I was on the Tunnelbana this afternoon, surrounded by the doom-scrolling, when I noticed this older man reading a book. An actual, physical book. He was engrossed, unlike the people around him who were busy moving onto the next thing on their screens. It was a moment of brightness and joy. I noted the fact on my phone as I sat there, realising that anyone else observing the carriage in the same way, would include me among the hoi polloi. I was very quick making my note and put my phone away.
I was on the Tunnelbana heading for Gamla Stan and an unexpected visit to the long waited for (by me anyway) Post Office Museum.
And what a fun, little museum it is. Situated in the original Stockholm Post Office, it covers the history of Swedish postal services from the conception in 1632 when King Gustav II Adolf was shot and killed (on my birthday) in the Battle of Lützen, right up until today when kids have no idea what a letter actually is.
It all began when Axel Oxenstierna, the Swedish chancellor in 1632 and the man who took over fighting the war following the death of King Gustav, bemoaned the fact that it took a month for news to reach Stockholm.
“We need a postal service!” He demanded of Queen Christina.
“And what is one of those?” Responded the nine-year-old monarch a month later.
Axel, somehow, got his way and, eventually, in 1636, the Swedish postal service was born. Andreas Wechel was made the first Postmaster and farmers up and down the country became postmen. Which is a bit full circle when you think about it. Especially if you consider that farmers supply food and, these days, at least from 2001, the mail is handled by supermarkets in Sweden.
Talking about 2001, this was when all post offices were closed, putting around 10,000 postal workers out of a job. And, given they had no competition, it wasn’t like they could get jobs anywhere else. Not doing the same thing at least.
Back in 1692, however, the postal service was expanding and yachts were made to cover the vast distances over water. Boats such as the Hiorten sailed between Ystad to Pomerania for many years. The boat was capable of carrying not just the crew and up to 15 foot passengers but also horses and a carriage for the distribution of the mail.
All in all, I really enjoyed the Post Office Museum and I preferred it to the new exhibition at Sven Harrys.
This morning saw my third visit to Sven Harrys and the first that hasn’t exactly moved me. There are currently two exhibitions and both left me pretty much cold. I love modern art as anyone who reads this blog will attest to but, sometimes, like today, I am left clueless.
My other visits were in 2021 and 2022 and both exhibitions moved me in ways that art should. And, please, I understand that art appreciation is personal; what one person sees as art another could easily see as nonsense. My mother, for instance, believed that art was all about pretty pictures rather than an artist’s personal view of the world.
In saying that, the artist on display in the exhibition titled The Unseen, Dick Bengtsson (1936-1989), was an intriguing fellow to say the least. He was shy and retiring and rarely gave explanations for his art. He added symbols to his works like swastikas for instance, but experts can only guess at what point he was making.
I don’t know. Maybe I am a Philistine after all, but some things fly straight over my head. Bengtsson’s works merely left me confused.
Take the picture above, for example. Why the shoe? Is it because both figures in the painting are shoeless? Is it about giving old myths the boot? Was the artist distracted halfway through and just decided to paint his footwear? Or, should the question be, why NOT the shoe? Someone might know but that someone is not me.
It maybe explained in the catalogue but, possibly fortunately, there wasn’t an English version for sale. I will live, happily, in ignorance on that one.
The other exhibition, Where We Are, featured a number of modern Swedish artists alive and working currently. Some of the works were mysterious but, generally, I appreciated most pieces on display.
I particularly enjoyed the church organ pipes, laid out on the floor, like missiles with one emblazoned with the Latin phrase ‘God is dead’ on it.
However, I think my favourite piece was Mitternacht by Jens Fänge.
I find it intriguing, arresting and mysterious. In the room where it was hung, other pieces begged for my attention but I kept returning to this one.
It’s a shame that I didn’t get a lot more out of the exhibitions but, I guess, you can’t please all of the people, all of the time and, of course, the Post Office Museum made up for any displeasure I had at Sven Harrys.
But, moving along to the International Cuisine front, we made it 12 countries tonight following a visit to the wonderful Portuguese restaurant, Botica where we were served by a brilliant but mildly insane South Australian, who really knows her wine.
Updating the list, it is now: Spanish, Peruvian, French, Italian, Thai, Greek, Lebanese, Japanese, Austrian, British, Swedish and Portuguese. One more meal to go. I wonder where in the world we will dine?
