are available), but it is difficult to use this material in art historical research where attention to details are central for a close reading. You have to be honest, a bit creative, use it with great care, and, once again, base your study on other better preserved examples. Only then can this material also be used as fragments in solving the puzzle.

Art can make you experience new places if you actively participate and enter inside the frame. At BildMuseet in Umeå a piece by Thilo Frank is really making visitors interact and communicating their experiences visually.The installation that makes visitors wait in line to enter is called The Phoenix is closer than it appears from 2010. It is a room of made of mirrors and light, and inside there is a silver colored swing so you can get a sense of weightlessness movement in this open/closed space. Only one visitor at a time is allowed to be inside the box, otherwise the impact of the installation would be lost. For more info and images of this piece (the exhibition will unfortunately end already on Sunday) visit: http://www.bildmuseet.umu.se/en/exhibition/thilo-frank/12043

I had the chance of walking into this quite magical space earlier this week. It was like being inside of both Dante's Paradisio and the Matrix at the same time. Beautiful like a jewel and a bit scary in the sense that the usual points of orientation is lost. All that is reflected is light and you - many, many versions of you (and I do not think that is what is expected of Paradisio). The perception of the installation is based on movement, the impression changes if you walk around, sit or swing. I noticed how my movements became slower in order to really see and experience what happened because of my motions. And I was very cautious on the swing, not ready to leave solid ground completely.

All visitors before me were leaving the installation smiling, and I probably did this as well. Why? Maybe it is just the new experience, both unique and something we want to share with others (check out "Thilo Frank" at Instagram — it will turn all green from all photos from visitors of BildMuseet), full of light, clean and magical. It is a space that I probably will return to as a memory of a moment and a special place I have visited — making it a new point of reference.

This morning I wanted to start off with something really beautiful and heart-warming, and the film "My name is Oona" by artist Gunvor Nelson from 1969 is always a treat to watch. You can find this ten minute piece via this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8pe8O5h9EEs

The film is a portrait of the artists daughter, Oona, and it shows her playing, riding, mock-fighting with a boy and basically doing the things a little girl does. She is active and natural, not directed or modeling in front of the camera. The first time I saw it, the looping soundtrack almost made me go crazy, but if you think of it as some kind of mantra it works better. Nelson was inspired by Steve Reich's experiments with looping sounds and music. It is beautifully shot, sound and images intertwines in the expression, and it all ends with a Swedish lullaby.

On Friday 28 February it is Maria's names day in Sweden, and naturally I want to celebrate us all (one day ahead since I will be occupied tomorrow). It is one of the most common names in Sweden and in the Christian world (so I am not alone), but curiously enough the date is not connected to any of the Marian feasts celebrated by the Church (2 February: the Purification, 25 March: the Annunciation, 2 July: the Visitation, 15 August: Virgin Mary's Ascension, 8 September: Virgin Mary's birth, and 8 December: Virgin Mary's conception). Before the Reformation babies was rarely given the name, even though the tradition of names days are connected to the Christian celebrations of martyrs and saints. The general idea was that the name would put the child under protection of the martyr or saint he/she was named after, and since the Virgin did protect all Christians on so many other levels this was already cared for. The name Maria (or Marie, Mary, Miriam, Maja etc.) has been given different meanings, but "loved " has an origin from ancient Egypt and was transformed to "loved by God" in a Christian context. More surprising is "rebellious" that originates from Moses sister, Miriam, who took brother Aron's side in a fight and therefor was punished with leprosy. I choose love this time with an fourteenth century image of Virgin Mary with Child from Skellefteå parish church. Congratulations from Berit Maria Ann-Catrine!

Sometimes the medieval texts I read really makes me both puzzled and amused. Take this quote of the Belgian monk and theologian Philip of Harveng (d. 1183) regarding God's choice of the Virgin Mary:

"Indeed, it is not believable that God, the Son of God, should choose a mother who was swarthy, one-eyed, conspicuously scrofulous or hunch-backed, instead of having a white face, rosy-colored, with pretty eyes and a beautiful, completely formed body, so that she who was chosen over all other women for such a dignified role should be, not only free from the infection of every vice, but also more beautiful and perfect in her physical appearance than anybody else."

