Jacob Jordaens - Statens Museum for Kunst

smk artJOUrNaL
statens museum for kunst 2010-2011
copenhagen

smk artJOUrNaL 2010-2011
Artiklerne er fagfællebedømt | The articles are peer-reviewed
Redaktion | Editor: Peter Nørgaard Larsen
Forlagsredaktion | Publishing editor: Sven Bjerkhof
Billedredaktion | Picture editor: Pernille Feldt
Korrektur | Proofs: Gitte Hou Olsen
Oversættelse til engelsk | Translation into English: René Lauritsen
Grafisk tilrettelæggelse | Graphic design: Katja Bjarnov Lage
Reproduktion og tryk | Reproduction and printing:
Narayana Press, Odder
Typografi | Fonts: Katerine, Trade Gothic
Papir | Paper: 150 g 2 U Silk & 270 g Invercote
© 2012 Statens Museum for Kunst, Copenhagen
ISBN 978 87 92023 60 5
ISSN 1604-9853
Forside | Front: Detalje af XXX | Detail of XXX
Bagside | Back: Detaljer af fig. 1, s. 6, fig. 2. s. 16, fig. 1, s. 36, fig. 3, s. 54, fig. 12, s. 81, fig. 1, s. 84
Details of fig. 1, p. 6, fig. 2. p. 16, fig. 1, p. 36, fig. 1, p. 54, fig. 12, p. 81, fig. 1, p. 84
Fotos | Photos:
ARoS (foto Ole Hein Pedersen) s. 57 tv., 61, 136. Clausens Kunsthandel, København s. 91, 159. Den Hirschsprungske
Samling, København s. 25 th., 113 n. Det Kongelig Bibliotek, København s. 12, 13,101, 102, 103. Faaborg
Museum s. 40, 123 ø. Fuglsang Kunstmuseum s. 57 th., 62, 137. Grafische Sammlung Kunsthaus Zürich s. 25 tv.,
113 m. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston s. 50, 127. Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek s. 44, 125. Sammlung Oskar Reinhart
“Am Römerholz”, Winterhur s. 45, 126. The J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles s. 41, 123 n. Van Gogh Museum,
Amsterdam s. 26, 42, 114, 124. Øvrige fotos: SMK-foto Jakob Skou-Hansen & Riccardo Buccarella.
Copydan XXXXX
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indhold contents
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f o r o r d
e va de l a fuente pedersen
Jacob Jordaens’ Færgebåden fra Antwerpen
Om erhvervelsen og kritikkens modtagelse
Jacob Jordaens’ The Ferry Boat to Antwerp – Concerning its acquisition and reception
h e n r i k holm
Gipskroppe som performance
Den Kongelige afstøbningssamling set i et performativitetsperspektiv
Plaster Bodies as Performance
The Royal Collection of Casts viewed from a performative perspective
m i r i a m hav e wat t s
Individ og type?
L.A. Rings I høst og Sædemanden
Individual and Type? L.A. Ring’s Harvest and The Sower
r a s m u s k j æ r b o e
Stilen i sig selv
Det klassiske, det moderne og den moderne klassicisme i tre gennembrudsskulpturer
af Svend rathsack, Johannes C. Bjerg og Einar Utzon-Frank
The Style in Itself – The classical, the modern, and Modern Classicism in three breakthrough
sculptures by Svend Rathsack, Johannes C. Bjerg, and Einar Utzon-Frank
k at h r i n e segel og ole nørrega a r d jensen
Henri Matisse Le Luxe II
Henri Matisse Le Luxe II
k a s pa r thormod
Den forladte by
En fortolkning af Palle Nielsens radérserie
The Abandoned City. A reading of Palle Nielsen’s etchings

foreword
Research is at its best when it grows and has its mettle tested in a critical setting. Sadly, many museums and universities
do not have the critical mass required to ensure that art history studies and research continue to develop and grow. This
also applies to the Statens Museum for Kunst; despite its status as Denmark’s leading museum of art it does not have
the necessary critical mass within certain areas. As funding diminishes, there is little prospect of expanding the tenured
staff. In response to this situation, the SMK strives to supplement its staff with scholars working on PhD projects and in
postdoctoral positions. It is, then, a cause for joy that the museum within the last couple of years has been able to attract
numerous PhD and postdoctoral projects addressing subjects such as Titian, Asger Jorn, Danish Graphic after World War
II, Danish Art Collectors, and Portrait Painting in the Renaissance and the Baroque. The SMK also aims to place increased
emphasis on research positions within its other core areas, i.e. conservation and education. As regards education, the
museum co-operates with a range of cultural institutions in Copenhagen on hosting a PhD project that examines the
institutions’ possibilities for playing a bigger part as democratic sources of education and general enlightenment. In terms
of conservation the SMK intends to have its focus on technical art history research accompanied by PhD projects. For
example, we expect to launch a study of artists’ practice in 17th century Denmark at some point in 2013.
Setting up research centres is another way of boosting research. With funding from the Velux Foundation and the
Villum Foundation, the SMK – together with the National Museum of Denmark and the School of Conservation at the
Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts – set up the Centre for Art Technological Studies and Conservation (CATS) in 2011.
Operating across conventional professional categories, this centre is something entirely new in the Nordic countries and
has the potential to become a major asset for research-based preservation of our cultural heritage. The museum is also
working to set up a counterpart to CATS: an art historical research centre that focuses on Danish art and international
art in Denmark. Such a centre would not be based on a single focus area; it represents our belief that the SMK’s own
research environment and the research conducted by other museums would benefit from the closer co-operation such
a centre has to offer. The museum also hopes that our focus on dissemination will give rise to the allocation of funds for
an interdisciplinary centre for research on exhibition design.
The SMK ART JOURNAL 2010-11 consists, like previous editions, of articles written by the SMK’s in-house scholars and
by external forces alike. All contributions take their point of departure in works of art with particular relevance for the
Statens Museum for Kunst. Their subject matter spans all the main collections at the museum: From the Royal Collection
of Paintings Eva de la Fuente Pedersen examines the Danish reception of Jacob Jordaens’ The Tribute Money. The Ferry
Boat from Antwerp, whereas Miriam Have Watts scrutinises issues of type versus individual in Laurits Andersen Ring’s The
Sower and Harvest. Henrik Holm takes a contemporary look at the Royal Cast Collection by applying performativity theory
to the collection’s unique field, Rasmus Kjærboe provides an account of the tension between Classicism and Modernism
in a number of important Danish sculptures, and Kaspar Thormod offers a new interpretation of Palle Nielsen’s graphic
series The Abandoned City from the Royal Collection of Prints and Drawings. Furthermore, Kathrine Segel and Ole
Nørregaard Jensen present the results of new studies and the information it has yielded on Matisse’s technique and the
genesis of one of the SMK highlights: Le Luxe II.
Peter Nørgaard Larsen
Head of Collections and Research
forord 4

forord
Forskning udvikles bedst, når den afprøves i et kritisk miljø. På mange museer og universiteter er der desværre
ikke tilstrækkelig kritisk masse til at sikre, at den kunsthistoriske forskning fortsat udvikles. Det gælder også
for Statens Museum for Kunst, der trods sin status som Danmarks hovedmuseum for billedkunst på flere
områder ikke besidder den nødvendige kritiske masse. Med faldende bevillinger er der ikke udsigt til udvidelser
i den faste forskerstab. Museet søger derfor at supplere bemandingen med forskere i ph.d.-projekter og post.
doc.-stillinger. Det er derfor glædeligt, at SMK i de sidste par år har kunnet tiltrække flere nye ph.d.- og post.
doc.-projekter med emner som Tizian, Asger Jorn, Dansk grafik efter 2. verdenskrig, Danske privatsamlere
samt Renæssancens og barokkens portrætmaleri. Inden for de andre kerneområder, bevaring og formidling,
er det ligeledes ambitionen at udvikle fagligheden gennem øget fokus på forskeruddannelse. På formidlingsområdet
er SMK i samarbejde med en række københavnske kulturinstitutioner blevet vært for en ph.d., der
undersøger institutionernes muligheder for at spille en stærkere rolle som demokratiske dannelsesinstitutioner.
På bevaringsområdet er det tanken, at museets satsning på forskning i teknisk kunsthistorie skal ledsages af
ph.d.-projekter. En undersøgelse af kunstnernes arbejdsmetoder i 1600-tallets Danmark forventes således
igangsat i 2013.
Etableringen af forskningscentre er en anden vej til øget forskning. Med støtte fra Velux Fonden og Villum
Fonden har SMK i 2011 i samarbejde med Nationalmuseet og Kunstakademiets Konservatorskole etableret
det kunstteknologiske center CATS (Centre for Art Technological Studies and Conservation). Ved at operere på
tværs af de gængse fagdiscipliner er centret en nyskabelse i Norden og har potentiale til at blive et stort aktiv
for den forskningsbaserede bevaring af kulturarven. Som pendant til CATS arbejder museet på at etablere et
kunsthistorisk forskningscenter med fokus på dansk kunst og international kunst i Danmark. Ikke baseret på
et enkelt indsatsområde men fordi vi tror på, at SMK’s eget forskningsmiljø og andre museers forskning vil
have gavn af det tættere samarbejde, som et sådan center kan tilbyde. Desuden håber museet i nærmeste
fremtid, at de senere års satsning på formidling vil resultere i allokeringen af et tværfagligt center for forskning
i udstillingsdesign.
SMK ART JOURNAL 2010-11 består som tidligere årgange af artikler skrevet af såvel interne som eksterne
forskere. Men de er alle fælles om at tage afsæt i kunstværker, der har særlig relevans for SMK. I spændvidden
favner de museets store samlinger: I malerisamlingen undersøger Eva de la Fuente Petersen den danske
reception af Jacob Jordaens’ Færgebåden fra Antwerpen, mens Miriam Have Watts nærlæser type-individproblematikken
i Laurits Andersen Rings Sædemanden og I høst. Henrik Holm aktualiserer Afstøbningssamlingen
gennem en performativitetsteoretisk analyse af samlingens særlige genstandsfelt, Rasmus Kjærboe redegør for
spændingsforholdet mellem klassicismen og modernismen i en række betydningsfulde danske skulpturer, og
Kaspar Thormod giver en nytolkning af Palle Nielsens grafiske serie Den forladte by fra Kobberstiksamlingen.
Desuden præsenterer Kathrine Segel og Ole Nørregaard Jensen ny viden om Matisses maleteknik og tilblivelsen
af et af museets absolutte hovedværker, Le Luxe II.
Peter Nørgaard Larsen
Samlings- og forskningschef
5 forord

eva de la fuente pedersen 6

I efteråret 2008 viste Statens Museum for Kunst en fo-
kusudstilling om den flamske barokmaler Jacob Jordaens’
(1593-1678) monumentale maleri ”Tempelskatten”.
Peter finder mønten i fiskens gab også kaldet Færgebåden
fra Antwerpen [fig. 1]. Med udstillingen, som blev
produceret i samarbejde med Bonnefantenmuseum i
Maastricht, fejredes afslutningen på en restaurering, som
startede den 18. september 2007 i et åbent værksted i
en af museets udstillingssale. 1 Udstillingen udgør endnu
en knopskydning på maleriets brogede receptionshisto-
rie. 2 Færgebåden fra Antwerpen var første gang udstillet
i 1905 på en monografisk udstilling i Antwerpen. 3 Det
blev udlånt af den daværende ejer, den svenske godsejer
Axel Ekmann, og fragtet den lange vej til Antwerpen fra
Stockholm, hvortil det var kommet i foråret 1758 fra
Amsterdam. 4 Anden gang Færgebåden fra Antwerpen blev
udlånt, denne gang som et hovedværk fra Statens Museum
for Kunsts samlinger, var i 1930 til en stort anlagt udstil-
ling i Bruxelles i anledningen af 100-året for Belgiens
uafhængighedserklæring. 5 I anmeldelsen af udstillingen
fra 1930 sammenligner kritikeren A.H. Cohen Jordaens
med Van Dyck: ”Ligefrem voldsom og brutal, men også
imponerende i den brede og dristige udfoldelse af sin pa-
let, fremtræder netop i dette naboskab Jacob Jordaens.“
Max Rooses havde med sin biografi (1906 fransk,
1908 tysk version) gjort sit til at rehabilitere Jordaens
i den kunsthistoriske kanon. Max Rooses, direktør for
Plantin Moretus Museet i Antwerpen, gav et par linjer
7 eva de la fuente pedersen
Jacob Jordaens’
Færgebåden fra
Antwerpen
Om erhvervelsen og kritikkens modtagelse
e va de l a fuente pedersen
”Ak, havde Jordaens bare ventet med at gifte sig til han havde været i Italien.”
Francis Beckett i Illustreret Tidende 1913
inde i forordet følgende karakteristik af Jordaens som
maler: ”Jordaens, folkets og borgerskabets maler, den,
der kraftfuldt, glimrende, forherliger sansernes nydelse.”
Rooses sammenligner Jordaens med de to andre store
skikkelser i den flamske barok, Peter Paul Rubens og
Anton Van Dyck. Førstnævnte karakteriseres som helte-
maleren, som kunne alt og formåede alt; sidstnævnte
som den digteriske, den forædlende og forføreriske.
I nærværende tekst rettes blikket mod erhvervelsen
og den danske reception af Jordaens’ maleri Færgebåden
fra Antwerpen: Hvilke briller er maleriet blevet set med
gennem tiden? Hvilket skønhedsbegreb har farvet øjnene,
der så? Hvilke normative smagsdomme har gjort sig
gældende? Hvordan lod det sig gøre at erhverve et hoved-
værk fra den flamske barok så sent som i 1912? Meget
af maleriets udenlandske receptionshistorie er allerede
behandlet. 6 For at se den danske receptionshistorie i et
større perspektiv vil indledningen handle om Jordaens’
første biograf, Joachim von Sandrart, som alle senere
biografier bygger på.
Den tyske maler og kritiker Joachim von Sandrart
(1606-88) [fig. 2] har skrevet den eneste samtidige
kilde til Jordaens’ oeuvre. Det kan være relevant at pla-
cere Sandrart i sin samtid for at forstå hans reception
af Jordaens’ maleri. Sandrart stod nemlig ikke for det
akademiske skønhedsbegreb, som senere dannede norm.
Også i sin samtid stod Sandrarts æstetik i opposition
(Fig. 1) Detalje af
Jacob Jordaens
Færgebåden fra
antwerpen ca. 1623
the Ferry Boat to
antwerp
Olie på lærred
281 x 468 cm
Statens Museum
for Kunst

