The Searchers / De letende
Silent Movement
Written by Måns Holst-Ekström
The etching Søstre, Sisters, by Norwegian artist Giske Sigmundstad shows us two women walking towards an ominous horizon filled with both darkness and clouds lined with red. The sisters walk towards the source of light, a light colouring the land with fiery hues of orange and yellow. One looks towards the horizon, perhaps towards the end of the road. Her hair is let out and her coat has tints of green. The other one, hair tied back, looks downwards. She seems to survey the ground immediately on front of them. Or is she more regretful and hesitant in her steps than her sister? One looks towards a goal, the other contemplates the road. Two different attitudes arrested in time, because even if their feet and bodies suggest movement there is a stillness in the picture that invites the viewer to join as if through a sudden opening.
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Between them the sisters carry a large suitcase of the classic kind, from the time before all luggage got wheels. It is not only an emblematic suitcase, it emphasises the weight of luggage, the weight of the past. Suitcases often occur in Sigmundstad's works, sometimes heavy, sometimes lighter, suggesting different stories. Sometimes, as in Husvegg I, House Wall I, or Forbi skogen, Past the Forrest, the suitcase is supplanted by the archetypal Norwegian rucksack, a national symbol as well as a symbol of global back-packers travelling light. Whether the two sisters are returning or leaving is open to interpretation, and so are the contents of their load. Are they taking something with them – the past – or are they bringing something back home? Are they bringing the past into the future? The future is a frail thing; still it is the main investment of Modernity. The past has an imaginary solidity. Sigmundstad seems to capture both.
A departure usually has an arrival as its goal. The goal may be far, it may be close. The space between departure and arrival may be a slice of time rather than a spatial experience. Travelling by airlines, or by underground trains, represents such slices. Other forms of travel – by railway, by car, or simply walking – put us in closer touch with our environment. Many of Giske Sigmundstad's works are focussed on the ongoing process of leaving and arriving, stopping in between, resting and moving on, sometimes returning. Migration is constitutional to the modern condition, to Modernity. Be it represented by early Romantics like Lord Byron and the Shelleys, or refugees and charter tourists of the present. This mobility has its premodern roots in the medieval phenomena of vagrant artists and pilgrims.
Travelling to learn is deeply embedded within the formation and activities of artists. Contemporary art academies continue to encourage and organize travel. International exhibitions are at the core of the art world, as spaces for many kinds of exchange and experience. Giske Sigmundstad exhibits internationally and has studied abroad, in Italy. Several critics, as well as the artist herself, have pointed to influences from predecessors like Giotto, or Giorgio de Chiricho.i There are certainly similarities in the treatment of colours and space. But there is also – in the works all three – a pervading feeling of both silent movement within the figures and a kind of silent movement within the imagined space, akin to the stillness mentioned above.
Sigmundstad's etchings – the result of a careful blend of intention and chance – possess a spatial silence similar to that in the pictures by French painter Balthus, but on a small, unpretentious scale and without the apparent eroticism. Something is happening in the pictures, but the movements often signal moments of hesitance, as in Vinter, Winter, where the man on skis has just stopped and looks back, or so it seems. Sigmundstad makes us wonder what is happening in his head. Is he worried about how to get home through the snow that seems to have just started? Or is he resting? In Reisen I, The Journey I, one of the two women, or girls, bends her head slightly as if regretting something. Or is she just submissive in relation to the other girl's – the one carrying the suitcase – determined walk?
Reisen I and its sequel, Reisen/Huset, The Journey/The House, differ from many of Sigmundstad's other works. There is less volume and colour. The cool pink and blue barely cover the paper, and the girls are more schematic, extremely flat, like linocuts, and transparent. The architectural skeleton of the house in the background is a more familiar feature from other prints. Then, in Reisen/Huset the house stands alone. This is clearly an image of departure, but it remains open to interpretations. In their faintly outlined narratives Sigmundstad's works resemble poems rather than novels.
Finnish critic Marja-Terttu Kivirinta – and others – has noted influences from the 1950's in Sigmundstad's imagery.ii The style of clothes, hairstyles and objects remind us of something highly modern, of Modernity's own restrained classicism, where the men bear the insignia of masculinity and the women those of femininity. Other artists of Sigmundstad's generation, like Swedish Jockum Nordström and Karin Mamma Andersson, also make references to that era in their works. One reason may be the iconic appeal of the style. Persons and objects become easily read signs that facilitate the narrative. They represent a certain timelessness. But another fact may be just as important. These artists did not experience the decade directly. But they have done so indirectly, through their parents. Those were the years when their parents formed their identities and ideals. Quiet, non-revolutionary ideals that their children grew up with. Stories that they need to recast and revise.