The quote is taken from an anthology with texts of medieval theologians titled Mary in the Middle Ages, ed. Luigi Gambero, 2005 (pp.182-183), and in a footnote the editor comments: "In those days the known world was limited, and the standards of feminine beauty, understandably, reflected European models." Dear me, I am not sure that was less weird — and also patronizing. But the concept of ideal beauty and pureness, and equally its opposite ugliness and sin, are fascinating and not always as easy to detect visually as one could expect. Most Madonnas are stereotypically blond, light skinned, blue eyed and young, but more interesting models can be found. One of my personal favorites are the twelfth century madonna above from Mosjö, Närke (now in the Swedish History Museum collection). But is it really depicting an ugly woman? Perhaps it expresses sadness and grief over the Son's future suffering? Or, why not, a beauty?

Today is Valentine's Day so I want to send out a message of love and hope through a piece by street artist Banksy. It first appeared in London, but is has been painted and reproduced in all kinds of media throughout the world.

Yesterday I heard a really short interview on Swedish Radio with Pope Francis where he expressed despair over global indifference when asked about the situation on Lampedusa. While media and politicians (& almost everybody else)  on a daily basis closely follows the markets in Tokyo, New York and elsewhere, fearing the collapse of capitalism, the human catastrophes of starvation and war generally leave us ignorant. I am not a Catholic, but who cannot agree with him on this issue (even if there can be reason to question his own organization on different levels).

The painting by Banksy might be full of clichés (a little girl representing hope, a heart-shaped ballon representing love, etc.), but if we leave the cynicism behind it is also very emotional and heart-warming. Perhaps this is a day for widening our horizons and start caring about more people than just giving chocolate and red roses to the one we love. In that mode I end this post with another politically infused piece by Banksy.

Yesterday I had a seminar with students on two artists working with body art during the 1960s and 1970s, Vito Acconci and Hannah Wilke. But we also watched a performance by Yoko Ono, the famous Cut Piece filmed in New York in 1965. You can see the same 8 minutes of the performance here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYJ3dPwa2tI

The performance is simple when it comes to the implementation. The artists is sitting on the stage floor with a pair of scissors in front of her, and she is asking the audience to walk up on the stage and cut off a piece of her clothing. One by one people comes up to her and do this; some takes larger pieces than others, mostly they do this fast and silently, but some gets cheered and others feel the need to make a comment. When I first saw this film it felt slightly uneasy, since there seems to be so much tensions in the room. There is a sense of voyeurism that might come from the fact that I am watching it filmed, and not being part of the performance. And because of this I do not know who the people in the audience are. Are they fellow artists or friends of Ono? Is there some kind of hierarchy in the room that ranks the order of  the participation in the piece? I can only watch and listen to what happens, and the focus of the camera is very much on the reactions of Yoko Ono. She tries not to interact, but sometimes she seems amused, and sometimes she looks plain worried.

Yoko Ono did this performance for the first time in Tokyo in 1964, it became more famous when it was staged in New York and then she did it in other places. The reactions and interactions varied between the performances. In London it is reported to have become more violent, and she needed security. A performance of this kind can be read as a game or a play, where the result is the sum of the participants contributions. This piece becomes an investigation of how the audience interacts in a situation that can become violent, the moral of the participants is tested. How far will they go in getting a women undressed in a public space? Who will reveal the most of her body? Will any of them do her harm? When commenting on a much later performance of Cut Piece in Paris 2003 Yoko Ono said that is was about trust, and this was as important in post-9/11 times as it was during the 1960s.

On February 6 Sápmi celebrates its National day. Sami culture is very much a part of the Umeå 2014: European Capital of Culture, and many exhibitions will be exposing art from Sami artists. Yesterday I saw this installation 100 Migratory by Monica L. Edmonson at the Västerbottens Museet and it was very emotional. It actually hurt to see the broken vessel among 99 others.  All in warm red, like hearts glowing in the snow (white background). This is a part of a larger art project where the glass vessels have been traveling, first in Sápmi then over the world, and the journey have been documented in photos and film. When seeing the vessels in this larger context, the vulnerability turned to feelings of hope and belief in the common experiences of humans. For more on this art project, please visit its homepage:  http://100migratory.wordpress.com/100-migratory-what-why-and-where/

Sometimes it gets wild out there! Umeå is inaugurating the Umeå 2014: European Capital of Culture this weekend and it started off with a aggressive situation. The graffiti artist Carolina Falkholt was working on a piece that will be part of the inauguration festivities, when a man comes up and screams at her and pushes her (she even claims he hit her). There was probably some misunderstanding that led to this incident, but still it ended up too violently. And the artist's work have been discussed in local media during the week, as well as in national media for some months —why? Because she is a graffiti artist and (among other things) paints vaginas.