eva de la fuente pedersen 8

9 eva de la fuente pedersen

til den klassicerende tendens, som fandt sted syd for
Alperne med Giovanni-Paolo Lomazzo (1538-1600)
og brødrene Taddeo Zuccaro (1529-66) og Federico
Zuccari (1540/42-1609) som eksponenter. 7 Ligesom det
er tilfældet med Jordaens’ forløb Sandrarts formative
år inden for et nordeuropæisk miljø, hvor antikken og
højrenæssancen nok var præsent som en del af en uund-
værlig visuel bank, men ikke eneste eller altdominerende
normsætter.
Sandrart blev født i Frankfurt am Main, hvortil
familien var kommet som calvinistiske flygtninge fra
Wallonien. 8 Som ung studerede han i Prag og siden i
Utrecht, hvor han i 1627 sluttede sig til Rubens, som
var på rundrejse i Holland. Herefter rejste han til England
med Gerrit van Honthorst, som han havde været i lære hos
i Utrecht. Efter en række år i Italien bosatte han og hans
familie sig 1637-45 i Amsterdam, hvor han blev del af det
humanistiske litterære miljø, som også Jordaens var det.
Det er i Sandrarts traktat, Teutsche Academie der
Edlen Bau- Bild- und Malerei-Künste, at Færgebåden fra
Antwerpen beskrives kort. 9 Første bind udkom i 1675 og
indeholder teoretisk stof som for eksempel proportione-
ring af den menneskelige krop, om affekterne, regler for
historiemaleriet, om hvordan lyset skal være i atelieret,
om hvordan man maler draperi, om farver, om perspek-
tivkunsten etc. Andet bind udkom i 1679 og indeholder
en lang række biografier over kunstnere fra hele Europa,
hvoraf Jordaens’ er en del længere end mange andre
kunstneres. Mange af kunstnerne havde Sandrart selv
mødt og talt med på sine mange rejser.
Sandrarts æstetiske målestok er farvet af hans sam-
tids nordeuropæiske barokkunst. 10 Hans skønhedsbegreb
vægter således naturstudiet og det naturtro frem for
antikken, farven frem for linje og komposition. Højest
i Sandrarts mål for det fuldkomne maleri er således, at
farven er natursand, at den skaber atmosfærisk rum
gennem graduering af kulørernes mætningsgrad, og at
den skaber illusion af form i figurerne (relief), ved at
lys og skygge males som farver (og ikke ved at lokal-
farven skygges med sort og lysnes med hvid). Det er
denne manieristiske farveteori, som Sandrart hylder i
sine teoretiske udredninger såvel som i kunstnerbiogra-
fierne. For kompositionen gælder, at tegnede forstudier
er forudsætning og fundament. Kompositionsstudier og
udkast skal sikre harmoniske grupperinger af figurerne og
rationelle overgange mellem grupperne. Med vores nye
viden om Jordaens’ kreative udvikling af Færgebådens
komposition, hvortil en malet kompositionsskitse såvel
som malede olieskitser af hoveder knytter sig, kan vi
konstatere, at Sandrart baserede sine anvisninger på
gældende praksis. 11
Efter ordlyden i Teutsche Academie må man tro, at
Sandrart mødte Jordaens i Antwerpen i 1671: ”Han lever
stadig i stor velstand i Antorf som 78-årig.” Sandrart
beskriver den gamle Jordaens som en agtet mand, der
havde samlet sig store rigdomme, altid glad, venlig og
fuld af kærlighed og imødekommenhed. Det er tydeligt,
at Sandrarts skønhedsbegreb matcher Jordaens’ maleri:
”Med sin store mesterlige pensel malede han gejstlige
og verdslige historier, poesier (Poësien) og alle mulige
dagligdags begivenheder, i legemsstørrelse mest efter
levende model med en meget stærkt ophøjet naturlig
kolorit og så god malemanér, at han ikke viger pladsen
for selv de mest berømte mestre.” Færgebåden beskriver
Sandrart i direkte forlængelse af et legemsstort maleri
med overflødighedshornet, som vistnok er Pomona: 12
”I legemsstørrelse malede han også, hvordan satyrer
holder og bærer overflødighedshornet, hvilket De tre
gratier selv fylder med alle slags gode frugter, grønsager,
druer og andet. Dennes velforstandige billeder er mere
forunderlige end almindeligvis; således har han i en
lang sals længde og enestående godt malet den store
færgebåd til Antwerpen, i hvilken ses alle slags dyr og
alle mulige forskellige mennesker, som hver arbejder
efter deres kald”. 13
Når Sandrart skriver, at Jordaens malede meget
hurtigt, kan det være et resultat af, at Sandrart krydrer
sin biografi med et yndet topos, som renæssancen
og barokkens kunstkritik havde arvet fra antikken. En
anekdote hos Plinius fortæller, at maleren Pausias skulle
have malet et billede af en dreng på én dag og kaldt det
et ”hemerésios” (étdagsbillede). 14
Sandrarts beundring for sin 15 år ældre flamske kollega
er ikke kun tom panegyrik. Et håndgribeligt vidnesbyrd
er Sandrarts eget maleri Februar, hvor den tykke kok,
der personificerer måneden, tydeligvis er inspireret af
Jordaens’ maleri med en herre på Louvre museet. 15
Georg Brandes (1842-1927) [fig. 3] må være den første
danske kritiker, der har forholdt sig til Jordaens’ værk.
I sine rejsememoirer fra 1868 skriver han: ”Også for
Rubens er Livet Kraft […] Livet er i kødet, er kødets
blomstrende kraft, og kødets sundhed og yppighed er
livets glæde. Men denne dyriske livsfylde er ikke hvilende
og nydes ikke i yppig ro; blodet strømmer rask gennem
årerne, alle organer virker og bevæges uden rast; den
hele kolossale menneskelige maskine er sat i mægtig
svingning […] Hans elever har omformet den (stilen) dels
eva de la fuente pedersen 10

11 eva de la fuente pedersen
(Fig. 2) Jacob von Sandrart:
Portræt af Joachim von
Sandrart (1606-88)
efter malet selvportræt
Portrait of Joachim
von Sandrart
Kobberstik, 333 x 227 mm
Statens Museum
for Kunst

(Fig 3) Portrætfoto af
Georg Brandes (1842-1927)
Photographic portrait
of Gerog Brandes
Det Kongelige Bibliotek,
København
(Fig 4) Portrætfoto af
Karl Madsen (1855-1938)
og hustruen thora Madsen
(1858-1929)
Photographic portrait of
Karl Madsen and his wife,
thora Madsen
Det Kongelige Bibliotek,
København
i retning af det skønne, dels i retning af det drøjt-joviale;
Van Dyck bringer Rubens ind under skønhedens lov og
elegancens begrænsning, Jordaens er Rubens, bragt ind
under kødelighedens og drøjhedens overdrivelse.” 16 Da
Cohen skrev om udstillingen i 1930, var kritikken ikke
kommet meget videre end til sådan en simpel værdidom.
Myten om Jordaens’ sanselige og usmykkede realisme
skulle leve længe.
Den danske reception fortsatte med erhvervelsen af
Færgebåden, da Karl Madsen (1855-1938) [fig. 4] som
nyudnævnt direktør for Statens Museum for Kunst købte
Jordaens’ maleri af en svensk privatsamler. I en artikel
i tidsskriftet Tilskueren skriver Karl Madsen: ”Han led
ikke som den højtdannede Rubens af dårlig samvittighed
over at have fjernet sig fra Antikkens anvisning af de rette
mål”. 17 I samme åndedræt karakteriserer Karl Madsen
Jordaens i følgende vendinger: ”Han elskede det sunde,
det blodrige og saftfulde, det rigt og yppigt svulmende,
elskede det med en varme, en fyrrighed, en glødende
begejstring, som gjorde den grove realist, der foretrak det
plumpt naturlige, til lyriker, til virkelig poet. Han digtede
hymner til glæden.”
I Illustreret Tidende (1913) skriver Francis Beckett
(1868-1943) [fig. 5] en artikel om nyerhvervelsen, hvor
han indleder med et suk over, at Jordaens giftede sig
så tidligt: ”Ak, havde Jordaens bare ventet med at gifte
sig til han havde været i Italien. 18 Han havde da sikkert
kunnet tilegne sig den sans for sammenhæng i en figur,
for bevægelsen, for formen, der savnes i dette billede.
Men måske havde han i så fald tilsat den djærvhed og
friskhed, det saftige lune og den voldsomme kødelige
kraft […].” I modsætningen til Sandrart er Becketts,
Madsens og Brandes’ kritik farvet af 1800-tallets
normative kanonisering af den italienske højrenæssance,
en kanon, som bæres langt op i 1900-tallets kritik.
Kritikken af Jordaens’ maleri som antiklassisk og brutal
realisme gives ud fra dette æstetiske barometer.
Georg Brandes bruger begrebet ”det skønne” om Van
Dycks stil som modsætning til Jordaens’ maleri. Georg
Brandes’ nære ven, kunsthistorikeren Julius Lange (1838-
96) [fig. 6], kunne ikke drømme om at beskæftige sig
med en maler, der var så langt fra det klassiske ideal som
denne flamske barokmaler. 19 I sine skrifter fokuserede
Lange på den danske nyklassicisme, antikken (Fidias)
og italiensk renæssance. Ligesom Brandes skrev han en
monografi om Michelangelo. Julius Lange, Karl Madsen
og det danske kritikermiljø var i deres domme og blik
på kunsten farvet af en tysk fagtradition, der udgik fra
Johann Joachim Winckelmann (1717-68). Normsættende
var Winckelmanns hovedværk Geschichte der Kunst des
Alterthums, som udkom i Dresden i 1764 og i en revideret
posthum udgave i Wien 1776. Som noget nyt fokuserede
Winckelmann på en kunsthistorie med et kulturhistorisk
og ikke et biografisk afsæt. Brandes’ brug af begrebet
”det skønne” er måske inspireret herfra. Winckelmann
satte med et lån fra Plinius’ naturhistorie antikkens
kunst ind i en lineær udviklingsmetafor, som bestod af
fire faser: en arkaisk, en høj (det sublime), en skøn og
en imitativ (romerske plagiater). 20 For en connaisseur
som Bernard Berenson (1865-1959) var barokken ikke
noget, man beskæftigede sig med. 21 I den internationale
kunsthistorie var det først med østrigeren Alois Riegls
(1858-1905) værk om det hollandske gruppeportræt, at
1600-tallets maleri blev inddraget i den kunsthistoriske
kanon. 22 Herefter fulgte den schweiziske kunsthistoriker
Heinrich Wölfflin (1864-1945) med en teori om, at
eva de la fuente pedersen 12

kunsten følger en lovbundet cyklisk veksling mellem et
klassisk og et barokt formudtryk. Ligesom Riegls var
Wölfflins tilgang renset for æstetiske værdidomme.
Købet af Færgebåden fra Antwerpen vakte jubel i
den københavnske presse, da maleriet endelig efter
en tiltrængt rensning kom op at hænge i den såkaldte
Rembrandt-sal i museet i Sølvgade. 23 I Sverige var man
knap så begejstret. Nabolandets ærgrelser blev ikke
mindre af, at Tizians ungdomsportræt af hans svigerfar
Giovanni Bellini kort forinden var blevet erhvervet af
Glyptoteket fra den svenske greve Gustaf Trolle-Bonde.
Siden 1828 havde Tizians maleri været del af samlin-
gerne på herregården Säfstaholm. Gennem kunsthandler
M. Marcus i København blev det solgt til Glyptoteket,
som siden deponerede det på Statens Museum for Kunst.
Den 11. december 1912 og dagene derefter kunne
man i de svenske aviser læse artikler med overskrifter,
der taler deres eget sprog, Svenska Dagbladet: ”Endnu
et klassisk kunstklenodie ud af landet” (11/12 1912),
Dagens Nyheter: ”Atter et stor kunstværk ud af landet”,
Søderkøpings Posten: ”Dyrebart svensk kunstværk solgt
til Danmark” og i Göteborgs Handels Tidning indleder Axel
L. Romdahl en harmdirrende artikel under overskriften
”Kunstudvandring” med følgende salve: ”Säfstaholms
Tizian, Finspongs Jordaens – to af de mest berømte og
kostbare kunstklenodier i svensk privateje – passerer
inden for et halvt år grænsen på vej til københavnske gallerier”.
Romdahl kritiserer de private ejere for at afhænde
hovedværker til højestbydende uanset social stilling og
forpligtelse (sic!). I Nya Dagligt Allehanda lyder overskriften:
”Kunsteksporten til Danmark”. Her kommer det
svenske nationalmuseums inspektør, Dr. Looström, under
forhør. Journalisten vil have hans mening. Inspektøren
13 eva de la fuente pedersen
sender behændigt den varme kartoffel videre til museets
venneforening, som havde påtaget sig at forhandle med
Axel Ekman om en mulig erhvervelse af Jordaens’ maleri.
Dr. Looström beklager over for journalisten, at værket nu
går til udlandet, men fastholder, at det danske museum
da også har fået lov til at betale dyrt.
I en artikel i Dagens Nyheter den 12. december
1912 lyder overskriften: ”Finspongtavlen som solgtes
til Danmark. Hr. Axel Ekmans forsvar for salget”. Her
får godsejeren ordet og tager til genmæle efter den
foregående dags hetz. I artiklen fortæller Ekman, at han
for flere år siden flyttede fra herregården Finspong til
den nærliggende mindre Mogård, hvor der ikke var plads
til det store maleri. Siden blev maleriet udlånt til en stor
Jordaens-udstilling i Antwerpen i 1905, hvorfra i øvrigt
Karl Madsen kendte det. Herefter deponerede Ekman
værket på Fria Konsternas Akademi i Stockholm, hvor
det endnu hang i 1912. Artiklen konkluderer, at under de
omstændigheder var det kun naturligt, at Ekman ønskede
at sælge maleriet.
Samme dag bringer Stockholms Dagblad også et
interview med Axel Ekman. Den lyder unægtelig lidt anderledes
end Dr. Looströms. Ekman forklarer, at han to år
tidligere havde tilbudt Færgebåden til inspektøren på det
svenske museum. Denne havde meddelt, at maleriet ikke
havde interesse. I sommeren 1912 havde Axel Ekman
indledt forhandlinger med det svenske museums venneforening,
da kræfter her var af en anden mening end
inspektøren. Ekman tilbød venneforeningen at erhverve
maleriet for 45.000 kr. Da venneforeningen ikke kunne
gå højere end 35.000 kr. så Ekman sig nødsaget til at
søge efter en udenlandsk køber. Til hans store overraskelse
vendte venneforeningen tilbage den 7. november
(Fig 5) Portrætfoto af
Francis Beckett (1868-1943)
Photographic portrait of
Francis Beckett
Det Kongelige Bibliotek,
København
(Fig 6) Portrætfoto af
Julius Lange (1838-96)
Photographic portrait of
Julius Lange
Det Kongelige Bibliotek,
København
(Fig 7) Portrætfoto af
Nicolaus Lützhøft (1864-1928)
Photographic portrait of
Nicolaus Lützhøft
Det Kongelige Bibliotek,
København