The persons in Sigmundstad's etchings are not always quietly leaving or moving. Sometimes they make a halt, as in Vinter. In Husvegg II, House Wall II we see two men at a bonfire. The fire is the only thing colouring the greyish scene. One of the men looks back at us with something accusing in his eyes, or maybe he is just wondering who we are. The women in Husvegg I seemed to have a goal; the men just stand there, immobile. In Dam, Pond, a woman has put her suitcase down and peacefully contemplates her mirror image on the water surface. The allusion to Narcissus is there, but the woman seems more capable of keeping the distance. She does not seem totally absorbed by herself. She will not drown in her own image like her predecessor. She may just be pausing on her route, enjoying the silence, the stillness of the water. Then she will pick up her suitcase again and continue her journey.
Måns Holst-Ekström,
Malmö in August 2008
Måns Holst-Ekström, b. 1963, is an art critic and a writer. He teaches at Malmö Art Academy and the Department of Art History and Musicology, Lund University. He was senior lecturer at the Royal University College of Fine Arts in Stockholm 2001-2006.
Water Under the Bridge
Written by Line Ulekleiv
The expression "water under the bridge" refers to how experiences and conflicts from the past are rendered less salient with the passing of time. We decide to forget matters that once were urgent. Memories of them are like water that has long since flowed past: the memories stream under the bridge and out to a more diffuse horizon where they can no longer be grasped. The constant movement of water, washing away dead leaves and debris, can be cleansing and comforting, even though some drops of it remain with us. Giske Sigmundstad's etchings preserve this somewhat melancholy and fluid atmosphere, and sketch small scenes that can appear fragile, even though they retain the formative strength that memory imbues.
Giske Sigmundstad's small formats and figurative style are characterized by a kind of lyrical, low-key naivism. In her work, one can detect delicate existential strings spun around intimate moods. This world has a cinematic quality. The pictures are perceived as tranquil, but their sound is also cushioned. By pressing an ear to the picture's surface one could possibly discern a faint grating sound, similar to that of an old LP record.
The use of subdued colours imbues her work with nostalgia, with indistinct nuances that add warmth, but also a sense of disquietude. The figures, often distinctively sketched, are perceived as enclosed in their own space, like props in fragmented narratives. As a result of the chemical etching process, whereby the motive is etched into the plate using acid, the surfaces tend to have an organic and paint-like texture. Giske Sigmundstad deliberately uses spatial effects and architecture as frames for depictions of bodies. The interplay between internal, mental spaces and external, delimiting constructions is a recurrent theme.
For an extended period, the journey remained a key feature of Giske Sigmundstad's choice of motives, and departures and transfers have been depicted in the form of suitcases. Recently, Sigmundstad has moved away from this theme, which she now considers to have more or less completed. The narratives reflected in the motives, which have never been very explicit, are currently reduced to a minimum. The symbolism as well as the narrative strands are more detached from the motive. Thus, a more abstract quality emerges, which Sigmundstad uses to exploit the formal opportunities of graphic art. The use of colours attracts more attention, not least because of the artist's training as a painter.
In Butterfly a dark and brooding mist surrounds a girl standing at a distance into the pictured space, which is filled with irregular white grains reminiscent of snow or hailstones. We cannot see her face because she is holding an umbrella with its ribs sketched in distinct, white lines. To her right, and out of proportion to her, we see the contours of a butterfly spreading its wings to reveal the lines of its fragile and evanescent body. The graphically nuanced texture of the underlying pattern creates a separate substructure, a supporting construction that finds its parallel in the protective contour of the umbrella. This elegant purity and insistence on contours can be associated with the sophisticated compositional principles of Japanese woodblock prints, for example those made by Hokusai during the 1830s, which included monoprints made by pressing a leaf onto the paper. The fragile presence of the leaf corresponds to another new print made by Sigmundstad, in which the main structure of a leaf hangs like a small, sensual and discreet cloud over a row of young men, their arms interlocking (Plate 1). The black lines contrast with the nerves of the leaf, rendered in rusty red.
