Quirky ways of looking at things

Isaac Grünewald (1889–1946) was a Swedish artist who married two other Swedish artists – not at the same time – and died in a plane crash near Oslo. He was born in Stockholm and studied in Paris at the Henri Matisse art school, where he developed his own style with strong links to fauvism with a healthy bit of expressionism chucked in for good luck. Mind you, he was often criticized as an imitator of Matisse.

He was also much influenced by Cézanne and Picasso.

He married Swedish artist Sigrid Hjertén (1885-1948) in 1909, though, apparently, he had many affairs before divorcing her in 1937 during one of her numerous hospitalisations for schizophrenia (she died of a botched lobotomy). He then married Swedish artist Märta Grundell (1909-1946). While he lived mostly in Stockholm, with great views of Slussen, he also had a big house in Saltsjöbadens.

A lot of his works were purchased by Prince Eugen (1865-1947) and it was to his house I went today in order to see an exhibition of Grünewald’s works.

While I’m not exactly a fan of Eugen’s paintings, I have to tip my hat to his artistic appreciation. He certainly knew his artists. And Isaac’s works were among the ones he particularly loved.

But Isaac didn’t just paint paintings, he also had a theatrical connection. He created designs for opera and ballet and, for one, worked with choreographer, Carina Ari (1897-1970). He created this portrait of her in pastels, as well as designing costumes and sets for her.

As well as the Grünewald exhibition, there was also a second one of the sculptures of Charlotte Gyllenhammar (1963-) called Croiser/Korsa. And what a treat lay in store for me on the top floor of the mansion. Actually, it wasn’t just on the top floor of the mansion, various pieces were outside, in the grounds, waiting for unsuspecting visitors.

Gyllenhammar has a thing for the unsettling habit of showing normal things from angles one doesn’t expect. Possibly my favourite piece was not, in fact, a sculpture but, rather, a video. It was projected onto the ceiling and was a woman’s head and hands, surrounded by the hem of her skirt and petticoats. It was as if she was suspended by her ankles from above. I found it very hypnotic and intriguing.

It reflected a sculpted piece outside, which was a woman’s legs straight up in the air with her skirt around the rest of her. It’s called Night, Descend (2014).

I loved her fresh way of looking at things.

One of the main reasons I go to art exhibitions is that I want to see the world through other people’s eyes, and, I find, it’s the best way of doing it. If Charlotte sees the world as upside down, who am I to question that? I think it’s delightfully quirky.

Something else that’s nice and quirky is the smallest public art in Stockholm. I’d read about it when we were here in 2020/21, but hadn’t actually seen it (and not because it’s so small). I found it today when I walked across Gamla Stan.

It’s called Järnpojke (Iron Boy) and was made by Liss Eriksson in 1954. It’s 15 centimetres (5.9 in) high. People leave coins and various other things. Today, when I photographed it, there were coins but also a handy pen, which was perfect for scale.

It seems that, in winter, he wears a scarf and cap against the cold, though he didn’t have them today. And, while it wasn’t THAT cold, being made of iron would tend to make one shiver.

I walked through Gamla Stan on the spur of the moment. I was on the tram, returning from Djurgården when we stopped at Nybroplan. I hopped off and decided to walk through backstreets I’d never seen before. Except, it turned out I’d seen them in an episode of Modus recently. And it showed yet again that you can’t trust TV. Shocking, I know.

A shot showed a street opposite the entrance of a T-Bana station. In real life, this was not the case. I’m sure a lot of Stockholmers, on seeing it, would have been yelling at their televisions with indignation. A bit like when they shoot in Sydney and show the impossibly inaccurate routes taken by foreigners to get from Bondi to Manly. By road.

Anyway, it wasn’t important. I just kept on walking across to Gamla Stan, risking the slippery cobbles which, fortunately, were nothing of the kind. I figured I’d go and have a drink at one of the bars I visited last summer, but none of them were open. I went to Espresso House instead.

And so ended my first Stockholm day this time around. Hopefully not the last.

The photo above shows me with Charlotte Gyllenhammar’s Sitting Giant (2019). The photo implies it’s smaller than me when, in fact, it’s actually taller. And sitting down. If it stood up, it would tower over me.