med besked om, at de nu havde samlet 43.000 kr. til
erhvervelsen. Ekman forklarede, at han var forpligtet af
de forhandlinger, han i mellemtiden havde indledt med
det danske museum, som han havde tilbudt maleriet til
en pris, der var en tredjedel højere end de 45.000.
Mediestormen bragte kun den halve sandhed.
Axel Ekman havde helst set, at maleriet var endt på
Nationalmuseum i Stockholm. I stedet endte det med,
at tre potentielle købere var i spil på én gang. Det var
lige præcis den situation, som Ekman havde frygtet. Ud
over de to nationalgallerier var der en tredje udenlandsk
samler, hvis bud Ekman følte sig forpligtet til at afvente,
inden han kunne melde endeligt ud til de to museer.
I sine breve til Karl Madsen bad han om fuld fortrolighed,
indtil handelen var faldet helt på plads. Han var
klar over, hvilken mediestorm et salg ud af Sverige ville
medføre. Umiddelbart efter, at det svenske museums
venneforening havde meddelt, at man kun kunne og ville
give 35.000 kr. for Færgebåden, havde Ekman tilbudt
”en samler fra kontinentet” maleriet for 60.000 kr. Af
senere breve til Karl Madsen fremgår, at det var Max J.
Friedländer, den store kender af flamsk kunst. Friedländer
var på dette tidspunkt på kunstmuseet i Berlin.
Gennem brevene i Statens Museum for Kunsts brevarkiv
er det muligt at følge forløbet dag for dag. Axel
Ekmans første skriftlige henvendelse til Karl Madsen er
dateret 31. oktober 1912. To måneder senere, på årets
sidste dag, var den anden og sidste halvrate på 29.000
kr. tikket ind på Ekmans konto i Skandinaviska Kredit
Aktiebolaget i Norrköping.
Helt op til den 17. november 1912 havde Max J.
Friedländer forkøbsret. Først da han havde meldt fra, var
der fri bane for Karl Madsen. Den 27. november skriver
Ekman til Karl Madsen, at han inden den 1. december
vil have en klar udmelding, om hvorvidt den unge museumsdirektør
vil være i stand til at skaffe pengene. Ekman
måtte jo snarest muligt meddele det svenske museums
venneforening, om han ville afhænde maleriet til de
43.000 kr., som de havde været i stand til at samle. I et
telegram til Ekman dateret 29. november meddeler Karl
Madsen: ”Gunstigt resultat forventes. Håber at komme
om en uge.” I et brev dateret den 7. december skriver
han konfirmerende, at de fornødne pengemidler nu er til
disposition.
På den anden side af Sundet var alle journalisterne
selvsagt begejstrede. Nyerhvervelsen blev først præsenteret
for publikum omkring den 11. februar, efter at
konservator Rønne havde restaureret maleriet. Kritikeren
Chr. A. Been skriver, at ”al den brune sovs, der var hældt
ud over det i det øjemed, at frembringe den rette galleritone”
var blevet fjernet. Been nævner også, at ”en fod
forsvandt hist og et par hænder kom frem her” og at
”billedet ved restaureringen er blevet genfødt i sin ungdoms
strålende farvepragt”. Been beklager, at museets
”bureaukratiske traditioner” ikke tillod offentligheden at
følge med i restaureringsprocessen (!).
I Politikens kronik 11. februar 1913 Galleriets
ny Jordaens og Galleriets ny Direktør gør maleren og
kritikeren Nicolaus Lützhøft (1864-1928) [fig. 7] sig
nogle interessante overvejelser over Karl Madsens
virke. Lützhøft indleder kronikken med at fremhæve de
betydelige forøgelser af samlingen, som Karl Madsens
nye ledelsesstil havde resulteret i. Først havde han
i 1911 indledt sin tid som ny direktør med at finde
Rembrandts maleri Korsridderen gemt og glemt i et
depot på Fredensborg Slot. 24 Dernæst erhvervede han
Joakim Skovgaards store maleri Kristus i de dødes rige
og nu Jordaens’ næsten lige så kolossale maleri. Lützhøft
skriver: ”Hvert af disse kunstværker angiver en af de
retninger, i hvilke Direktøren for malerisamlingen må
have sin opmærksomhed henvendt; Han skal holde et
vågent øje med statens kunstværker, som er deponerede,
have føling med samtidskunsten og lejlighedsvist tilføre
samlingen et eller andet klassisk kunstværk fra udlandet.”
De pejlemærker gælder sådan set stadig.
En anden kritiker, som kalder sig Bro, tegner et sympatisk
billede af manden bag nyerhvervelsen: ”Karl Madsen
føler ikke blot selve kunstnerglæden over billeder. Han
føler i nok så høj grad glæde over at lade så mange som
muligt blive berigede af det.” Heri rammer Bro essensen
i den tidsånd, som gjorde erhvervelsen mulig. Det var en
tidsånd, som gennemsyrede Skønvirkebevægelsen: troen
på, at godt design og god kunst kan løfte og vende den
brede befolkning til det bedre.
Skønvirkebevægelsen var en international bevægelse,
der i England gik under navnet ”Arts and Crafts
Movement” og i Tyskland og Østrig under betegnelsen
”Jugendstil”. Fællesnævneren var tanken om, at ånden
og hånden skulle forenes i kunst, design og industri.
Den nye æstetik så kunsten som et element, der skulle
gennemstrømme hverdagen med en folkeopdragende
åndelighed. Den kreds af kunstinteresserede finansmænd,
som havde muliggjort erhvervelsen, talte mange
af Skønvirketidens største mæcener og samlere. Brygger
Carl Jacobsen var med sine 10.000 kr. den ubestridt
største bidragyder. Ingeniør J. Rump, tobaksfabrikant
Holger Hirschsprung og andre privatsamlere, som fx
landmandsbankens direktør Herman Heilbuth, var også
eva de la fuente pedersen 14

med i første række. Skønvirkekunstnernes mæcener, som
Etatsråd Bestle og enkefru Kühle, var der også. Godsejer
Johannes Hage, hvis egen samling endnu er under ét tag
på Nivaagaards Malerisamling nord for København, var
også blandt bidragyderne.
Muligvis var Jordaens’ antiklassiske stil årsag til den
svenske museumsinspektørs svigtende interesse og Max
J. Friedländers afbud. Karl Madsen havde derimod øje
for andre kvaliteter. Han så Færgebåden fra Antwerpen
som en meget vigtig komplettering af museets samling
af malerier af den flamske kunstner, en samling, som gik
1 restaureringsprojektet blev gennemført
under bevaringschef Jørgen Wadums ledelse
med støtte fra the Getty Foundation.
Udstillingen Jordaens. Et mesterværk bliver
til blev ledsaget af en bog med samme
titel (herefter Wadum & Pedersen 2008)
og indeholder artikler af troels Filtenborg,
Lars Hendrikman, Badeloch Noldus, Eva de
la Fuente Pedersen, anneflor Schlotter,
Johanneke Verhave og Jørgen Wadum,
SMK 2008.
2 termerne receptionshistorie og
receptionsæstetik forstås og defineres
her som hos Wolfgang Kemp, ”Kunstwerk
und Betrachter: Der rezeptionsästetische
ansatz”, I Kunstgeschichte. Eine Einführung,
(ed. Hans Belting o.a.) Berlin 1996, 241-258,
især 242f.
3 Henri Huymans: ”L’exposition Jordaens
á anvers”, Gazette des Beaux-Arts, 1905,
247-255; Færgebåden hævdes at være
malet til Sverige (255).
4 I foråret 1758 var maleriet blevet fragtet
fra amsterdam til De Geer familiens residens
i Sverige, Finspong Slot. I de bevarede
kilder nævnes maleriet første gang i hans
efterkommer Maria Christina de Geers
(1678-1746) testamente dateret 23. juni
1741 som ”det store maleri af Jordaens i
hall’en” (het grote stuk van Jordaens in het
voorhuis), Isabella van Eeghen: ”Het Huis
met de Hoofden”, Maandblad amstelodamum
38, 1951, 137; Badeloch Noldus i Wadum &
Pedersen 2008, 97ff.
5 a.H.Cohen: „Die ausstellung altflämischer
Kunst“, Pantheon 1930, p. XXXVIII,
429-431 og 478.
6 Badeloch Noldus i Wadum & Pedersen 2008,
97-119.
7 annette Nicopoulos: Die Stellung Joachim von
Sandrarts in der europäischen Kunsttheorie.
Disertation. Kiel 1976, 97.
8 Christian Klemm: Joachim von Sandrart.
Kunstwerke und Lebenslauf, Berlin 1986, 726.
9 Joachim von Sandrart: Teutsche Academie
der Edlen Bau- Bild- und Malerei-Künste’.
15 eva de la fuente pedersen
I-II, 1575-79. Facsimile udgave 1994, 2.
del, 336. Vi ved ikke med sikkerhed, hvor
Sandrart så Færgebåden. Det kan have været
på en nu ikke længere dokumenteret rejse
til antwerpen, eller det kan have været
under et ophold i amsterdam i 1628, eller i
perioden 1637 til 1645.
10 Nicopoulos 1978, 101ff.
11 Vedrørende olieskitsen: Eva de la Fuente
Pedersen, ”Jordaens’ tribute Money: an
unknown oil sketch”, i Jordaens – Genius
of Grand Scale, CISa Cultural and
Interdisciplinary Studies in art X, (red.
Birgit Ulrike Münch, Zita Ágota Pataki),
Stuttgart 2012, 95-111.
12 Statens Museum for Kunst KMSsp233, Olaf
Koester: Flemish Paintings. Statens Museum
for Kunst 2000, 145. Olaf Koester foreslår,
at Sandrart refererer til ”Pomona” i Musées
royaux des Beaux-arts de Belgique. Der er
dog også en lille mulighed for, at Sandrart
beskriver det maleri, den danske konge
bestilte hos Jordaens, og som blev leveret
i 1652 eller tidligt 1653. I Kunstkammerinventariet
1690 beskrives det ”Et stort
kunstigt stycke gjort af Jordaens om
Nymphis og Cornu-copia”.
13 ”In Lebens-Grösse mahlte er auch, wie
die Satyren die Cornucopien aufhalten
und tragen, indem die drey Gratien
selbige mit allerley schönen Früchten,
Obst, trauben, und andern, erfüllen, dern
holdselige nakende wolverstandene Bilder, in
Zeichnung, Colorit und geistreicher Manier
der Farben mehr verwunderlich als gemein
zu sehen, so hat er auch in eines langen
Saals Länge, das grosse Uberfahrt-Schiff zu
antorf ausgebildet, darinnen allerley thire
und Leute, dern jeder nach seinem Beruf
arbeitet, unvergleichlich wol vorstellet.”
Sandrart 1994, 336.
14 Eva-Bettina Krems: Der Fleck auf der Venus.
500 Künstleranekdoten von Apelles bis Picasso.
München 2003, 36.
15 Klemm 1986, 106.
16 Georg Brandes: Samlede Skrifter, bd. 11, 1902, 206.
helt tilbage til Christian IV og Frederik IIIs tid. Med købet
af Færgebåden fra Antwerpen markerede Karl Madsen
et vendepunkt i museets historie. Indtil da havde man
anset samlingen af ældre udenlandsk kunst for afslut-
tet. 25 Det var en kvantitativ og ikke altid kvalitativ arv
efter enevælden, som blev betragtet som et afsluttet
kapitel. Nyerhvervelsen gav anledningen til stiftelsen
af Dansk Kunstmuseumsforening. Foreningens første
bestyrelse fik Johannes Hage som formand, og hermed
blev startskuddet givet til mange vægtige nyerhvervelser
frem til i dag.
17 Genoptrykt i: Karl Madsen: ”Museets
forøgelser med flamske malerier fra det
17. aarhundrede”, Kunstmuseets Aarsskrift
XI-XII, 1924-25, 53-74.
18 Samling af avisudklip, Statens Museum for
Kunst, Danmarks Kunstbibliotek.
19 Om Julius Langes kunstsyn: Birger Wamberg
i Hvorfor kunst? / Lisbeth Bonde og Maria
Fabricius Hansen (red.). København 2007;
Marianne Marcussen: “the reception of
antiquity and danish art history : Julius
Lange and the representation of the human
figure in the visual arts”, i Acta Hyperborea
: Danish studies in classical archaeology.
København 1990, 229-240; Viljen til det
menneskelige: tekster omkring Julius
Lange / red. af Hanne Kolind Poulsen, Hans
Dam Christensen, Peter Nørgaard Larsen,
København 1999.
20 alex Potts: Flesh and the Ideal. Winckelmann
and the origins of art history. Yale University
2000, 67.
21 Eric Fernie: Art History and its methods.
A Critical Anthology. London 2000, 330.
22 alois riegl: Das holländische Gruppenporträt,
Prag, Wien, Leipzig 1902; Om riegl og
Heinrich Wölfflin, se: Michael Podro: The
Critical Historians of art. 1982.
23 avisudklip-arkiv, Statens Museum for Kunst.
24 Karl Madsens tilskrivning er først for nylig
blevet videnskabeligt efterprøvet med moderne
tekniske undersøgelser og kenderblik af
rembrandt-eksperter (se Statens Museum
for Kunsts udstillingskatalog Rembrandt?
Mesteren og hans værksted, 2006).
25 Om betydningen af erhvervelsen og
den efterfølgende etablering af Dansk
Kunstmuseumsforening som museets
venneforening, der fik stor betydning for
fundraising til nyerhvervelser mange år
frem i tid: Kunstmuseets Aarsskrift XLIII-L
1956-63, 9ff. Om Karl Madsens indsats for
ikke kun at erhverve dansk samtidskunst,
men også ældre europæisk kunst af høj
kvalitet, se: Villads Villadsen: Statens
Museum for Kunst 1827-1952, 1998, 172f.

