Nathalie Viruly, Director at the Centre for the Fictitious Ante Facto, graces our blog with a three part essay on the state of contemporary art and the Stockholm scene. She ponders the conditions of the game, our gains and our losses. Most importantly, she invites us to gamble.

Does fortune favour the bold, or will luck leave you penniless? Click image to read.

Nathalie Viruly & the Centre for the Fictitious Ante Facto

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For the text version, give Supermarket a visit here.

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Within the walls of this essay we are going to do many things. To name some; we are going to plunge into the thickets of cream, wade through the meadow of mud, explore the prelude to and meditate on our own passing, through and by the hands of suicide aesthetics. Welcome, again, to the apocalyptic foretellings or the crumbling house of SUICIDE AESTHETICS.  

We arrived at this particular vibe after many inventions and materials, after new fabrication processes and wars which made mass production and luxury consumption a new normal. We arrived here after greed, love, evolution, death, psychopathy, joy and fun. Today we are going to discover how the collective consciousness of the murderous political machine; “democracy”, finds its climactic release in suicide aesthetics. In order to find our grasp of these aesthetics completely, we are going to have to touch, squeeze, motorboat, nozzle, gobble and purge for repeat, dear signifiers such as:

Water, hearts, deer, water drops, bed sheets, cherries, bows, eyes, glitter, pink, bunnies, butts, guns, gags, whips, pink cheeks, lips, lip gloss, hair, sex dolls, trash, dust, knives, Christmas presents, plastic foil, tin foil, flowers, roses, pearls, cream, blue, panties, dollar signs, butt holes, pigs, money (coins), money (notes), botox, silver, mansions, high heels, muscles, energy drink, unicorns, beaches, hentai, diamonds or any other gem stone, palm trees, dolphins, cars, blood, cigarettes, doves, meadows, yachts, swimming pools, straight men choking their lovers, femmes pairing up with masc enbies, girls doing nude self-portraits, tops fucking bottoms, edible gold leaf salad, diamond teeth, white teeth, horse powers and true, the truest, crime.  

As you feel: suicide aesthetics binge. We binge suicide aesthetics. The binge feeds culture what it needs to hurt itself, using only signifiers from its own juices.

♥♥♥

With suicide aesthetics, we enjoy killing ourselves. Through them we poison ourselves. Every image and every glossy surface is a self-inserted nasogastric tube hindering any and all ingestion of actual food, smell and the following – would be – emotional orientation. Suicide aesthetics surpass the heart and fill our bowls with images, images, images. Moving images, 3D images, AR, VR and eventually dreams and hallucinations. Suicide aesthetics are also a foot standing on your head, of your own leg because you always fuckin’ like suicide aesthetics.

I love suicide aesthetics. 

Death by suicide aesthetics comes not as actual death but as putrefaction. In this putrefaction you are the living dead, you are in the fumes rising from the pile of rotten meat, the fruit, the candy, the stainless steel and the gold plated heart earrings you have become. You smell only yourself in a perfect closed circuit between your face and the internet. Yelping from the pressure of suicide aesthetics, we run. You run, breathlessly up and down the funicular, back and forth between the car dealer podium and the girl next to it. Round and round between all the world’s airports into the arms of suicide aesthetics.

♥♥♥

Suicide aesthetics are insanely cool. 

They are so cool that I can’t.stop.yet. 

Suicide aesthetics are insanely cool sunglasses, on your nose, whose price tag says: X-RAY VISION. In reality they are too dark for you to see anything. The allure of these aesthetics can only be compared to the glow from behind the uterine wall. Or, the halo of Father Christmas who pas de bourrées and demands that you lick up the fake snow and all the presents. Suicide aesthetics are sometimes art when it becomes a pile of waste planted for critical scrutiny, containing hope for a new dawn.

There are conscious suicide aesthetics and there are insidious suicide aesthetics, the latter often manifesting subconsciously. Intrinsically morally ambiguous, suicide aesthetics are always bad and always very fun. More than anything, they are the only thing which can kill suicide aesthetics. Sometimes this killing happens unintentionally when inevitably the house caves in on itself, but it can also happen as scheduled euthanasia. 

You cannot black out suicide aesthetics. They are all of us and we always want more, whilst knowing that boobs can’t get bigger and eyes cannot get glitterier, waists can only be so thin and butts only so big. Exclusivity is only exclusive if the excluded are looking and anyone who is looking can turn signifiers to their own wind. Image wise, the possibility of enthralling contrast is finite. Thus we need to ask: what happens AFTER suicide aesthetics? 

You have covered your whole body in red pearls/scales, you mastered the wet hair look, you showed up to the party in a worm costume, looking at your painting is like licking the door handle of a Bentley. You tell us/we tell you, you wanna be fucked by “daddy”, and “daddy” wants to fuck his daughter. How does one top suicide aesthetics? Concomitantly we ask you and ourselves why am I asking how to top suicide aesthetics?  