Literary allusions are still present in Giske Sigmundstad's work, although very concretely in the form of books – the physical manifestation of literature. A peaceful and warm living-room interior, Bookshelf 1, with a boy and a man, renders this focus on books apparent. One of the figures is seated in an armchair turned away from us, so that we are looking over his shoulder, catching a voyeuristic glimpse of the book (an art book?) that he is holding. The other figure stands further into the room and is facing us, also holding a large book, and to the right we can see the edge of a bookshelf. Again, we are being led into a room that oscillates between strict order on the one hand and something secretive and incomplete on the other. The act of reading and the act of viewing appear to be compressed into one and the same picture, not least because the viewer is rendered aware of his own position vis-à-vis the two reading figures. In addition, two paintings hang on the yellow wall that encloses the depicted space: one shows a person leading a horse, the other is a portrait in profile. As in all literature, these pictures within the picture represent an internal, mental space that opens towards a larger common space.
This interplay between introversion and extroversion, the tightly focused and the all‑encompassing is a key feature also of Bookshelf II. A woman is standing with her back to the viewer, facing a bookshelf. Is she seeking for particular book? Here too, the interior is warm and friendly, illuminated by a table lamp. A mystical animal in the foreground to the right indicates a potential threat to this safety. It casts a shadow and is an ambiguous appearance as we cannot determine whether it is a toy or a living animal, a decorative object or untamed nature. This undetermined relationship between humans and animals recurs frequently in Sigmundstad's work – as in the etching showing a dog standing next to a girl clad in a bright green poncho (Poncho). They stand next to each other, but show no signs of interacting. The tight and sparing composition serves to keep all possible lines of connection and parallels fundamentally open.
Lamps as sources of light have for a long time been a motive for Giske Sigmundstad, and electric light contributes to defining the illuminated persons. Lamplight, as a visual attractor, is occasionally treated in playful manner – as when a female figure and the foot of a lamp merge into one (Forest wallpaper). The atmospheric importance and modelling ability of light is clearly demonstrated in Roller blind, where an isolated figure stands near a roller blind and light pours in from the window. Just as in Edward Hopper's paintings, which explored the loneliness and isolation of modern life, the light here serves to stop movement and creates a condensed and timeless space, outside memories and narratives.
Nevertheless: water still flows under the bridge.
Vann under broen
Det engelske standarduttrykket "water under the bridge" referer til fortidens erfaringer og konflikter, som tiden har gjort til noe mindre viktig. Vi bestemmer oss for å glemme noe som en gang har vært presserende. Minnene blir som vann som forlengst har rent vekk fra oss, under broen og videre ut til en mer diffus horisont hvor de ikke lenger kan gripes. Vannets konstante bevegelse, som bærer med seg løv og løsøre, kan være en rensende trøst, men det er alltid noen dråper som blir værende hos oss. Giske Sigmundstads etsninger holder fast dette litt melankolske og flytende stemningsleiet, de skisserer opp små scener som kan virke spinkle, men som har minnets formgivende kraft.
Giske Sigmundstads små formater og figurative stil er preget av en type lyrisk lavmælt naivisme. I hennes arbeider kan man finne fine eksistensielle strenger spunnet rundt intime atmosfærer. Det er noe filmatisk ved denne verdenen. Bildene oppleves som stille, samtidig er det som om lydbildet er polstret. Legger man øret inntil billedflaten kan man kanskje ane en skurring, som fra en gammel LP-plate.
Et nostalgisk preg er understreket i en ofte dempet fargebruk, med urene valører som kan varme, men også skape uro. Figurene, ofte markert streket opp, oppleves ofte som avsondret i sine rom, som rekvisitter i fragmentariske fortellinger. Overflatene har ofte et organisk og malerisk preg, som resultat av etsningens kjemiske prosess, hvor motivene er etset inn i trykkplaten ved hjelp av syre. Det er hos Giske Sigmundstad en bevisst bruk av romlige virkninger og arkitektur som innramming for kroppslige volum. Et spill mellom indre mentale rom og ytre avgrensende konstruksjoner, er gjennomgående.
Over en lengre periode har reisen stått sentralt i Giske Sigmundstads motiviske utvalg, oppbrudd og forflytning har vært konkretisert i gjenstander som kofferter. I det siste har Sigmundstad tatt et skritt vekk fra denne tematikken, som hun nå betrakter som mer eller mindre avsluttet. Fortellingen i motivene, som aldri har vært eksplisitt, er nå holdt på et minimum. Både symbolikk og narrative føringer er løsere knyttet til motivet. En mer abstrahert kvalitet trer frem, og med dette utnytter også Sigmundstad grafikkens mange formale muligheter. Anvendelsen av farge får økt oppmerksomhet, noe som ikke minst har bakgrunn i kunstnerens malerutdannelse.