Gipskroppe
som performance
”Ren performativitet forudsætter tilstedeværelsen af et
levende menneske … som taler på en måde, der på én
gang er spontan, intentionel, fri og uerstattelig.”
Jacques Derrida 1
Hvad gør performativitet?
Nogle af de grundlæggende præmisser for studie af
performativitet vil blive beskrevet her og anvendt på
Den Kongelige Afstøbningssamling. Det sker ikke blot
for teoriens skyld, men fordi teoridannelsen i denne
sammenhæng kan bidrage til en fornyet forståelse af af-
støbningernes historie og betydning, og fordi man i dette
perspektiv kan opridse konturerne af et fremtidsscenarie
for afstøbningssamlinger i det hele taget.
Hvis man spørger, hvad performativitet er, får man
ikke noget svar. Performativitet er en handling, der fører
et stemningsskifte, en ny forståelse eller en reaktion
med sig, som kan være uventet eller afviger fra, hvad
man kunne forvente, eller som svarer nøjagtig til, hvad
man kunne forvente. Performativitet handler derfor ikke
om at være noget, men om at der sker noget. Uanset
om man bevæger sig i kraft af det uventede eller i kraft
af forventningerne, sker der en bevægelse. Som citatet
ovenfor markerer, handler performativitet om, at mennesker
påvirkes af det, de oplever og i særlig grad, at
det styrer deres handlinger. Man ”performer” i forhold
til nogle forventninger, man ikke selv har sat, men som
er givne. Hvis man stopper op for at se på et kunstværk
på et museum, har værket allerede styret ens handlinger.
Selv hvis man ikke gider stoppe op, styrer værket ens
handling. Hvis du lader dig påvirke følelsesmæssigt af
17 henrik holm
Den kongelige Afstøbningssamling set
i et performativitetsperspektiv
h e n r i k holm
værket, vil det påvirke din omgang med andre mennesker
og din egen selvforståelse. Hvis værket fx optræder i
en kulturkanon eller hænger fremme på et museum, er
det med til at opbygge en nations identitet; værket er
aktiv medskaber af identiteten, og man må forholde sig
til værket og til de ideer, der ligger bag værket og værkets
placering i den officielle bevidsthed.
De første steder, man opdyrkede feltet, var i engelsktalende
lande, hvor performativitetsforskningen får
fodfæste i løbet af 1990’erne. Nu er ”performativitet”
som begreb godt på vej ind i det danske, akademiske
system, 2 og den 14. internationale kongres for medlemmerne
af ”Performance Studies International” blev
afholdt i København i august 2008. Nærværende tekst
er en version af et oplæg, afholdt på den efterfølgende
15. internationale kongres i Zagreb i juni 2009.
kunstværket som kommunikation
Fokus i performativitetsstudier er ikke lagt på studiet
af værkets egen kontekst eller på en undersøgelse af
kunstnerens intentioner. Performativitet handler i denne
forbindelse om, hvordan værker og deres historie får betragteren
i en eller anden form for bevægelse. Det er en
grundlæggende præmis for performativitetsstudiers greb
om materialet, at man ikke opfatter kunstværker som
noget, der passivt reflekterer kunstnerens intentioner
eller den verden og den tid, de er skabt i. Man opfatter
værker som selvstændige, aktivt agerende og intervenerende
objekter, der skaber en verden omkring sig. Her er
kunstværker ytringer, der gør en forskel i verden, som
forandrer den og skaber rammerne for den. Kunstværker
foranstalter hele tiden, på tværs af tid og rum, en aktiv
(Fig. 2) Den døende slave,
afstøbning erhvervet 1896,
efter original fra 1514-16
af Michelangelo Buonarroti
the Dying Slave
Statens Museum
for Kunst

kommunikation. Det kan meget vel være, at denne form
for kommunikation ikke forandrer verden grundlæggende
eller redder menneskeliv, som en ny medicin kan gøre det.
Det kan dog være, at værker faktisk forandrer verden for
den enkelte, eller for mange, i et stykke tid eller for altid.
Det er almindeligt at blive bevæget af at læse en bog, og
det er også almindeligt, at visse hændelser får karakter
af ikon for en tid med effekter langt ud over intentionen,
som fx billederne fra Abu Ghraib, der står som symbol på
USA’s mission i Irak, eller Muhammed-tegningerne, der i
visse sammenhænge er blevet synonyme med Danmarks
forhold til muslimer. Danske guldaldermalerier har i
generationer ageret som skabere af, hvad danskhed er,
og af, hvad der skal handles i forhold til, hvis man vil mar-
kere sin danskhed. Kunstværkets ageren sammenlignes
i performativitetsteorien med sprogets måde at virke på,
og det er da også af den lange tradition for at analysere
sproget som tegndannende og betydningsskabende, at de
første teorier om performativitet udspringer.
”Opfinderen” af begrebet ”performatives”, John
Langshaw Austin (1911-60), som senere udvikles til be-
grebet om performativitet, bemærker, at hans forståelse
af sproget, at ord gør noget, står i modsætning til den i
hans samtid, 1950’erne, dominerende forståelse af spro-
get som blot konstaterende, hvor sprog såvel som kunst-
værk anskues som blotte udsagn. Denne tilgang kalder
Austin ”den deskriptive fejlslutning” med direkte adresse
til frasen ”den intentionelle fejlslutning” (The Intentional
Fallacy), som angreb en udbredt tendens i vurderingen af
kunstværker, nemlig den, at betydningen af værket skulle
spores tilbage til kunstnerens intentioner. 3 For performati-
vitetsanalysen er hverken kunstnernes intention eller den
logiske positivismes beskrivelse af værket tilstrækkelig.
At udsige en sætning eller at udføre et kunstværk er at
sætte en handling i gang, det er ”doing”, en ”gøren”. Det
agerer, og derfor sker der inden for performativitetsstudier
en glidning mellem begreberne ”performance”, som det
bruges i teatersammenhæng, og ”performativitet” som
begreb i en teoretisk sammenhæng. Man analyserer fx
publikum til en udstilling eller kunstværkerne selv, som
var de aktører i et teaterstykke.
Performativitetsstudier bevæger sig ofte i tværgående
sammenhænge, hvor teater, film, litteratur, filosofi og
kunst mødes. Når vi kommer til at tale om afstøbninger af
antikke værker, kan man bemærke, at en sådan grænseoverskridende
aktivitet jo ikke er antikken fremmed, for i
antikken skelnede man overhovedet ikke mellem, om man
agerede som kunstner, filosof eller videnskabsmand. Det
hele tjente ånden, erkendelsen, indlevelsen, moralen, og
hele hensigten med at beskæftige sig med disse emner
var at opnå en renselse, en fornyelse, ved mødet med det
ekstraordinære, det ophøjede eller det skønne.
Værket som mislykket ytring
Hvis værket agerer, som også sproget kan gøre det, så
er kunstværker også udsat for de farer, sproglige ytringer
kan være udsat for. Derfor udgør studiet af, hvorledes
kommunikationen i visse sammenhænge er vellykket og i
andre helt mislykket et centralt element i en performativitetsorienteret
analyse.
Afstøbningssamlingens omskiftelige historie, hvor den
går fra at blive etableret, fordi den anses for at være
nødvendig og vellykket som kommunikation betragtet, og
så til at blive kørt bort i 1960’erne og senere genopstillet
uden for Statens Museum for Kunst i Vestindisk Pakhus,
er eksemplarisk til en sådan analyse. Eksemplarisk, fordi
man her kan følge en succesfuld ytrings forvandling fra
etableringen i slutningen af 1800-tallet til at udgøre en
temmelig mislykket ytring i løbet af det 20. århundrede.
Fremtiden for samlingen kan man også sige noget om
i forlængelse af en analyse af dens mere eller mindre vellykkede
”performance” i historien, idet man kunne gøre
samlingens turbulente historie til omdrejningspunkt for
formidlingen og invitere performere til at agere i forhold
til figurerne og til samlingens historie og nye betydninger.
At ”performe” samlingens mislykkede evne til at agere
meningsfuldt er måske den mest positive måde at forholde
sig til samlingens ”misperformance” på.
Afstøbningssamlingens performance
“Så længe vi er medfølende, oplever vi ikke os selv som
delagtige i det, der har forårsaget lidelserne. Med medfølelse
proklamerer vi såvel vores uskyld som vores afmagt.”
Susan Sontag4 Hvad ”performer” Laokoön-gruppen? [Fig. 1] Den “performer”
ikke så lidt endda. Til hver en tid og uanset
hvilken epoke man ser det værk i, er man sat ud foran
værket som betragter til andres lidelse.
Man er vidne til en grufuld scene, hvor Laokoön og
hans to sønner kvæles af kæmpeslanger. Enhver beskuer
må stå der og forholde sig til sine egne oplevelser af
lidelse og død og måske føle en bevægelse i sig, der
er sat i gang af mødet med figuren. Det er værkets
intention at vække medfølelse, og er man i stand til at
føle medlidenhed med ofrene, vil der komme en effekt
på beskueren ud af værket, en effekt, der ikke er helt
entydig, som Susan Sontag bemærker i citatet ovenfor.
henrik holm 18

Vores medfølelse garanterer en form for uskyld, for hvis
vi føler for andre, kan vi ikke uden videre forvolde smerte
og død, men vi er også ude af stand til at gøre noget ved
Laokoöns lidelser.
Skulpturgruppen ”performer” Laokoöns død, som
skuespillere ville kunne gøre det, for det er ikke Laokoön
selv, vi ser, men netop en kunstnerisk iscenesættelse,
19 henrik holm
båret frem af nogle figurer. Desuden ”performer” gruppen
i forhold til alle de kunstnere, der har været påvirket
af synet af den, som fx Michelangelo, der var vidne til,
at den blev gravet frem i 1506, og lod den oplevelse
få meget stor indflydelse på, hvorledes mange af hans
figurer agerer. I Afstøbningssamlingen er gruppen sat i
nærheden af afstøbninger efter Michelangelo, for at man
(Fig. 1) Laokoön eller
Laoköon og hans to
sønner dræbes af slanger
(Laokoön-gruppen)
afstøbning fra 1898 efter
Vatikanets original fra
ca. 100 f.Kr., der blev
fundet i rom 1506.
Figurernes arme er
(ukorrekte) rekonstruktioner
fra 1532-33.
the Laocoon Group
Statens Museum
for Kunst