Oh the horror! The vulgarity! And you know what, she even does it at schools so teenagers can see them! For ages the female genitalia have been both exposed and obscured, in art and in real life. It is connected to (male/heterosexual) sex and lust and because of this considered filthy (men can even catch nasty diseases from them). But it has also been part of the modern women's movement with artists like the American Judy Chicago (see her famous Dinner Party: http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/eascfa/dinner_party/home.php) . It was a way of gaining control over your own body and its symbolic interpretations. In so many cultures words for female genitalia are still used for cursing, blaming and shaming.

I see Carolina Falkholt's art, here represented by a photo from an installation at Gothenburgs Art Museum called Matrialutmattning from 2011, as part of this tradition of empowering women's bodies and female experiences. She uses an art form that is beginning to be accepted by the art world, but not in society where it is still mostly connected to vandalism. She both questions the heterosexual norms that corners the nude female body to exclusive sexual interpretations, and depict new erotic images. Falkholt's art is not safe and not everybody will like what she does, but please, stay off the violence!

The last few days I have been participating in a "game" on Facebook that has the intention of filling Facebook with art. If you "like" someones chosen image, you get a mission of finding an artwork of an artist and post it on your wall. And since you mention the person who gave you the artist, the illustration also appears on his/her wall. Is it a silly game? Perhaps, but now my wall has a fine gallery of female artist. You also get a chance to find new artists and art works, both my assignments (so far) where of artists I did not  know much of. The contemporary Berlinde de Bruyckere (b. 1964), an artist from Belgium, and the Swedish artist Anna Palm de Rosa (1859-1924) who made the above watercolor called Speed ticket at Bois de Boulonge. And it sure is a break from the usual Facebook entries, selfies and food (that I also contribute to). So play the game, explore the art world and have fun!

Today we celebrate a most important birthday. 17 January is when Art was born when someone dropped a sponge into a bucket of water — 1,000,051 years ago. All according to Fluxus artist Robert Fillion in 1963.

Today this event seems more celebrated in music than my preferred media, and on the website of Sveriges Radio (http://sverigesradio.se/sida/default.aspx?programid=3676) you can link to many European events.

Happy birthday!

Winter has come to Umeå with snow and freezing temperatures, but 2014 is an exciting year since the city is selected as European Capital of Culture (together with Riga). On the official homepage you will find everything you need concerning Umeå 2014 (http://umea2014.se/en/). My first contribution to the festivities (officially starting 31 January) is a blogpost on one of my favorite artists, Vera Frisén. Loved by many here in Umeå, but perhaps not so known outside Västerbotten.

Frisén made a number of portraits, but she was mainly a landscape artist. She found her motif in the outskirts of Umeå and in other regions of Västerbotten, and even if she moved to other parts of Sweden she kept her focus on her native province. Not only that, the majority of her paintings depicts the landscapes in a summer twilight. It puts them in a melancholy mode, like a bittersweet sensation, that also gives the paintings a liminal quality. It is as if nature is standing on the threshold to a new day, a new season, or to some environmental change that might occur. The above painting, called Myr (Bog) dated to the 1970s, shows one of her main motifs, the silhouettes of pine trees on a misty bog on a summer night.

Vera Frisén (1910-1990) made her solo debut at an exhibition in Stockholm 1941, and she held just a few solo exhibitions after that. But she worked continually and exhibited occasionally in collaboration with others until her death. She is still exhibited with some regularity, and will be included in Västerbottens Museum's Resenärens blick (http://www.vbm.se/sv/se-and-gora/utstallningar/2014/resenarens-blick.html) opening on 2 February and lasting throughout the year (at least). If you want to know more of Vera Frisén's landscape paintings, read art historian Felicia Tolentino's dissertation Porträtt av ett landskap: Vera Friséns gestaltning av naturen i Västerbotten from 2008.