We can also query about the limit of a company’s growth. Is its ultimate stage of existence its singular dominance, its world monopoly, dictatorship, a solo oligarchy which dies from the lack of a market? We repeat: suicide aesthetics are the prelude to their own death. More than anything, suicide aesthetics is the only thing which can kill suicide aesthetics. 

The term is indebted to many previous thinkers and theories. In a later version of this essay I will need to outline them all, but here comes a shortlist merely for reference:  

The essay In Free Fall by Hito Steyerl, cute accelerationism by Amy Ireland and Maya B. Kronic, Antonio Gramsci’s famous hegemony developed by Stuart Hall, a particular vicious aesthetic circle as outlined by Ariella Azoulay in The Civil Contract of Photography, the term necropolitics as coined by Achille Mbembe and cruel optimism as coined by Lauren Berlant. About the last Berlant says: 

“Cruel optimism” names a relation of attachment to compromised conditions of possibility. What is cruel about these attachments, and not merely inconvenient or tragic, is that the subjects who have x in their lives might not well endure the loss of their object or scene of desire, even though its presence threatens their well-being, because whatever the content of the attachment, the continuity of the form of it provides something of the continuity of the subject’s sense of what it means to keep on living on and to look forward to being in the world.1 

When buying, creating, building, curating, compiling, designing, drawing, filming, consuming suicide aesthetics, some of the selves who are dying are like magpies compiling treasures that can grow into mountains of rubbish and form deluded echo chambers thanks to the western colonial, necropolitical project. Allow me to paraphrase a meme from meme school which turned out to be a quote not exactly derived from but often attributed to Aimé Cesaire and his essay Discourse on Colonialism: Fascism is what white people call capitalism when they start getting treated like the colonised.

♥♥♥

The opposite to suicide aesthetics is not bringing-back-to-life aesthetics. I don’t know yet what the inversion of the binge/purge/repeat cycle would be. It could be helping out or rewilding the planet. Whether this is true will be discovered in my further writings about suicide aesthetics.

Reading by Jaana-Kristiina Alakoski filmed by RacerContent at Ut&Om.

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Despite this, your neurotic-tuned first date calculator converts thoughts of picnics into mud baths, coffee into gastrointestinal jousts, museums into jarring staring contests, & most honourably of all you’re too broke for a drink. The once glittering horizon dims with each revision, pulling you closer to an endless darkness, while the potential that your mind could render this opportunity destitute knots your stomach. Before retreating into a paralytic state, a final “seaslug” spelled spark ignites your imagination. 

Art spaces seldom involve mud and sometimes doesn’t even include coffee; it offers room for the pretentious and importantly, occasionally there is free booze from a local brand you’ve not yet heard of! Ecstasy courses through your hands as you swiftly type “seaslug.se”. This time the surge of hormones oozes through you as if it were a panacea, harnessing the chemical imbalance to navigate the banquet of art exhibitions bouncing between your fingertips. As a terminal manoeuvre to guide your selection, you summon the immeasurable awkwardness of all past vernissage first dates to light your path. Even if fortune fails to favour, surely pity will play a part.

Fate's first lesson was found on the hallowed grounds of Stockholm’s Moderna Museet. A forlorn afternoon like any other- having already mixed up the meeting point, the charm of first meetings was sloughed off by sweat. We clambered through tenuously related anecdotes, each seeming only to extend our trek to Skeppsholmen. All things considered, we arrived remarkably late but just in time to see half of Nan Goldin’s works with ample reason to evade the permanent and architecture collections. 

In my experience, cinematic viewings are accentuated by smuggled box red-wine. However, Goldin’s art is captivating enough that any accessories would detract. In hindsight, the material was a bit heavy for the occasion- we scarcely made eye contact, let alone communicated. A pretty unceremonious first meeting.

The second bout of bitter-sweet memories was served at a Coulisse Gallery opening. On paper it seemed bound for success: a cozy gallery that tactfully curates up and coming local artists alongside international ones, it is close to several hotdog vendors and a wealth of poorly lit bars. What could go wrong? We met at St. Eriksplan station and began clumsily talking about our impressions of Stockholm as two dazed and confused migrants. Before long we were met with Coulisse’s window stickers, clamoured through their doors and beelined for the chrome cooler of complimentary drinks. It would prove too early to relax. 

Coulisse being a quaint enough place where it’s difficult to remain sly, the inevitable and daunting task which accompanies all outside ventures remained. How to tactfully but casually say “hello” to people you know while also introducing your company. It’s not clear to me if I’m better off just shouldering the arrogance that comes with ignorance or accruing the pity that comes with anxiety, but I intuitively pursue the latter. This was all before the performance had even begun. I’ll let you imagine how that transpired.