visuelt skal lade sig rive med til at se, hvordan figurerne
omkring den vrider og vender sig og sammen opfører et
følelsesfuldt stykke ”teater” over menneskelig lidelse,
der peger meget tydeligt på, at figurer agerer og gør det
i relation til hinanden på tværs af tid og rum. Når der
så er tale om en afstøbning og ikke om en original, kan
gruppen nemmere flyttes for at indgå i nye konstella-
tioner, end originalen, der har sin urokkeligt faste plads
i Vatikanet, kan gøre det.
Da Laokoön også spiller en afgørende rolle for kunst-
historiens og arkæologiens fader, J. J. Winckelmann
(1717-68), kan man sige, at Laokoön også opfører disse
to fags historie. Men den form for performance kræver
selvfølgelig en viden, ud over hvad der bæres igennem af
det rent visuelle. At der står en debat fra Winckelmann
og frem, om hvorvidt Laokoön og dermed hele antikken
sukker stoisk afklaret, selv i sin sidste stund, eller skri-
ger i blind smerte og dermed markerer, at den vestlige
civilisations ikke udspringer af harmoni, men af kaos,
kræver også en vis viden, en sprogligt fremført kontekst,
der er med til at sætte lyd på den ellers tavse figur og
dermed giver den endnu mere karakter af at være en
agerende hovedrolleindehaver i det skuespil, der skaber
et grundlag for vores egen selvforståelse.
Afstøbningssamlinger som folkemassens
støbeform
”Massen er en støbeform, hvorfra enhver tilvant holdning
til kunstværker i vore dage træder ud som nyfødt.”
Walter Benjamin 5
Laokoön i gips ”performer” desuden som kopi, ikke
som original, hvilket giver mulighed for flere forskellige
”performative” konsekvenser. Den viser, at al kunst er
reproducerbar, som Walter Benjamin noterer i sin artikel
”Kunstværket i dets tekniske reproducerbarheds tidsalder”
(1936). Det originale kunstværk spillede en rolle i ritualer
og religiøse sammenhænge, men en kopi, der oven i
købet kan reproduceres mekanisk i moderne tid, bliver
for første gang i historien frigjort fra ”dets parasitære
eksistens i ritualet” skriver Benjamin. 6 Ritualet var for
de indviede, men reproduktioner er i princippet til for
alle. Man håbede også i sin tid, da gipserne blev indkøbt
til opstilling på Statens Museum for Kunst i 1896, at
gipsreproduktioner var til for alle, for de gjorde det trods
alt muligt for masserne at se antikke former, selv om de
ikke kunne rejse ud at se originalerne, der var spredt over
hele Sydeuropa. Benjamin har en interessant formulering,
der peger frem mod det punkt, vi skal hen til, når vi skal
tale om afstøbningernes performative potentiale, deres
evne til at forme betragterens opfattelse af sig selv og
sin fundering i forhold til den klassiske, europæiske civilisation.
Han skriver som citeret ovenfor, at massen er en
støbeform, hvorfra enhver tilvant holdning til kunstværker
i vore dage træder ud som nyfødt. Den koncentrerede
betragter går ind i historien bag et værk og fordyber sig,
men den adspredte masse lader derimod kunstværket
synke ned i sig efter en længerevarende og ujævnt forløbende
tilvænningsproces. For Benjamin er det filmen, der
bedst udnytter mulighederne for at forme masserne, men
afstøbningerne var opstillet kronologisk i et forløb, der var
filmisk, idet man ved at passere opstillingen fra start til
slut kom igennem hele den kunstneriske udviklingshistorie
og frem til samtiden. Så afstøbningerne skulle forme
masserne, denne åbne og modtagelige ”støbeform”, så
de i hvert fald sporadisk antog antikke former, på samme
måde som gipserne selv var blevet støbt i forme efter
originaler. Kimen til et alvorligt paradoks ligger og lurer
her, for afstøbninger efter antikke værker peger måske
direkte tilbage på den rituelle binding, som originalerne
var skabt til at foranledige, hvis de virkelig kan få et nyt
publikum til at opføre en ny tids ritualer for dannelse og
katarsis på museet, en moderne tids kultiske rum? Men
originalerne er for længst blevet fjernet fra det kultsted,
hvor de oprindeligt blev opstillet, og ført ind på museerne
og på den måde løsrevet fra det oprindelige ritual. Gipser,
der overhovedet ikke forsøger at skjule, at de ikke er
andet, er måske yderligere frigjorte fra bindingen til et
oprindeligt ritual. De er helt fritaget fra at skulle vække
samme benovelse som originalerne, og de kan netop
derfor nydes mere frit af de ’adspredte masser’ og måske
endda nydes her og nu, uden at man behøver at tænke
på originalerne og den historiske kontekst. Men så glider
de desto bedre ind i et nyt ritual, dannelsesvandringen
på museet gennem tiden og historien frem mod stadig
større frihed og endnu mere geniale påfund. Men det er
først, når man ikke behøver at løbe nøgen og beruset
rundt med tyrsosstav i hånden, at det at betragte en figur
af Dionysos kan føre til, at et andet ritual - en vellykket,
moderne dannelsesperformance - kan finde sted med
figurerne.
Ideen om masserne som en gigantisk støbeform peger
på værkerne som performative og ikke bare som passive
beholdere for viden om antikken. De skaber massens
form, der er det dannede individ, der kender sin kulturelle
baggrund og de politiske, æstetiske og etiske fordringer,
traditionen fra antikken leverer.
henrik holm 20

Hvis afstøbninger skal give masserne form, forudsætter
det, at man ved anskaffelsen og opstillingen har haft den
opfattelse, at den ”performance”, som afstøbningerne
leverede, var succesfuld. Men det nye, Benjamin peger på,
er, at det er masserne, der former kunsten og kulturen,
ikke omvendt.
Afstøbningssamlingen som en
”Whites Only”-performance
For at performancen skal være vellykket, skal en række
krav være opfyldt. For hvert af disse krav kan der ske
afvigelser, som kan føre til, at performancen mislykkes.
Men først kravene til den gode performance, som afstøb-
ningerne formodes at kunne performe tilfredsstillende i
forhold til:
Forud for indkøbet og opstillingen af figurerne skal der
være en almindeligt accepteret, konventionel proces, som
har en helt forudsigelig og på ingen måde overraskende
virkning på publikum. Det sørger selve institutionen for,
for den kræver en særlig koreografering af publikum;
museet får sit publikum til at performe, som man skal
på et museum. Formidlingen og opstillingen af værkerne
er tilrettelagt ud fra ideen om, at en bestemt virkning
skal opnås hos betragteren.
Værkernes fremstilling af den vestlige civilisation som
en uovertruffen og på alle måder vellykket udviklingshi-
storie, der viser denne civilisations naturlige overlegenhed
over for alle andre kulturers mere primitive og stillestå-
ende historie, var i 1890’erne så udbredt og selvfølgelig,
som det kun kunne lade sig gøre i de moderne imperiers
tid (ca. 1800-) og frem mod 1. Verdenskrigs afslutning,
hvor Europas store kolonimagter og fyrstedømmer brød
sammen eller måtte afgive suverænitet. Men indtil da var
en samling af helt hvide, ideelle og nøgne mandskroppe,
en række mere eller mindre afklædte kvindefigurer samt
hestestatuer ikke blot acceptabelt, men nødvendigt at
eje og fremvise. Ved museets åbning var intet mere
selvfølgeligt, end at nationen måtte have et nationalgalleri,
der viste sin respekt over for den ikke-nationale
verdenskunst med en opstilling i gipskopier. Respekten
kunne hverken anfægtes eller blive for overvældende, når
der var tale om kopier efter antikke originaler – originaler,
der oftest selv var romerske kopier efter allerede dengang
tabte, græske originaler.
I vore dage, og særligt når samlingen af helt tilfældige
grunde står opstillet i Vestindisk Pakhus, der blev opført
i 1790’ernes ”florissante tid” for at rumme frugten af at
udnytte slaver som billig arbejdskraft i plantagerne på De
21 henrik holm
Vestindiske Øer, så skærer hvidheden og idealerne bag
samlingen i øjnene i en grad, så antager et begreb, der
i nyere tid er kendt fra apartheid-tidens Sydafrika, om
at noget er ”for Whites Only”, en ny og særlig betydning
her. Afstøbningssamlingen er i min terminologi i den
grad en ”Whites Only”-samling, hvor de farvede kopier
spiller en inferiør rolle, og hvor figurer som Michelangelos
”slaver” [Fig. 2] ikke blot giver anledning til at tale om
Michelangelo, men også om dette nærmest surrealistiske,
tilfældige møde på historiens dissektionsbord mellem en
hvid gipsfigur af en slave og et rustikt pakhus. Trods
det tilfældige kommer til at understrege, hvad der er
samlingens ethos, dens helt særlige disposition, dens
unikke karakter og helt fundamentale værdier. En sådan
samlings reference til den hvide mands suverænitet vil til
hver en tid kunne true samlingens eksistensberettigelse,
(Fig. 2) Den døende slave,
afstøbning erhvervet 1896,
efter original fra
1514-16 af
Michelangelo Buonarroti
the Dying Slave
Statens Museum
for Kunst

(Fig. 3) Gipskopi af Kouros,
apollon fra tenea,
arkaisk tid, Græsk, ca. 50 B.C.
apollo from tenea
Statens Museum
for Kunst
(Fig. 4) Farvet gipskopi
efter Polykleitos: Doryphoros
(Spydbæreren), Klassisk tid,
græsk, ca. 440 B.C.
the Doryphoros
Statens Museum
for Kunst
(Fig. 5) Gipskopi af
augustus fra Prima Porta,
romersk, ca. 15 f. Kr.
augustus from Prima Porta
Statens Museum
for Kunst
hvis den bedømmes som værende alt for ”politisk ukor-
rekt”, eller også kan det ”politisk ukorrekte” komme til
igen at give ny meningsfuldhed, efterhånden som natio-
nalfølelsen bliver mere nationalistisk. Dens reference
til et europæisk fællesskab er lige så problematisk, og
samlingen kan kun finde sin styrke ved at leve dilem-
maerne åbent ud, ikke ved at negligere dem.
Afstøbningssamlingen som misperformance
Men på det tidspunkt i historien, hvor gipserne blev stillet
op, må man have haft den opfattelse, at såvel specialister
som lægmand var parate til at indoptage og udføre de
rituelle handlinger, en kronologisk opstilling af figurerne
på landets nye hovedmuseum for kunst ville føre med
sig. Alle har sikkert udført det forventede både korrekt
og fuldstændigt, så man har haft den opfattelse, at det
var en selv, der frivilligt indlod sig på det, og alle gjorde
det så perfekt som muligt til eget og til fælles bedste.
Figurerne har dermed performet, formet og skabt de
borgere, der tog turen med dem, så man i et stykke tid
kunne anse afstøbningerne for vellykkede, ”glædelige
performances”, som Austin ville kalde det. 7
Men som alle andre performative udsagn er ethvert
kunstværk udsat for, at en lykkelig performance kan be-
gynde at gå i forkerte retninger. Hvis værkerne af forskel-
lige grunde ikke længere kan passe ind i en konventionel,
moderne, rituel og alment accepteret sammenhæng, så
vil deres forsøg på at forme masserne begynde at tage
sig ud som et ”fejlskud”. 8 Det kan godt være, figurerne
og den sekvens, de er opstillet i, mumler vedvarende
om det hvide, vestlige menneskes suverænitet, men hvis
tilhørerne ikke går ind på den præmis, at det er den historie,
der skal fortælles, kan figurerne stå at tale forgæves.
Hvis man ikke længere føler positivt for antikken eller
for, at den figurative kunst skal være forudsætningen for
den nye kunst, og hvis man i øvrigt ikke længere finder,
at museet, med dets intenderede koreografering af beskuerens
gang og af beskuerens indlæring, er den måde,
man bedst udfolder sin ret til at agere og tænke frit på,
så begynder besøget i afstøbningssamlingen (eller på
henrik holm 22

museer overhovedet) at blive udhulet for værdi og positivt
potentiale. Den mister simpelthen effekt over for sit pub-
likum, der måske mere og mere af pligt end af fornøjelse
bevæger sig igennem den. Stædigt står samlingen der
og kræver sin ret og sit ritual, men færre og færre tager
imod den gave. Til sidst vil man miste fornemmelsen
for, at afstøbninger og antik kunst overhovedet spiller
nogen væsentlig rolle for ens oplevelse af den ægte vare,
og hvad der engang blev opfattet som en selvfølgelig og
lykkelig performance, vipper over til at blive en negativ
og destruktiv performance.
Det sker i løbet af 1960’erne, hvor vi kan konstatere,
at en række værker i samlingen noteres som defekte, selv
om der ingen notits er om, hvorfor skaden er sket. Det var
indtil da almindelig praksis at notere alle skader, hvis der
opstod nogen, og man anførte også helt usentimentalt,
hvis et værk var faldet ned fra sin plads og smadret. Men
efterhånden noteres en lang række værker som ”beska-
digede” med en pileformet geometri i protokollen uden
yderligere forklaring. Det betyder, at figuren kasseres og
angiveligt bliver smadret med vilje for at undgå genbrug
af delene uden for museets mure. Ved genopstillingen
af samlingen i Vestindisk Pakhus konstateres det, at
yderligere 206 værker er gået tabt, uden at der er noteret
noget som helst i protokollerne.
Dette kan kun finde sted, fordi nogen ikke længere
besidder de samme følelser over for værkerne, som dem,
der var bærende ved anskaffelsen af dem. Alt, hvad der
udgjorde elementer i Afstøbningssamlingens positive,
performative gyldighed, viste sig efterhånden som noget,
der satte samlingen under større og større pres, indtil
der kom et fuldstændigt sammenbrud i gipsernes evne
til at kommunikere effektivt, hvor det nærvær og den
anledning til samtale over for figurerne, der før var til
stede, var blevet til noget, der producerede stadig større
afstand og til sidst ikke længere befordrede nogen dialog.
Antikken afstøbt og afstødt
Der er flere årsager til, at reproducerbare gipser af
antikke monumenter mister værdi, efterhånden som
vi kommer igennem det 20. århundrede, og jeg vil nu
pege på dem, jeg finder er de væsentligste. Den vestlige
verdens selviscenesættelse af udviklingshistorien frem
mod stadig større grader af frihed og suverænitet, der
spores tilbage til civilisationens udspring i græsk kunst
fra ca. 400 før vor tidsregning, kunne følges i 3D og med
illusionen om at have overskredet alle tidens grænser,
når man vandrede gennem samlingen og bevidnede den
menneskelige krops frigørelse fra stenen fra arkaisk til
23 henrik holm
klassisk tid, lige hen over Kristi fødsel og videre gennem
det Romerske Imperiums storhed og fald og frem mod
Renæssancens genopdagelse af mennesket, hvor det
moderne menneske blev genfødt. [Fig. 3, 4, 5, 6]
Den historie voldte kunstnere med kritisk sans noget
besvær, traditionen lå som en tung byrde på deres skuldre,
og nogle prøvede at kaste den af sig, mens de samtidig
tog den til sig, som den altid kæmpende Abildgaard, der
med Den sårede Filoktet viste traditionens sande ansigt,
som han så det: en martret, skrigende krop, der ikke
(Fig. 6) David,
bronze-afstøbning efter
original i marmor af
Michelangelo Buonarroi,
Italiensk renaissance,
1501-04
David
Statens Museum
for Kunst