I Sommerfugl omkranser en mørk og grålig skodde en pike som står et stykke inn i det litt grumsete billedrommet, fylt opp av ujevne, hvite korn – som minner om snø eller hagl. Vi ser ikke ansiktet hennes, siden hun holder opp en paraply markert med skarpe hvite linjer som spiler. Til høyre for henne, og ute av størrelsesmessig proporsjoner, er konturene av en sommerfugl som brer ut vingene, slik at nettverket i den fragile og flyktige kroppen synliggjøres. Det grafiske nyanserte spillet i det underliggende mønsteret skapet et eget reisverk, en bærende konstruksjon som får sin parallell i paraplyens beskyttende kontur. Denne elegante renheten og insisteringen på konturer kan assosieres med japanske tresnitts sofistikerte komposisjonsprinsipper, eksempelvis i Hokusais tresnitt fra 1830-tallet, hvor det er laget et monotrykk av et blad presset mot papiret. Bladets skjøre tilstedeværelse korresponderer videre med et nytt arbeid av Sigmundstad, hvor grunnstrukturen i et blad henger som en liten, sanselig og diskret sky over rekke unge menn som hekter armene fast til hverandre (Plansje I). Strekføringen i svart kontrasterer bladets nervesystem, gjengitt i en rusten rødlig tone.
Litterære tilsnitt er fremdeles tilstede hos Giske Sigmundstad, men helt konkret i form av bøker, litteraturens fysiske uttrykk. I et fredelig og varmt stueinteriør, Bokhylle I, med en gutt og en mann blir dette boklige tydeliggjort. Den ene av figurene sitter i en lenestol og leser, vendt fra oss slik at vi titter han over skulderen og får et voyeuraktig glimt av boken (en kunstbok?) han har i hendene. Den andre står frontalt mot oss dypere inn i rommet, også med en stor bok i hendene, til høyre ser vi deler av en bokhylle. Igjen føres vi inn i et rom som pendler mellom en stringent orden, på den ene siden, og noe hemmelighetsfullt og uavsluttet, på den andre. Leseakten og synsakten synes komprimert i samme bilde, ikke minst siden betrakteren blir bevisstgjort sin posisjon overfor de to lesende karakterene. I tillegg henger det to maleriske bilder på den gule veggen som avslutter billedrommet. Ett av disse viser en person som leder en hest, det andre et portrett i profil. Disse bildene i bildet representerer i likhet med all litteratur et internt indre rom som åpner seg opp mot et større fellesrom. Spesifikke størrelser beveger seg mot det universelle.
Skjæringspunktet mellom det introverte og ekstroverte, det konsentrerte og det vidtfavnende, fremstår også som sentralt i et Bokhylle II. En kvinne står med ryggen til betrakteren, vendt mot en bokhylle. Leter hun etter en bestemt bok? Igjen er interiøret lunt og vennlig og en bordlampe gløder. Et mulig brudd på denne tryggheten antydes av et mystisk dyr i høyre forgrunn. Det kaster en skygge og blir tvetydig, idet man ikke helt kan avgjøre om det er et leketøy eller et levende dyr, pyntegjenstand eller utemmet natur. Denne usikre forbindelsen mellom menneske og dyr opptrer hyppig hos Sigmundstad, som i etsningen med en hund oppstilt ved siden av en jente iført en irrgrønn poncho (Poncho). De befinner seg ved siden av hverandre uten tegn til interaksjon. Den stramt økonomiske komposisjonen av motivet bidrar til å holde mulige forbindelseslinjer og fordoblinger grunnleggende åpne.
Lampen som lyskilde har lenge opptatt Giske Sigmundstad, det elektriske lyset er med på å definere de figurene som opplyses. Lampelyset som visuell markør blir tidvis behandlet lekent, som når en kvinnefigur og lampefot smelter sammen (Skogstapet). Lysets atmosfæriske betydning og modellerende evne gjør seg tydelig gjeldende i Rullegardin, hvor en isolert figur står ved en rullegardin, hvor lyset strømmer inn fra vinduet. Som i Edward Hoppers billedverden, som sirklet rundt det moderne livets ensomhet og isolasjon, blir lyset her noe som stopper bevegelsen og skaper et kondensert og tidløst rom, på siden av minner og fortellinger. Ikke desto mindre: vannet strømmer stadig under broen.