Our final dystopian glimpse into the abyss of the past was hosted at Issues Gallery. Like Coulisse, Issues has established themselves as a place where compelling art is found among compelling artists. Any given opening at Issues will leave someone unexpectedly brushing shoulders with some of Sweden’s most talented Artists scurrying about the work. These events leave little to be desired, in turn speaking volumes of my skill to excise the worst out of a date. 

We tumbled down the decline from Drottninggatan relapsing through the goofy existences we inhabit as we approached Issues’ windows. I braced myself for the routine distress management processes. The ritual of haphazardly bothering acquaintances ensued as we slithered between art and appendages. The truly remarkable thing about the evening was that I did not buckle under the immense weight of this socially saturated space. I even managed to mumble entirely incoherent thoughts about how Crash (1996) is the best movie of all time.

Alberte Skronski explores themes of joy, happiness, and sexiness in her work. Through bright colours and materials such as cardboard, papier-mâché, and styrofoam she constructs amusing universes that resemble our own. Through these worlds, she introduces anthropomorphic characters such as hot dogs, sexy corn, or ice cream cones. Having radical happiness as an artistic concept, Skronski often describes her work as children’s TV for adults.

If you are in Stockholm, Skronski is showing her film “Dragging” as part Short Film Day arranged by Best Before Collective. This year the viewing will take place at their gallery in Östermalmstorgs t-bana station. Thursday the 21st of December from 17-21.

Enjoy a fun day Alberte Skronski style <3 @alberteskronski

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Dear Ifra,

I’ve been meaning to dedicate some time to write to you about this journey we’ve been on together as close-enough, because honestly, it’s been quite a ride.

Thinking back on how our collaboration began, it’s clear that our decision to team up on this project was born out of shared frustration that had been building within us. It bugged us for a while how exclusive the art world in Sweden felt. Stepping into the roles of independent curators for our M.A. graduation project, we had a clear mission: to confront this issue head-on. However, let’s be real – it wasn’t just about taking on this big problem. It was also about having a collaborator, someone to share the journey with. After all, curating can be a bit like an exploration of the unknown, and who wants to face it alone, right?

You and I, we chatted, ranted, brainstormed, and dreamed together, all with one goal in mind: to make art approachable to people, something they could easily embrace in their lives. It was during these conversations that we came up with the name close-enough, a playful yet profound nod to the hesitancy many people have about getting too close to art, as if there exists an invisible line we’re not supposed to cross. It also spoke to the way museums and institutions sometimes keep their audiences at bay. As we tossed ideas around for close-enough, our main focus was to organize outreach workshops, and our compass consistently pointed to Marabouparken. 

That park and its sculptures held personal significance for me. Years ago, I was learning Swedish at Långholmens Folkhögskola, which is located right next to Marabouparken. During my time there, I noticed that there wasn’t much interaction between the two institutions. However, there was this one time when my class was taken on a guided tour of the sculpture park by the Konsthall. Sadly, it turned out to be quite an uncomfortable experience. The tour was in fast and complex Swedish, which made it tough for me and my classmates, especially those not familiar with art, to follow along. 

So, we decided to revisit my experience together, and our project aimed to turn Marabouparken into a place where diverse groups of people could experience art in their own unique ways. We didn’t stop at planning workshops with Emma Dominguez; we also ventured into manifesto writing, had some interesting discussions, and conducted an exploratory survey and research which focusedfocuses on addressing segregation in the Swedish art world. None of it would have been possible without our partnership.

As we dove into this project, I learned that curating is an ongoing journey. It’s a fusion of everything; anticipation, decision-making, and trying out new ideas while sharing our creative thoughts. So, when did this journey even start, and when does it truly end? Honestly, it feels like a never-ending process, one that starts long before a project takes shape and continues long after it’s over. Maybe this letter is my way of trying to mark the end of our first chapter with close-enough because sometimes, in the midst of curating, it’s tough to see what we’ve accomplished.

I think that curatorial work isn’t just about what happens within the four walls of a gallery or in the pages of a fancy curatorial statement. It goes way beyond that, into the hearts and minds of those who experience the art. It’s about igniting curiosity, challenging perspectives, and sparking conversations that ripple through time.

Now, here we are, both of us having graduated. I’m filled with a mix of hope for our future as young curators and a deep understanding of the challenges we’re up against. It’s no secret that the art world doesn’t offer much of a safety net for emerging curators like us. We’re navigating a complex and challenging landscape where our curatorial aspirations sometimes clash with the need for stability. It’s all too easy to arrive at a crossroad, where practical constraints can overshadow our creative ambitions. In these moments, it’s crucial not to forget the transformative power of curating. As curators, we hold an incredible responsibility to shape our cultural landscape and influence how people perceive and experience the world.