(Fig .7) Nicolaj abildgaard
Den sårede Filoktet 1775
Philoctetes Wounded
Statens Museum
for Kunst
kan gøre sig fri af sin skæbne uden at sprænge (billed)
rammen. [Fig. 7]
Abildgaards forsøg på oprør blev slået grundigt ned
af de kulturkonservative forkæmpere for den nationale
samling i tiden efter revolutionerne i Europa i midten
af 1800-tallet, der efter at veritabelt fadermord på
Abildgaard og hævdelse af C.W. Eckersberg som ”den
danske malerkunsts fader” blev henvist til at formulere
sig noget mere afdæmpet i forhold til antikken og tra-
ditionens byrde. Hvor Abildgaards ven Johann Heinrich
Füssli tegner en kunstner i afmagt, nærmest knust under
vægten fra den antikke kollosalstatues fod [Fig. 8], så
maler Eckersberg-eleven Christen Købke et lille maleri
af studiet efter antikken i Kunstakademiets gipssamling,
hvor kunstneren nok bøjer sig lidt, men måske bare
studerer figuren indgående. [Fig. 9]
Holdningen til dette akademiske studium efter antikke
proportioner og idealer sker ikke helt uden tvetydighed
i holdningen. Hvad kigger han egentlig efter? Figurens
manglende køn eller potens? Ser han overhovedet på
figuren, eller står han i sine egne tanker og slår blikket
ned? Og hvad foretager han med den klud? Støver han
antikken af? Støver antikken bare? Er det ikke påfaldende,
så lidt Eckersbergs elever arbejder efter antikken? De vil
hellere ud i den friske luft og male træerne i vinden, og
deres portrætter er fulde af farve, liv og en ikke særlig
antik kropsholdning, som det fx kan ses i samme kunst-
ners portræt af landskabsmaleren Frederik Sødring (Den
Hirschsprungske Samling).
Vi må sige, at holdningen til den gentagelse af
antikken, som gipserne repræsenterer, afføder nogle
lidt underlige ”performances” allerede omkring 1830.
Men traditionen reddes af dem, der abstraherer fra alle
spørgende tvetydigheder, og man fortsætter fra officielt
hold med at hævde menneskets suverænitet og antikkens
usvækkede betydning for også de danske kunstnere, helt
frem over skiftet fra 1800 til 1900, hvor kunsten ellers
i den grad begynder at løsrive sig fra de antikke idealer.
henrik holm 24

Hvad det egentlig er for en version af antikken, der skal
med i det moderne liv, er ikke entydigt. Visse kunstnere
bryder igennem med et direkte anti-klassisk formsprog,
som Impressionisternes, for ikke at tale om Gauguin og van
Goghs helt uforudsigelige livtag med traditionen. [Fig. 10]
På dansk jord må den traditionelle dannelse, der byg-
ger på studiet af latin, allerede i 1903 begynde at vige for,
at andre fag kan få plads. 9 Måske er det netop derfor, at
der opstår et så stærkt behov for at opstille en så massiv
samling af gipser efter antikken omkring 1890’erne? Der
kommer et stærkt behov for at fastholde en antik, der
allerede på det tidspunkt er ved at forsvinde ud af fokus
for avantgarden, mens institutionerne og det almindelige
publikum lige er nået frem til at ville håndhæve idealerne
og traditionen fra antikken. Men afstanden mellem de to
parter udgør den afgrund, der kan begrunde opstillingen
af gipserne, som et både helhjertet, velment forsøg på at
komme til undsætning og dog et ikke helt perfekt plaster
på såret. Det er jo bare massefremstillede kopier, men
netop massefremstillede kopier uden aura og befriede fra
den oprindelige, rituelle tvang, perfekte som performan-
ces, massen af individer kan danne sig efter.
Som nævnt lider den bagvedliggende ide om de
vestlige imperiers ukrænkelige suverænitet nederlag
efter 1. Verdenskrig, og hen mod 2. Verdenskrig kommer
antikken som dannelsesideal på en alvorlig prøve, som
den ikke har overvundet. Nazisterne dyrker antikken som
ideal for den kunst, de ønsker, og bruger den til at pege
på, hvor degenereret moderne kunst er blevet. Hitlers
25 henrik holm
filmmager, Leni Riefensthal, brugte Diskoskasteren af
Myron (ca. 450 f.Kr.) som udgangspunkt for indlednings-
sekvensen og som ”poster” til den første af sine to film
om Olympiaden i Berlin i 1936, Olympia, Fest der Völker
og Olympia, Fest der Schönheit, der havde premiere i
1938, samme år, som det lykkedes Hitler at erhverve
skulpturen fra italienerne.
Nazismens (og andre totalitære regimers) ”perfor-
mance” efter antikke idealer, som man ser det i hele
deres selviscenesættelse, i deres kunst og arkitektur, har
helt sikkert betydet, at det efter 1945 har været vanske-
ligt at oparbejde en almindelig interesse eller forståelse
for antikken som et positivt ideal. Den seneste gymna-
siereform fra 2005 følger linjen fra tiden efter 1903,
hvor latin og græsk gradvist udfases som hovedlinjer i
gymnasiet, til et foreløbigt nulpunkt, hvor latin sammen
de kreative (og også klassiske) fag, musik og billedkunst,
reduceres meget. Dele af Folketinget så med bekymring
på denne udvikling, bl.a. Dansk Folkepartis daværende
uddannelsesordfører, Louise Frevert, der måtte spørge til
fagenes skæbne, da de efter partiets mening udgjorde
”kilderne til hele det vestlige kulturfællesskab og bør
(Fig. 8)
Johann Heinrich Füssli:
Kunstneren i afmagt over
for antikkens storhed
1778-79
the despair of the artist
confronted with the
greatness of ancient ruins
Grafische Sammlung,
Kunsthaus Zürich
(Fig. 9) Christian Købke:
Parti af afstøbningssamlingen
på Charlottenborg
Part of the cast collection
of the royal academy of art,
Charlottenborg
Den Hirschsprungske
Samling, København

(Fig.10) Vincent van Gogh
tegning efter gipsafstøbning
med høj hat 1886-88
Drawing of a cast with top hat
Van Gogh Museum,
amsterdam
derfor indgå som selvstændige fag i ethvert borgerligt
dannelsesprojekt.” Frevert tilføjede som begrundelse
for at bevare fagene i samme form som før reformen af
2005 med, ”at enhver snak om afskaffelse eller sammenlægning
af disse fag er udtryk for en typisk 68’er
holdning, der ikke er forpligtet over for grundlaget i vor
egen kultur. Det ville derfor forekomme absurd, såfremt
disse bærende og almendannende fag blev afskaffet af
en borgerlig regering.” 10
På Facebook kan man tilslutte sig en profil med navnet
”Afskaf Oldtidskundskab i Gymnasiet”, ”gruppen for
dig, som også mener, at læren om den græske kultur for
2.500 år siden er spild af tid.” Den nytiltrådte professor
for Antikfagene i Århus, Marianne Pade, er tvunget til at
udtrykke forsigtig optimisme på fagets vegne ved sin tiltrædelse
i 2009, under indtryk af gymnasiereformen mm. 11
Kunstens, om man så må sige, ”klassiske” avantgardebevægelser
gjorde en dyd ud af at håne antikken.
Det Futuristiske Manifest fra 1909 erklærer, at museer,
biblioteker (og feminismen) skal ødelægges, antikkens
idealer er allerede overvundet, og man vil se kentaurens
(gen-)fødsel efter at have tabt den mytiske kamp til det
græske urfolk, Lapitherne. 12 I 1939 udkom Clement
Greenbergs artikel imod nazismens og kommunismens
brug af antikke idealer, Avant-Garde and Kitsch, som
skulle blive manifestet for den modernisme, der fik vind
i sejlene i 1960’erne med Colour Field Painting og navne
som Mark Rothko, Jackson Pollock og Barnett Newman
i hovedrollerne. Greenberg talte om ”Alexandrianisme”
som det, man skulle forlade, en ubevægelig akademisme,
der undviger alle former for kritisk analyse. Det borgerlige
samfund har fostret en ny, overlegen historisk bevidsthed,
nemlig avantgarde-kulturen, der blev muliggjort af en kritisk
indstilling til samfundet og til historien som sådan. Desuden
handler essayet om, at moderne kunstnere forholder sig
til mediet, malingen og overfladen, de arbejder med. 13
Tanken om mediespecificitet som ideal for avantgarden
udtrykkes også i artiklen ”Towards a Newer Laokoön”
(1940), hvor Greenberg følger op på Gotthold Ephraim
Lessings (1729 – 1781) Laokoon oder Über die Grenzen
der Malerei und Poesie (1766), når han skriver sig frem til,
at det abstrakte maleri nu udgør en referenceramme for
kunsten, på samme måde som Laokoöngruppen gjorde
det før, når grænserne for maleri, skulptur og poesi skulle
findes. Greenbergs holdninger til værkets selvreferentialitet
er direkte ødelæggende for gipsafstøbningernes status
som værker, idet gipser jo netop ikke lader, som om de
er sten eller bronze. De ”originaler”, gipserne er støbt
efter, er ofte selv romerske kopier efter tabte, græske
originaler. Gipserne er ikke moderne, og de peger væk
fra originalens materiale og står således endnu længere
væk fra idealet, end Laokoöngruppen selv ville gøre det.
På den anden side kan man sige, at gipser måske
peger tilbage på de abstrakte kvaliteter bag skulpturen,
idet de er til for at vise, at formen i sig selv er det, der
egentlig har interesse. Men det synspunkt på gips kommer
først frem med postmodernismens opblødning på
modernismens hårde idealer, hvor vi fra ca. 1980’erne
finder en række kunstnere som Bjørn Nørgaard og andre,
der igen kan tage gipsen til sig og bruge den som udgangspunkt
for deres værker, og det er i samme periode,
værkerne reddes ind igen.
Men det er, da Greenbergs tanker og den abstrakte
kunst med ham er på sit højeste niveau som internationalt
toneangivende, kunstnerisk udtryksform, og mens
det, vi kender som 1968-oprøret imod autoriteterne, er
under opsejling, at afstøbningssamlingen får dødsstødet
henrik holm 26

og sendes ud af Statens Museum for Kunst, officielt på
grund af pladsmangel - til de originale værker, vel at mærke.
Det originale værks suverænitet er usvækket i dag
trods postmoderne strømninger, og hverken kopier eller
figurativ skulptur har nogen særlig betydning. For skulp-
turens vedkommende skete der store forandringer, mens
gipserne blev kørt bort og stod opmagasinerede. I 1979
kunne Rosalind Krauss i sit berømte essay Sculpture in
the Expanded Field konstatere, at ”i løbet af de seneste ti
år er der mange ret overraskende ting, som er blevet kaldt
skulptur, såsom snævre korridorer med tv-monitorer for
enden, store fotografier, der dokumenterer landlige loka-
liteter, spejle placerede i mærkelige vinkler i almindelige
rum …”, og at skulptur ikke længere er en positiv kategori,
men er blevet til sin egen negation, der er resultatet af
”tilføjelsen af ikke-landskabet til ikke-arkitekturen.” 14
I det udvidede rum, hvori skulpturen skal fungere fra
1960’erne og frem, er der ikke meget plads til den klas-
siske skulpturs ”performance” af antikke dyder, endsige
til det, der nu betragtes som en uærlig, kitschet version
af originalen, nemlig gipsafstøbningen efter antikken.
Det er stadig grundholdningen i dag, hvor man vil høre
publikum gå ind ad døren, kigge sig omkring og forlade
stedet igen efter at have forsikret sig om, at samlingen
kun rummer kopier, ingen originaler. Den førhen så lyk-
kelige performance, som begrundede erhvervelsen af en
afstøbningssamling, har nået sit endelige nulpunkt, hvor
alt, hvad der før var grundlaget for dens gode evne til at
kommunikere, er blevet identisk med det, der gør dens
performance mislykket.
I moderniteten bliver kærlighed til antikken nærmest
umulig, i vide kredse uacceptabel og måske endda
upassende. En figur som Apollon Belvedere, der i 400
år havde været anset for et uomgængeligt forbillede
for kunstnere at forholde sig til, har overhovedet ingen
interesse i det moderne, og det bliver stedse sværere at
få mange til at se det fantastiske i den nyklassicistiske
kunst, der stod i forhold til antikken, som fx Thorvaldsens
skulpturer, eller i en klassicerende bygning som Vilhelm
Dahlerups Statens Museum for Kunst, som skulle reddes
fra sit eget udtryk og gøres smart med en ny tilbygning i
tidens stil.
Performance i det postmoderne
Afstøbningsamlingen finder sin placering i 1980’erne, i
postmodernismens tid, og passende for det postmodernes
stilblandinger og afsked med de store fortællinger
om historien som et fremskridt mod stadig mere frihed
og lykke bliver det i et gammelt pakhus, der egentlig
27 henrik holm
bare var opført til varer, inden de gik ud i detailsalg.
Genopstillingen falder sammen med postmodernismens
ændrede vurdering af afgrunden mellem finkultur og
lavkultur, som var så afgørende i Greenbergs skelnen
mellem avantgarde og kitsch. Denne skelnen elimineres i
det postmoderne. Historiske bindinger er ikke så væsentlige
mere. Et gammelt hus og en gammel samling kan fint
passe hinanden, og huset kan uden videre også rumme
kostumer til Det Kongelige Teater og en avissamling
tilhørende Det Kongelige Bibliotek.
Gipserne selv performer ikke længere finkultur for
nogen, det publikum er minimeret til at bestå af ikke
mange flere end den lille gruppe klassiske arkæologer og
andre, der opstiller samlingen, og nu kan gipserne og deres
antikke kilder synke ned i lavkulturen og leve et stille
liv der, hvor gipsafstøbninger er at finde i almindelige
menneskers hjem, hvor antikke referencer bruges med
fri hånd i reklamebranchen, ofte af parfume- og tøjfabrikanter,
og hvor 1980’ernes vilde maleri sætter alle
inspirationskilder lige, mens den postmoderne arkitektur
bruger løs af antikke og helt andre kilder med samme
glubende appetit.
Den store historie, som gipserne engang fortalte, er
ikke længere den vigtigste, men den lille historie om en
forsømt samling, der reddes i sidste øjeblik fra glemsel
og ødelæggelse. Men metafortællingen, den store historie
om det hvide, vestlige menneskes suverænitet og rejse
gennem verdenshistorien frem mod stadig større frihed,
viden og beherskelse af sine omgivelser, er ikke længere
mulig at fortælle, for samlingens egen historie modsiger
den fortælling.
Gentagelser
Og hvordan fortælles samlingens historie her og nu i vores
tid? Hvor er den krog, som samlingen kan sætte i kødet
på samtiden og vise sin aktualitet og historiske betydning
i kraft af? Hvis noget er levende, nærværende og betydningsfuldt,
er det noget, der tales om, og det, der tales
om, kan der blive skrevet om. Men når en samling taber
betydning, kan det aflæses, for så tales der ikke længere
om emnet. Det er ikke ”hot” på Facebook, og der er ikke
mange besøgende eller megen forskning på området.
I performativitetsteorien er man bevidst om det
skrevnes styrke, om at budskaber kan nå langt omkring,
men det skrevne er langt mindre pålideligt end det talte
ord, der bæres frem i en bestemt situation af en person.
Det skrevne ord har derimod den ulempe, at det skrevne
synes at skulle kæmpe for nærværet, og at skribentens
mening med udsagnet meget nemt kan misforstås, uden

