An Appetite for Art

It was a much longer bus ride than I had expected.  I was not even sure where I was supposed to get off and was loathe to give away my identity as a tourist and ask for directions.

I stared out the window and felt invigorated by the electric energy of the city on a Saturday morning.  The streets were busy with buyers, buskers and beggars.  The homesickness that had been weighing on my heart lifted temporarily as I felt a part of the city.  I was a resident of one of Scandinavia’s largest cities and that was something exciting and enlivening when I considered it.

The Scream

The bus was now twisting its way through the national park in the middle of the city. Here the dawning of spring was making itself evident and much of the snow had melted already. Although the grass was still a dullish brown, crisp green shoots and even small, delicate flowers were introducing colour into the landscape which for so long had been only seamless white.

The Turkish tourist next to me mistook me for a local and asked if I knew where his stop was.  Surprisingly I did, and I felt a strange joy for having helped someone and having had contact with a stranger.  In the isolated lives of Stockholmers it was not common to be spoken to by your fellow passengers or to be asked for help. I dearly missed the interaction between citizens which was so common in my home country. I realized that I ought not assimilate to the coldness of this culture but rather reach out to the many other foreigners and even locals who might also be seeking friendship.

The Sick Child

We finally reached the bus stop for the Art Gallery and I climbed out with the crowd of art enthusiasts.  Together we walked up the small hill to the grand art gallery which had been the former residence of a well-to-do family.  The large garden was dotted with nude statues mottled green with age and I stood a while in silence appreciating the stillness of nature and the view of the river.

Inside, the old house was buzzing with activity.  I hung up my jacket, and paying for my ticket, proceeded up the old staircase to where the main exhibit was on display.  I was unacquainted with the artist, Edvard Munch, but slowly began to realize that he must in fact be rather famous because of the large number of admirers.  His artwork also had that quality of great art which commands respect and I felt that I needed to give each artwork the appreciation it deserved.   I followed the numbering and names of each art work from a sheet provided and made notes of which art works I liked best.

Four Girls in Argardstrand

In a separate room, guarded by a prim curator, were some of Munch’s largest paintings.  My first reaction to his artwork was not one of particular appreciation; the colours were too bright and the faces of his subjects too large and almost harsh. However, the more I gazed at the colours and techniques used, a strange delight filled me.  The more I looked, the more I saw.  I could read so many stories into each scene and an appreciation for the artwork in itself began to grow in me.  It was a wonderful sensation, something that I had not felt before.  Suddenly I understood art, its importance and necessity for society.  I felt myself being enriched simply looking at the expression of another person’s feelings and interpretations of the world.

Girls on a Bridge

Unexpectedly I had developed a need to see more artwork; to gaze at other lines, shapes, forms and textures, just to satisfy my new found appetite.  This was a new and strange sensation; one that I knew could be filled in the richness and tradition of this place. I felt hopeful about my temporary home knowing that I could be enriched in this foreign land and go back to my own country with something to share.

Images courtesy of http://www.artcyclopedia.com/artists/munch_edvard.html