I genuinely believe that the challenges we’re up against as young curators point to the urgent need for a shift in the art world. Our dedication to art should be celebrated, not undervalued or taken for granted. Rather than accepting the status quo, these challenges should be viewed as a compelling call for transformation. Our journey has just begun, and while it’s filled with question marks, I am grateful to have you as my partner in this endeavor. As we take our next steps, let’s keep the spirit of close-enough alive in our hearts and continue to bring art closer to people’s lives. 

So, Ifra, please understand that this letter isn’t just a reflection; it’s a promise. It’s a tribute to the remarkable journey we’ve been embarking on together. I want you to understand that I’m here, not just as a collaborator but as a friend, to offer support, encouragement, and friendship whenever you need it.

Warm regards,

Yul

On a Wednesday afternoon in early August, as the storm Hans swept over Sweden, I marched over to the ABF building in central Stockholm. Determined to reduce the long list of unseen exhibitions that had accumulated over the course of the summer, I descended the stairs toward the art space Mint. There, I encountered Cara Tolmie’s exhibition Cascade Bend Chamber.

Seeking shelter

Instinctually or pulled by some unknown force, I quickly passed through the first listening rooms, not pausing before reaching the furthest part of the gallery. Prior to entering the innermost room, I took off my shoes as instructed by a sign. I was then met with a long hallway, partitioned by organically shaped hanging pieces of fabric placed at regular intervals, each reducing the visible space of the chamber. Speaking plainly, this hallway had taken on the form of a cave, deep, dank, and alluring. The opening beckoned me forward, drawing me across the reflective floor, to a spot within. 

The cave was already inhabited by Susanna Jablonski’s ceramic sculptures. Following their example, I sank down to the ground, to a state of rest. Surrounded by sounds of breathing, dripping, moaning, while seeing the wave pattern of light reflected in water dancing across the walls, the cave swallowed me. Little by little, I came to accept this place as my new reality. A space away from space. Isolated, safe, and entirely my own. 

This comfortable awakening into Tolmie’s practice of internal singing was interrupted by the realisation that the circular breathing, sounding on inhalation and exhalation, was not dissimilar to the whining of the wind. A puff of cold air, the jagged silhouette of textile turned stone. Certainly, the cave hid me, but it wasn’t as far removed from the outside as I had first thought. Hans was still raging out there, right on my threshold.

The storm subsides

Later that week, as the storm began to subside, Fylkingen, Stockholm’s premier venue for experimental music celebrated their 90^th anniversary. Tolmie performed as part of a three-day festival intended to highlight both the association’s importance as a platform for interdisciplinary sonic art and new music, as well as their historical position. On paper this would be a joyous occasion - to be able to mark nearly a century of continuous activity for this platform for innovation, experimentation, and cross-germination within the sonic field. This is truly something remarkable.

The historical significance of this artist-run space cannot be understated. Together with Sveriges Radio, Fylkingen introduced electroacoustic music to Sweden in the 1950s. They organised the first concerts for computer music in the early 1960s, and over the years, they’ve hosted internationally renowned sound artists such as John Cage, Iannis Xenakis and Catherine Christer Hennix. Beyond this, they’ve been vital in the development and presentation of music and sound for generations of artists. This 90^th anniversary then presents a great opportunity to both look back and to look forward, towards the future of experimental sounding art in Stockholm.

Or rather, this would have been a great opportunity, if not for the fact that Fylkingen has been evicted. Concerns about sound generating activities paired with limited possibilites for the landlord to extract profit has forced them out of the space they’ve been operating in since the 1980s. In November, they will start to dismantle their equipment, and by the end of the year they need to be gone. And so, one of Europe’s oldest independent cultural institutions has been unhoused.

Howling winds

It is now late October. The storm Hans has long since passed. But out there, the winds are picking up. Fylkingen’s future is uncertain. And they are not alone.

You don’t need to look far to see the pattern repeated. Take for example, Musikaliska Kvarteret, Nationalmuseum, and Naturhistoriska Riksmuseet. Three cultural institutions that are currently in precarious positions due to different pairings of rent increases and neglected maintenance. Not to mention the multitude of clubs and small music venues that have been shut down over the last few years, ranging from Debaser (Slussen and Medis) to Kägelbanan. The list can be made long, and so can the list of writers who have eloquently elaborated on each individual case [see further reading]. As a collective phenomenon, this has been given name: club death, stage death, culture death.

In every instance, the story is the same. Cultural actors should be able to pay. Because if they can’t there is always someone else who can. Someone quieter, less demanding, and more profitable. At every turn, the space for movement is diminished, and the avenues for experimentation, exploration, and creation are reduced. The city grows ever more silent. And what will happen then? What are we left with?