at han kan være til stede og korrigere. Men ingen form
for kommunikation finder sted uden misfortolkninger. På
den anden side er det hverken sprog eller kommunikation,
hvis man ikke forestiller sig, at ens ideer og meninger
kan overføres til sproget og kommunikeres videre gen-
nem det og blive forstået selv i en anden sammenhæng.
Derfor er ”gentagelse” (”iterabilitet”) et nøgleord i
performativitetsteorien.
Det kan sige os noget om, hvad der er det særlige ved
gipsafstøbninger, der jo er bevidste gentagelser af andre
værker. De fungerer i højere grad på sprogets præmisser
end på det rent æstetiske og visuelles præmisser. En
original kan pr. definition ikke gentages, og den beder om
at blive modtaget som et æstetisk fænomen; i Immanuel
Kants berømte definition som noget, der vækker ”interes-
seløst behag”, og om hvis hensigt og betydning man ikke
kan sige noget entydigt, og som har en unik karakter.
En afstøbning derimod beder om at blive modtaget
som en gentagelse af en original, som var den allerede
oversat til et andet sprog, som om den bare var stikordet
til en genopførelse på en teaterscene, en performance af
et allerede velkendt hændelsesforløb. Det er så at sige
historien om Laokoön, der råber på at blive fortalt, når
man står over for gipsafstøbningen, mens det er selve
det sublime, lammende og måske direkte talelammende
møde med et exceptionelt øjeblik, man skal opleve
foran originalen – måske ikke øjeblikket for Laokoöns
dødskamp, der blot er en fortælling, men øjeblikket, hvor
skønheden, uhyggen og styrken i kunstværket rammer én.
Det øjeblik er forpasset over for afstøbningen, men desto
stærkere står behovet for at fortælle historien mundtligt
og levende foran den døde gipsoverflade.
Gipsen er skriften, der lægger sig som en palimpsest
over originalens nærvær. Gipsen er gentagelsen, der er
helt åben for fortolkninger eller manglende interesse i
forhold til originalen. Den er fri af originalen, og derfor
mulig at arbejde videre med på en helt anden måde
end originalen, der er urørlig. Men gipsens kridhvide
gentagelse af fortællinger fra historiens mørke står frem
som de rene gengangere. De er som spøgelser, der
gentager noget, der engang var velkendt og mere
nærværende, men som nu virker som en røst fra graven.
Afstøbningssamlingen er en gravskrift over antikken og et
utidigt verdenssyn, og gipserne er som levende døde, der
står stivnede og fanget i dødsøjeblikket, der i pakhuset.
Laoköon er bare en af de figurer, der er bevidst om sin
dødskamp, de fleste andre ænsede ikke dødens komme,
før de blev kolde og tørre.
Det positive ved at være et produkt af gentagelsens
logik og dermed være i familie med sproget er, at alt, der
er gået galt i forhold til afstøbningerne, alle de historiske
forhold, som har gjort, at de performer så mislykket, kan
vendes til gipsernes fordel. Som gentagelser er de fri af
auraens ritualer, de kan frigøres på mange flere måder
end nogen original fra bånd til traditioner og hæmninger.
Deres historie er måske tragisk, måske gribende, men
den er hele den vestlige verdens historie, fra gipserne
blev støbt til i dag. Gipserne er langt mere en del af sam-
tiden, end mange originaler kan være det. Originalerne
kæmper i langt højere grad en kamp for at komme fri af
deres oprindelige kontekst, men hvad er gipsernes oprin-
delige kontekst andet end historien om deres mislykkede
performance i moderne tid? Gipsafstøbningerne er rene
produkter af en skiftende kontekst, og de viser tydeligere
end med originale værker, at kontekster er afgørende,
men de kan ikke fastholdes eller neutraliseres.
Afstøbningssamlingens potentiale ligger nu i dens
manglende forankring i forhold til fortiden og til museet,
for her kan der foregå ting på måder og med perspektiver,
som ikke er lige så indlysende nødvendige eller interessante
på hovedmuseet over for originalerne. Originalerne
skal helst kunne klare sig selv, men gipser er intet uden
iscenesættelse, formidling og intervention, hvis deres histories
skal genopføres. Det, der yderligere kan ødelægge
vores forhold til gipserne, er, hvis alt dette foregår med
en form for maskinel repetition af antikkens fortællinger,
uden at det særlige ved gipserne diskuteres, eller uden at
deres særlige skæbne som gipser tages med i betragtning.
Gipser er gentagelser, og gentagelser skal genfortolkes
hele tiden, for at det maskinelle går af dem. Måske
kan dette gøres ved netop at pege på deres maskinelle
karakter, og på at en hel del af dem på det nærmeste
er blevet massefremstillede i den periode af historien,
hvor industrialisering og håndværk stod i stadig strid om
herredømmet over materien og kulturen i den såkaldte
”Arts and Crafts-bevægelse”, der på dansk grund blev
kaldt ”Skønvirke” (1880’erne -1920’erne), mens Brygger
Carl Jacobsen finansierede det massive indkøb af gipser,
samlingen består af.
Gipserne blev i sin tid anskaffet, fordi man mente, at
de i overensstemmelse med en konvention kunne gentage
den performance, man ønskede, men efterhånden blev
netop det maskinelle ved denne performance og deres
manglende evne til at producere ny betydning i en ny
historisk kontekst for påfaldende. Jo mere gipserne forfaldt
til kun at kunne fortælle historien om en bestemt stilhistorisk
fortælleteknik og en bestemt teknik, nemlig
afstøbningsteknikken, jo mindre performativ styrke kunne
henrik holm 28

de oparbejde, og det levende, talte ord kunne ikke finde
plads ved deres side. Gipserne kvalte ordene, inden de blev
sagt, og det er til den stilhed, de er overladt i dag. Der
er ingen spontan, direkte, fri og uhildet dialog med dem.
Og det er kravene, der stilles til en vellykket performance.
Men den kan opstå, denne frie dialog. Den opstår, når
nogen finder samlingen, når nogen undres og måske be-
gejstres. Det sker. Selv mærker jeg det på denne måde:
Jeg bliver indimellem ramt af en lille tristhed, når jeg skal
gå derfra. For så overlades de igen til tavsheden. Og når
lyset slukkes, træder deres unikke, spøgelsesagtige kva-
liteter frem af mørket, men da er jeg ude af stand til at
sige mere. I det øjeblik er jeg stille, som stod jeg overfor
et fantastisk, sublimt og helt originalt værk; samlingen i
sin helhed og med sin særlige karakter af gentagelse af
en mislykket performance udi stilheden.
Hvad skal der til, for at sådan en samling kan vækkes
til live? Man skal se den i mørke, efter lukketid, helt
alene. Det er ikke en del af den almindelige museums-
praksis. Den kan også revitaliseres på mere almindelige
vilkår i åbningstiden og via formidling. For at se nærmere
på dens potentialer i et samtidigt perspektiv skal vi ind
i et af performativitetsteoriens hovedområder, der hvor
maskinel gentagelse, konventioner og sprog møder køn,
krop og tilblivelse.
Samlingen kan komme til at spille en ”politisk” rolle
på linje med den, som samlingen engang spillede for
dannelsen af det bevidste, borgerlige individ, hvilket ikke
er det samme som en partipolitisk veldefineret rolle. I
performativitetssammenhæng defineres det politiske som
en form for tilblivelse, en bevægelse, ikke en partipolitisk
fastholdelse af en bestemt overbevisning. Når nogen eller
noget får en plads, hvorfra det er muligt at leve et tåleligt
liv, og hvor en sådan mulighed ikke var givet før, så er der
tale om en politisk hændelse. 15 Samlingen står lige nu og
vipper mellem at få og ikke at få et tåleligt liv, og måske
kan den tilkæmpe sig retten til at tale med autoritet igen,
måske ikke. Denne mulighed er ikke alene et spørgsmål
om penge, men også om hvilken historie vi vil fortælle
om vores civilisation. Desuden kan afstøbningssamlingen
selv performe ind i en særlig sammenhæng, nemlig i
måden vi danner vores kønsidentitet på. Det er måske
fra det punkt, samlingen skal få ny relevans, og den
spontane tale kan udgå fra?
At performe samlingen og kønnet
”Kønnet burde ikke konstituere sig, som var det en
uforanderlig identitet eller et sted at agere igennem, og
29 henrik holm
hvoraf en række handlinger følger, tværtimod er kønnet
en identitet, der skrøbeligt skabes i tiden, påført i et
udvendigt rum gennem en stiliseret gentagelse af handlinger.
Effekten af kønnet produceres gennem stilisering
af kroppen, og derfor må det blive forstået som den
verdslige måde, hvorpå kropslig gestikuleren, bevægelser,
og stilretninger af forskellig slags skaber illusionen om at
være et stabilt kønnet selv.” (Judith Butler) 16
En af hovedpersonerne i performativitetsteorien, Judith
Butler, har indgående og på banebrydende vis diskuteret
identitetsdannelse ud fra et kønsperformativt perspektiv,
så her tager vi fat. Butler siger, at kønnet ikke burde
konstituere sig, som var det en uforanderlig identitet.
Illusionen om kønnet som noget uforanderligt konstrueres,
skabes og forandrer sig, som tiden går, og rammerne for
forståelsen og bedømmelsen af kønnet institutionaliseres
gennem ”en stiliseret gentagelse af handlinger.”
Lad os tage dette udsagn lidt ad gangen og se på det i
forhold til Afstøbningssamlingens performative potentiale
før og nu. Den består af fremstillinger af nøgne kroppe,
der agerer i overensstemmelse med nogle ganske enkle
konventioner om fx maskulin styrke, klogskab, heltemod
og renfærdighed, og den behandler feminin skønhed og
ansvarlighed efter alle kunstens regler med adskillige versioner
af Venus’er og Athena’er i samlingen. Samlingen
peger direkte og uden blusel på kroppen hele tiden. Det er
derfra og dertil, dannelsen skal ses og praktiseres ud fra.
Det mandlige og det kvindelige defineres direkte og
uden videre omsvøb gennem samlingen, hvor dens antal
alene har en effekt på beskueren. Så mange veltrænede,
selvbevidste mænd, så mange kvinder, der viser ynder
frem, mens de forgæves forsøger at dække sig mod de
mange blikke med hænderne. Stereotyperne stikker
i øjnene. Men det må være netop de konventionelle
kønsroller, som samlingen så effektivt performer, der på
et eller andet plan har kunnet begrunde dens opstilling i
sin tid. Ingen andre samlinger kan mestre en så massiv
fremførelse af en stiliseret gentagelse af en ageren, som
en sådan samling gør det. Butler skriver, at effekten af
at være et køn produceres gennem ”stilisering af kroppen”,
og derfor er korporlig gestik, bevægelser, positurer
og stilmæssige variationer af forskellig slags med til at
danne og fastholde illusionen om et stabilt, vedholdende
ensartet kønnet selv.
Samlingen blev altså i sin tid angiveligt opstillet,
fordi den kunne frembringe nogle kønnede jeg’er, der
i tanke, handling og på alle andre måder levede op til
konventionerne om, hvad der var feminint og maskulint.