In a different climate, this text could have been a lauding of Stockholm’s vibrant sound art scene as a stage for experimentation that is increasingly being adopted into spaces for visual arts. It could have contained a simple encouragement to listen actively in the interaction with art and to allow hearing to become the dominant sense, if only briefly. For this attentive listening to guide the experience in the meeting with artworks both loud and subtle, and for listening to become a path towards the discovery of something new in the near silent.

Now, that attention also needs to be directed outwards, towards the conditions for listening. To, in the consumption of art and in the hunt for cultural experiences also listen for the cracks. To make oneself aware of the space art can move within, and from that point, to make noise when needed. It is not enough to listen within the safety of the cave, we must also listen to the winds that are howling outside.

Joel Albinsson
Joel Albinsson (b. 1997, Örebro) is a Stockholm based curator whose work engages with the temporal and spatial qualities of sounding art, as well as with questions regarding democracy, urbanities, and the power over the city.

Albinsson has recently finished his master’s degree in curating art at Stockholm University. He holds bachelor’s degrees in cultural studies and art history from the University of Gothenburg and Stockholm University respectively. Recent curatorial endeavours include the public sound installation empty space / enclosed dissolved, the performance piece En Kör Möter at Accelerator with co-curator Hanna Mara Noor Bargheer, and the publication Humanitet for Folkrörelsernas konstfrämjande. 

Further reading:
Leonidas Aretakis - När scenerna dör blir Stockholm en trist kommersiell avkrok
https://www.dn.se/kultur/leonidas-aretakis-nar-scenerna-dor-blir-stockholm-en-trist-kommersiell-avkrok/

Martin Aagård - Kulturarv är bara fint när det inte kostar något
https://www.etc.se/kultur-noje/kulturarv-aer-bara-fint-naer-det-inte-kostar-naagot

Anders Q Björkman - Förnuftiga beslut gör Stockholm tristare
https://www.svd.se/a/xgrlJQ/andersq-bjorkman-fornuftiga-beslut-gor-stockholm-tristare

Matilda Källén - Kan storstaden leva utan att få låta?
https://www.dn.se/kultur/kan-storstaden-leva-utan-att-fa-lata/

Lars Strannegård - Det är befängt att kräva att kulturen ska vara lönsam
https://www.dn.se/kultur/lars-strannegard-det-ar-befangt-att-krava-att-kulturen-ska-vara-lonsam/

Walking home through a deserted Stockholm on a summer evening in July, I noticed the patches of wild grass and living meadow between the building blocks. Call it slackness or resignation, it might be a simple gesture, but yet it was something.

In lack of contemporary art experiences during the sleepy summer months, I visited Nationalmuseum (National Museum of Fine Arts, Sweden) and I noticed that the classic gallery halls were blooming due to the temporary exhibition Trädgården (The Garden). Where a grand collection of artworks that span from the Renaissance to today is on display. There is certainly a lot of ‘flower juice’ to extract from history when it comes to the garden as a cultural phenomenon. The notion of paradise, for example, seems to have sprung from the garden as a harmonious and otherworldly place. Earlier this summer one of the loans, namely Claude Monet’s The Artist's Garden at Giverny,  was exposed to an attack by two climate activists who glued their hands to the painting. The action drew attention to the ever-so-relevant conflict between culture and nature. What is the worth of idealizing a million-dollar artwork when the earth is burning down?

This critique points to the obsolete monetary fixated art world and the elevated art object. It must be mentioned though, that right now there is a vibrant counter movement of artists working with environmental issues. More and more artists seem to adopt a close to Pan-religious perspective as a way to heal the destructive relationship that has emerged between humans and nature. The Anthropocene has been a hot topic for long in contemporary art but appears to have paralyzed both artists and non-artists into a chronic sense of guilt, stemming from geopolitical crises rooted in the West's colonial legacy and the tragic fossil modification of the planet. Sympoiesis between species, cyborgs, biodesign, witchcraft, radical gardening, tentacular thinking, or the chthulucene*… the list goes on of concepts that are being used in an attempt to envision an alternative future.

This autumn nature is not only teeming in the classical gallery halls of Nationalmuseum, but the botanical fever is also present on the contemporary art scene in Stockholm. I had the pleasure of meeting the Finnish artist duo nabbteeri during my internship last year at Färgfabriken. They currently display a large-scale installation that challenges the concept of the tamed and elevated garden by depicting the ’withered beauty of the garden’ and nature's cycle of life and death. nabbteeri encourages strange meetings* and collaborations between humans and non-humans, living and dead (read plants, fungi, microorganisms, critters, animals, and carcasses). 

Strange meetings also occur in Ingela Ihrman's artistry, but in a slightly different way where Ihrman’s works more often emerge from her own body. Where animals and plants are blown up to human scale, or the artist herself takes on a role like seaweed, for example. Her work turns the anthropocentric theme inside out with a humorous twist. Ihrman is currently displaying a giant, fleshy fig costume at Carl Eldhs Ateljémuseum and is opening a significant solo exhibition at Malmö Konsthall at the end of September. 

Not to mention Tilda Lovell and Sara-Vide Ericson at Bonniers Konsthall! The art audience clearly has a strong appetite for queuing up when it comes to experiencing sublime nature representation. The line at the opening was as long as for an amusement on Gröna Lund. I smiled to myself at the funny connotation before I took place in the fashionable and somewhat rigid queue. 

*Chthulucene refers to a new epoch that comes after the Anthropocene and is proposed by  Donna Haraway as a state of time where   refugees from environmental disastersdisaster (both human and non-human) will come together.

*Strange meetings refers to meetings and exchange between species of any sort.

Below you’ll find the full guide to exhibitions in Stockholm, Malmö, and Copenhagen that all deal with these themes.

Nationalmuseum
Trädgården, collection exhibition
Stockholm, 23 February 2023 – 7 January 2024
Read more

Färgfabriken
whatever lives bends down – nabbteeri
Stockholm, 26 August 2023 – 26 November 2023
Read more

Carl Eldhs Ateljémuseum
Miss Brunnsviken – Ingela Ihrman
Stockholm, 11 May 2023 – 1 oktober 2023
Read more

Bonniers Konsthall
Något mörkt ställde sig vid våra sinnens fem trösklar utan att gå över dem – Tilda Lovell och Sara-Vide Ericson
Stockholm, 30 August 2023 - 29 Ocotober 2023
Read more

Tensta Konsthall
(Coming up) Mining Life – Oscar Lara
Stockholm, Opening 6 October 2023.
Read more

And outside of Stockholm…(but not too far away)

Malmö Konsthall
(Coming up) Frutti di Mare – Ingela Ihrman
Malmö, 30 September 2023 – 14 January 2024
Read more

Thorvaldsens Museum
FLORA ITALICA, group exhibition
Copenhagen, 17 June 2023 – 24 September 2023
Read more

Kunsthal Charlottenborg
Seeds and Souls, group exhibition
Copenhagen, 16 September 2023 – 18 February 2024
Read more

Linda Louise Karlsson (b. 1992, Järna, Sweden) is an artist and curator based in Stockholm and Copenhagen. She holds a BFA from Bergen Art Academy and is currently in the process of writing her master's thesis in art history at the University of Copenhagen. Her work focuses on collaborative practices that bridge the fields of art-making, curating, and research.

Ifra Shariq has composed a reflective poem titled On Arrival, in which she shares her experience of navigating the art world. The poem expresses her emotions upon entering these unfamiliar spaces and reflects on the momentary feeling of discomfort that arises on arrival. It draws inspiration from Sara Ahmed’s article “A Phenomenology of Whiteness,” which delves into the idea that the presence of non-white bodies can induce disorientation and challenge the established order.

Ifra Shariq
Ifra Shariq (b. 1996, India) is a Stockholm-based curator whose practice includes audience engagement strategies and experimenting with different education-based mediation strategies. She holds two Masters’ degrees in Curating Art from Stockholm University in Sweden, and Museology from MS University in India. Currently, she is co-curating an exhibition with Svenska Konstnärernas Förening/SKF in Stockholm, along with curators Yul Cho and Ashik Zaman. Her recent work includes close-enough's inaugural project and its publication How to Navigate Art Institutions, and co-curating a pedagogical workshop series Chasing an Idea along with Johanna Rüskamp in collaboration with Kungsholmen Gymnasium and Accelerator.

close-enough
close-enough is a curatorial initiative co-founded by Ifra Shariq and Yul Cho during their MA studies in Curating Art at Stockholm University. Born out of shared frustrations with the Swedish art world, their aim is to bridge the gap between art institutions and underrepresented communities. The name close-enough signifies the often observed distance between art institutions and their audiences, alluding to the notion of an invisible line that people hesitate to cross for fear of being too close or touching the art. With a focus on genuine inclusivity, they strive to make art more accessible and engaging for a broader audience.

Follow their work

Building on the understanding derived from close-enough’s previous survey, the research paper by Yul Cho, “Brushing Up on Inclusion: An Exploration of Complex Inequalities within the Swedish Art World,” was produced as a response to the issue of segregation within the Swedish art world. The aim of this research is not only to draw attention to materials that have dealt with similar issues, but also to provide a comprehensive theoretical framework for addressing this problem. The paper serves as an exploratory overview of the issue, as well as a means of anchoring our understanding of the topic.

Excerpt from research paper written by Yul Cho

Is art for everyone? Some might say art is for everyone to enjoy and experience, but is art for everyone to access? Many individuals may not be able to afford the entrance fees for museums or they may feel uncomfortable visiting art exhibitions and events due to their level of knowledge in art or cultural background. Therefore, it is important to question whether art is truly accessible to all, as it should be, regardless of one’s socio-economic or cultural background. 

The Swedish art scene is a complex and fascinating subject that demands attention due to its inherent inequalities. While Sweden is one of the most ethnically and culturally diverse countries in all of Europe, it is also highly segregated (Wiesbrock, 2011). This segregation is both present in living areas, education and socio-economic status (Malmberg, Andersson and Östh, 2013; Yang Hansen and Gustafsson, 2016; Åslund and Nordström Skans, 2010). The Swedish art world is affected by this social and urban segregation, resulting in an art world which reflects only certain values and perspectives. While there is growing awareness of these issues in recent years, they are still largely unexplored topics in research and require further study in order to encourage and contribute to a wider discourse surrounding the matter. 

The paper examines the complex inequalities present in the Swedish art world, particularly focusing on the intersection of class and ethnicity. Mainly drawing on Civil Sphere Theory, the paper analyzes existing literature, reports, and data sources to identify patterns and themes related to the research questions. With socio-economic status and migration status being tightly intertwined, the Swedish art world is characterized by inherent segregation, with predominantly white and elite circles dominating this field. 

In the context of the Swedish art world, the paradoxical colorless racial bias embedded in the civil sphere creates its exceptionalism. The ideology that Sweden is a progressive and inclusive nation with a strong commitment to diversity and equality, is in a tension of being a form of nationalism that erases the country’s colonial past and reinforces normative whiteness (Ahmed, 2007; Hübinette and Lundström, 2014; Lund and Voyer, 2019; Mostyn, 2019). Exceptionalism thus poses challenges for achieving inclusion and diversity in the Swedish art world. The paper finds that this is particularly evident in higher art education institutions in Sweden, with students from immigrant backgrounds being severely underrepresented (Annerborn and Dominguez, 2015). Brown Island’s proposal regarding Vita havet’s name change and its debate surrounding the matter highlights the issue of Swedish art world exceptionalism in higher education institutions and reveals the challenge for the incorporation of subordinate groups into Sweden’s civil sphere (Alexander, 2008). This struggle is further understood through various reports highlighting the structural inequalities and lack of inclusivity within the Swedish art world. Additionally, the paper discusses how cultural wealth is mostly accessible to those who have the financial means to acquire it (Bourdieu, 1977). Thus, the assumption of a homogenous audience and lack of diversity goals in Swedish art institutions reinforces dominant cultural values and norms, perpetuating inequalities and concealing the privileged position of ethnic Swedes (Lund and Voyer, 2019). 

Lastly, possible ways to resolve the complex inequalities are addressed. For instance, strategic separatism and local-focused approaches have been used in practices by MFK (Malmö Fria Kvinnouniversitet), Tensta Konsthall, and Botkryka Konsthall. Education can also promote diversity and accessibility in the Swedish art world by providing preparatory art education programs. In addition, it is important to keep in mind that success of civil repair ultimately depends on the political power and bureaucratic organization of the state. Governmental decisions and changes in policies that could create barriers like charging admission fees could reinforce cultural reproduction of the core group. 

To conclude, the paper highlights some of the complexities in the Swedish civil sphere focusing on the art world. Using Civil Sphere Theory as a lens, this paper looks into issues of exclusion and struggles for civil repair in the Swedish civil sphere, which can be disheartening. However, Civil Sphere Theory also provides an opportunity to recognize the crucial role of solidarity in achieving greater inclusion and diversity in the Swedish art world. As it stands, art is not accessible to everyone, but a more accessible and welcoming Swedish art world certainly could be created; one that provides opportunities for all individuals to appreciate and engage with the arts. 

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Yul Cho
Yul Cho (b.1997, Seoul) is a Stockholm-based curator whose work involves exploring issues of representation within the geopolitical context through curatorial practice and research, drawing insights from artistic, sociological, and historical studies. Cho holds a master’s degree in Curating Art at Stockholm University. Currently, she is co-curating the thematic exhibition for the 17th Busan International Video Art Festival. Cho’s recent projects include close-enough’s inaugural project and the publication How to Navigate Art Institutions, as well as the visual concert “How to Draw a Voice” at Stockholm University, which was part of the exhibition “Big Water” at Accelerator, co-curated with Victoria McCarthy.

close-enough
close-enough is a curatorial initiative co-founded by Ifra Shariq and Yul Cho during their MA studies in Curating Art at Stockholm University. Born out of shared frustrations with the Swedish art world, their aim is to bridge the gap between art institutions and underrepresented communities. The name close-enough signifies the often observed distance between art institutions and their audiences, alluding to the notion of an invisible line that people hesitate to cross for fear of being too close or touching the art. With a focus on genuine inclusivity, they strive to make art more accessible and engaging for a broader audience.

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Laus and I spent a lot of time trying to find a place that would help us navigate Stockholm's art scene. We were looking for platforms that we knew from Denmark. The things we found were interesting initiatives, but some had closed down a couple of years prior, and some only had information from the bigger institutions but lacked information about the artist-run scene. We wanted a full overview, and since it did not exist, we decided to make it ourselves.

Luckily, Laus met Ali not long after. This was also the day he discovered his lactose intolerance but that’s just a side note. He immediately showed interest in becoming a part of the project, and we had our initial meetings in October 2021. Hard work, beers, laughs, online meetings due to Covid-19, and endless group chats led us to our first website launch, which took place at Reimersholme Hotel in March 2022. We were so happy to see so many friends, artists, and people from the art scene who came and celebrated with us. This only made us more excited about working together with the platform.

After our launch, we started working more systematically. Ali was fixing and upgrading the website, while Laus and I divided the responsibility for the website and Instagram into weeks. Things were running smoothly. Our friend and peer, Jeanette Gunnarsson, joined our group and provided crucial help and advice for our Instagram. We would still have biweekly meetings with beer and dreams of what the platform could look like in the future while balancing full-time jobs and studies, art projects, love affairs, and the things that occur in life.

I must admit, it was and still is a lot of work. Instagram is a very narrow platform that does not allow for changes or mistakes. The algorithm is definitely not in our favor since it often prioritizes images of people, and we only post art projects. A couple of shadow bans also happened when we posted paintings or sculptures that had some sort of nudity. But we kept up the spirit and were constantly encouraged by our followers and people in the art scene. We would go to a lot of openings to meet people, and most people welcomed us with open arms, thanking us for the work and for filling the gap. "I check Seaslug every week to see what not to miss" is a sentence we often hear.

Time passed, and at the beginning of 2023, Laus and I chose to make Seaslug Art Guide our curatorial project through our education. This decision gave us a budget, which allowed us to remake the website and reflect and invest in how the platform could look in the future. We wanted to keep the platform non-hierarchical and also liked the freedom of being independent. Fanny Bylund joined the group and has been invaluable with advice on how the website should function, and our communication as well. We love that Seaslug Art Guide is a collective practice. 

In March 2023, we arranged a physical gallery tour when all the galleries around Hudiksvallsgatan had openings. We met in front of ODEM Atelier, where we waited outside the gates for people to meet with us. We had 6 people join the tour. Navigating the different galleries together with people from both within and outside the art world was a super valuable experience for us—by physically being in the art space as a group and through multiple conversations, we were confronted with the many social codes that exist in the art world but can be hard to disseminate.

If you are reading this, it means that you have found our newest addition to Seaslug Art Guide: our blog. The blog idea came after many conversations about us as an art guide. We want to create a platform that deals with different aspects of navigating Stockholm’s art scene. Laus came up with the idea of creating a glossary that would include words, situations, and general phrasings used in the art world. I decided to write this text—a way for us to be more clear about our process. We also want to include other voices on the blog, so we decided that part of our budget would go to commission blog contributions. In the future, blog posts from different cultural workers in the field will appear. We hope that the blog will expand, and we will continue to invite practitioners to contribute. Stay tuned!

The thing that we were always excited about with Seaslug Art Guide was working collectively and meeting people. In the beginning, we kept our faces out of the platform. We did not want it to be about us but just about the art and the service we provided. However, after having worked on it for a while, we realized that including our own voices and faces in the project only generated positive response. We started introducing ourselves to people and spreading the word of the platform. We still believe that most of our followers come from word of mouth and recommendations. The relaunch of our website, the launch of the blog, and the creation of an association called for a celebration. In true Seaslug Art Guide style, we wanted to host an event. We discussed what we wished for in art events and decided to host what we sometimes miss in the Stockholm art scene: an event with drinks, friends and colleagues, performance, and a lot of dancing. We invited Aske Thiberg, Kulturprofilerna, dirtbagsandcakes, and DJ P-Drum to contribute to our party, which took place on the 9th of June 2023 at Glada Sprutan. A huge thanks to everyone who came and celebrated with us.

It is no secret that Laus moved to Malmö, I moved to Copenhagen. Ali, Fanny, and Jeanette are staying in Stockholm, but for all of us, the party was a chance to celebrate the achievements we have made with Seaslug Art Guide so far and to insist on the importance of its existence. Our dream is that it will live on, we will continue working remotely, and hopefully, we will get new members interested in continuing the work we do in Stockholm.

We owe a big thank you to our amazing supporters, friends, followers, and colleagues. We could not have done it without you.

If you are interested in contributing to our blog, please do not hesitate to contact us via email at contact@seaslug.se or slide into our DMs on Instagram.

Written by Katinka Saarnak