Samlingen skabte ideen om kønnet. De to køn så sig klart
som to adskilte og klart definerede køn, og de agerede
som Venus’er og Adonis’er i en heteroseksuel orden.
Samlingen fungerede på samme direkte og banale måde,
som når man vælger lyseblåt til drenge og lyserødt til
piger. Den massive gentagelse af denne differentiering
skaber efterhånden en væsentlig del af individets kønnede
identitet. Afstøbningssamlingen kunne bidrage til
sikringen af den kønnede identitets institutionalisering i
en tid, hvor reklamerne, medierne og omgangsformerne
i øvrigt ikke helt havde sikret rollefordelingen.
Men lige så massivt konventionerne maser sig igennem,
når man går gennem samlingen, lige så påfaldende
bliver efterhånden alle undtagelserne. I antikken og i
samlingen er der et betragteligt frirum til noget uklare
meldinger om kønsidentiteten. Apollon performer ikke
helt klart et entydigt heteroseksuelt, maskulint ideal.
Ikke engang Apollon Belvedere kan sige sig fri af en vis
tvetydighed, en måske homoerotisk gestik, en noget
feminin hårmode, og som Apollon Musagetes i kvindegevandter,
med lyre og meget prangende, krøllet langt hår,
ser han mere ud som en ”drag” end som en almindelig,
musikalsk inspireret mandsperson. [Fig. 11, 12, 13]
Så er der alle de meget unge drenge, der viser antikkens
vaner, med at voksne mænd havde et forhold af
noget blandet karakter til meget unge mænd, og der er
granvoksne mænd, der leger med et barn på armen. Så
når Butler siger, at ”kønnet ikke burde skabes, som var
det en stabil identitet…”, så kan afstøbningerne åbne op
for mulighederne for meget flydende identiteter. Hvad
var så dens formål i sin tid? At åbne op for et kaos af
ustabile kønsperformances? Er der så ikke potentiale for,
at samlingen indgår på højeste blus i den aktuelle debat
om kønsidentitet og rettigheder? Nogle af kvinderne bærer
endda noget, der minder om tørklæder over hovedet.
Under alle omstændigheder viser det sig, som Butler
også skriver, at ”for så vidt kønnet er en tilskrivning, er
det en tilskrivning, der aldrig helt udføres i overensstemmelse
med forventningerne”. 17 Således ej heller i en
afstøbningssamling. Her kommer gentagelsen ind igen
som en nødvendighed og som en form for tvang. Netop
fordi idealet ikke helt kan opnås, er det til stadighed
nødvendigt at gøre forsøget på at opnå det.
For en nation som Danmark, der ikke stod i direkte forbindelse
med den antikke kultur, var kopiering i gips efter
antikke originaler en simpel nødvendighed. Den åbenhed
over for identiteten, det være sig den nationale såvel som
den kønsspecifikke, som samlingen tilbyder, er måske
bare nødvendig, for at normaliteten skal vise sig som
stærk og eftertragtelsesværdig? Eller kan den massive
dominans af gentagne forsøg på at fæstne identiteten entydigt
give bagslag, så den viser sig i sin forkrampethed,
som ikke andet end gipset gentagelse? Konventionernes
lovmæssighed er tilkæmpet, den kræver hele tiden at
blive genopført. Det er over for denne genopførelsestvang,
at der kan interveneres ”politisk”, så der kan blive rum for
en varierende og diskutabel identitet, det være sig den
nationale eller den kønsspecifikke identitet. Det er et rum
for den slags levende diskussioner, en sådan samling kan
åbne op for, hvis den får midler og vilkår til at gøre det.
konklusion: Performance i
Afstøbningssamlingen
Hvis en samling som den Kongelige Afstøbningssamling
skal have en fremtid, kunne den bestå i at hævde de
pointer og den historiefortælling, som performativitetsstudierne
understøtter. Samlingen skal agere sin historie
og sin mislykkede performance direkte ind i et ”politisk”
rum, hvor der bliver gjort plads til de klassiske discipliner
i bredeste forstand, hvor historiebegreber, kunst,
filosofi og politik mødes, genopføres og genforhandles.
Performancekunsten som genre betragtet kunne få en
plads, hvorfra personer eller grupper, der arbejder med
denne kunstform, kunne udfolde sig i relation til samlingen
eller i andre sammenhænge. Så ville det faktum,
at bygningen rummer teaterkostumer for Det Kongelige
Teater, få en form for betydning, selv efter at disse
kostumer sendes et andet sted hen til opbevaring, så
Afstøbningssamlingen kan blive moderniseret, brandsikret
og i sidste ende gjort til en værdig satellit til Statens
Museum for Kunst.
Man kunne fx forestille sig en kunstner som Yoko Ono
opføre sit ”Cut Piece” i samlingen Yoko Ono Cut Piece
på YouTube. I ”Cut Piece” sidder Ono på en scene iført
sort tøj og opfordrer publikum til at klippe stykker af
hendes tøj i postkortstørrelse, idet man skal forestille sig
at sende tøjstykket som en hilsen
til sin elskede – hvilket ville være en noget ambivalent
kærlighedserklæring, der i sidste ende vil efterlade performeren
afklædt i overensstemmelse med klippernes mod
og begær. Men opført i afstøbningssamlingen ville en figur
som den siddende nymfe få en anden betydning, idet den
ville komme til at blive et ”Cut Piece” af en kvinde, der er
blevet delvist berøvet sin klædedragt i overensstemmelse
med andres begær. En antik figur kan i den forbindelse
pludselig deltage i en aktuel, seksualpolitisk diskussion.
Yoko Onos performance ville få en måske overraskende
og ikke intenderet historisk dimension, hvis det viser
henrik holm 30

31 henrik holm
(Fig. 13)
mere logisk at bytte rundt?
apollon
Gipsafstøbning efter
romersk original fra 10-20
f.Kr. Fundet i Pompei,
bemalet. Erhvervet 1896
apollo
Statens Museum
for Kunst

(Fig. 11) mere logisk at
bytte rundt?
apollon Belvedere
Gipsafstøbning efter
romersk kopi af græsk
original fra ca. 330 f.Kr.
Erhvervet 1897
apollo Belvedere
Statens Museum
for Kunst
henrik holm 32

33 henrik holm
(Fig. 12) mere logisk
at bytte rundt?
apollon Musagetes
Gipsafstøbning efter
romersk original fra
2.århundrede e.Kr.
erhvervet 1898
apollo Musagetes
Statens Museum
for Kunst

(Fig.15) mere logisk at
bytte rundt?
Siddende nymfe med
venstre ben over højre
Gipsafstøbning efter
romersk kopi efter græsk,
hellenistisk original fra
200 f. Kr. Erhvervet 1993
Seated Nymph
Statens Museum
for Kunst
sig, at hendes værk også kan perspektiveres i forhold
til en antik tradition for delvis afklædning af kvindelige
figurer. Desuden sker performancen ikke over for andet
end kopier, hvis den udføres i Afstøbningssamlingen, så
en eventuel fornærmelse på traditionens vegne skulle
være til at overse, eftersom figurerne ikke er bundet til
originalernes ritualer, men kan blive genstand for nye
ritualer hele tiden.
Fremtiden for afstøbningssamlinger som denne kunne
ligge i at agere i forhold til dens historie, stille det mislykkede
frem som et potentiale og pege på, at figurerne
agerer i et rum, ikke blot er til for at blive nydt, men
at de former en oplevelse af krop og identitet, nationalt,
internationalt, politisk og privat. Så vil publikum måske
igen lade sig gribe og forme og lade selv afstøbninger
træde frem, som var det en ny og relevant kunstform?
henrik holm 34

1 [”Pure performativity implies the presence
of a living being […] speaking in a manner
that is at once spontaneous, intentional,
free, and irreplaceable.”] Forfatterens
oversættelse af Jacques Derrida: Without
Alibi, Stanford University Press, 2002, 74
in James Loxley: Performativity, routledge,
London og New York, 2007, 92.
2 Den første gennemarbejdede introduktion til
begrebet set i relation til kunsthistorien på
dansk er Camilla Jalvings: Værk som handling,
Museum tusculanum Press, 2011.
3 Monroe Beardsley og J.K. Wimsatt udgav
en række essays i 1954, hvor artiklen ”the
Intentional Fallacy” indgik. Dermed fik de
etableret et nyt paradigme for analyse af
kunstværker kaldet ”New Criticism”, hvor
man analyserer kunstværkernes formelle
opbygning, ikke kunstnerens intentioner.
Selv om New Criticism fik stor udbredelse,
slog det ikke tendensen til at se tilbage mod
kunstnerens intentioner i fortolkningen af
kunst ned, så roland Barthes kunne påpege
problemet i den intentionelle fejlslutning
igen i 1968 i sit essay Forfatterens død (La
mort de l’auteur), hvor det performative
aspekt ved oplevelsen af et kunstværk
står centralt. tendensen til at ville forklare
kunsten ud fra kunstnerens liv lever dog
stadig. Skillelinjen mellem traditionel og
ny kunsthistorie trækkes bl.a. her, mellem
dem, der stadig dyrker interessen for
kunstnerens liv frem for interessen for
kunstværkets virkning på beskueren,
betydning for samfundet mm.
4 Susan Sontag: At betragte andres lidelser,
tiderne Skifter, København 2003, 99
[Regarding the Pain of Others: “…* Our
sympathy proclaims our innocence as well
as our impotence”, FSG, New York 2003,
91.]
5 Walter Benjamin: Kunstværket i dets tekniske
reproducerbarheds tidsalder, Kulturkritiske
essays, Gyldendal 1998, 154. [Walter
Benjamin: The Work of Art in the Age of
Mechanical Reproduction: “the mass is a
matrix from which all traditional behaviour
toward works of art issues today in a new
form.”]
http://www.marxists.org/reference/
subject/philosophy/works/ge/benjamin.htm
Walter Benjamin: Das Kunstwerk im Zeitalter
seiner technischen Reproduzierbarkeit,
Suhrkamp Verlag Frankfurt am Main,
2007: ”Die Masse ist eine matrix, aus der
gegenwärtig alles gewohnte Verhalten
Kunstwerken gegenüber neugeboren
hervorgeht.“ 45.
6 ibid. 137.
Ibid: [“for the first time in world history,
mechanical reproduction emancipates the
work of art from its parasitical dependence
on ritual.”] http://www.marxists.org/
reference/subject/philosophy/works/ge/
35 henrik holm
benjamin.htm
Benjamin, ibid.: “… die technische
reproduzierbarkeit des Kunstwerks
emanzipiert dieses zum ersten Mal der
Weltgeschichte von seinem parasitären
Dasein am ritual.“ 19.
7 Efter James Loxleys gennemgang af austin
i Performativity, routledge, London og New
York, 2007, 10.
8 Ibid., hvor austin taler om ”misfire”.
9 For en oversigt over latinfagets tilbagegang
i det danske uddannelsessystem se: http://
www.viborgkatedralskole.dk/?pageID=592
10 Spm. nr. S 2436.
til undervisningsministeren (14/3 03) af:
Louise Frevert (DF):
»Kan ministeren bekræfte eller afkræfte,
at gymnasiereformen vil afskaffe fagene
oldtidskundskab og/eller religion som
selvstændige fag for at introducere et
udvandet »kulturfag« og herunder forklare,
hvordan dette stemmer overens med en
borgerlig samfundsopfattelse og med
det forsvar for vort lands grundværdier,
som statsministeren formulerede i sin
nytårstale?«
Begrundelse: Oldtidskundskab og religion
indeholder kilderne til hele det vestlige
kulturfællesskab og bør derfor indgå som
selvstændige fag i ethvert borgerligt
dannelsesprojekt.
Det er spørgerens opfattelse, at enhver snak
om afskaffelse eller sammenlægning af disse
fag er udtryk for en typisk 68’er holdning,
der ikke er forpligtet over for grundlaget i
vor egen kultur.
Det ville derfor forekomme absurd, såfremt
disse bærende og almendannende fag blev
afskaffet af en borgerlig regering.
Svar (20/3 03)
Undervisningsministeren (Ulla tørnæs):
Jeg har endnu ikke taget stilling til,
hvordan fagrækken i gymnasiet skal se ud
efter reformen. Jeg kan derfor ikke komme
nærmere ind på, om fagene religion og
oldtidskundskab bliver videreført uændret i
det nye gymnasium, eller om de ændrer status.
Jeg kan tilføje, at Gymnasieskolernes
rektorforening i sit debatoplæg til reform af
det almene gymnasium foreslår indførelse af
et nyt fag ved navn »Kulturfag«.
11 Marianne Pade, interview: ”Græsk og latin
er ikke just sprog med politisk medvind.
alligevel er Marianne Pade forsigtig
optimist på vegne af de klassiske fag, hun
nu skal stå i spidsen for som nyudnævnt
professor på aarhus Universitet. antikken
har det ikke frygtelig godt i Danmark,
efter at gymnasiereformen beskar dens
rolle. Men takket være vores fantastiske
kolleger rundt om på gymnasierne er det
lykkedes at få latin og faktisk også græsk
ind igen på mange gymnasier, så i dag har
betydeligt flere gymnasieelever de to fag
på skemaet end for tre år siden. Og selv om
de ikke har mange timer til at gøre reklame
for deres fag, formår lærerne alligevel at
fange elevernes interesse, bl.a. fordi der
i oldtidskundskab lægges mere vægt på
antikkens virkningshistorie, begrunder
Marianne Pade sin optimisme, som hun
også finder belæg for hos bl.a. Danmarks
sydlige nabo. In Campus, Århus Universitet,
09.11.2009.
12 Filippo tommaso Marinetti: Det Futuristiske
Manifest, engelsk oversættelse: http://
www.italianfuturism.org/manifestos/
foundingmanifesto/
13 Clement Greenberg: Avant-Garde and Kitch:
http://www.sharecom.ca/greenberg/kitsch.
html
14 Forfatterens oversættelse efter rosalind
Krauss: Sculpture in the Expanded Field,
October Vol. 8, 1979, http://www.
situations.org.uk/_uploaded_pdfs/Krauss.
pdf
“Over the last ten years rather surprising
things have come to be called Sculpture:
narrow corridors with tV monitors at the
ends; large photographs documenting
country hikes; mirrors placed at strange
angles in ordinary rooms; temporary
lines cut into the floor of the desert [… ]
Sculpture, it could be said, had ceased being
a positivity, and was now the category
that resulted from the addition of the
not-landscape to the not-architecture.”
15 Efter Judith Butler: Undoing Gender,
routledge, London og New York, 2004, 224,
in Performativity, 112: “What moves me
politically, and that for which a subject – a
person, a collective – asserts a right or
entitlement to a liveable life when no
such authorization exists, when no clearly
enabling convention is in place.”
16 Forfatterens oversættelse efter Judith
Butler: Gender Trouble, Feminism and the
Subversion of Identity, Routledge, London
og New York, 1999, 179, in Performativity,
119: “Gender ought not to be construed as
a stable identity or locus of agency from
which various acts follow; rather, gender is
an identity tenuously constituted in time,
instituted in an exterior space through
a stylized repetition of acts. the effect of
gender is produced through the stylization
of the body and, hence, must be understood
as the mundane way in which bodily
gestures, movements, and styles of various
kinds constitute the illusion of being an
abiding gendered self.”
17 Forfatterens oversættelse efter Judith
Butler: Bodies that Matter, On the Discursive
Limits of Sex, routledge, London og New York,
1993, 231, in Performativity, 124: “to the
extend that gender is an assignment, it is
an assignment which is never quite carried
out according to expectation […].”

miriam have watts 36

Individ og type?
L.A. Rings I høst og sædemanden
m i r i a m hav e wat t s
Med afsæt i Laurits Andersen Rings (1854-1933) ma-
lerier I høst fra 1885 [fig.1] og Sædemanden fra 1910
[fig.2], undersøger jeg i følgende tekst et lille, koncentre-
ret udsnit af Rings produktion, hvor jeg fokuserer på de
to værkers særlige beskrivelse af fundamentale forhold
omkring mennesket som krop og bevidsthed i verden. 1
Malerierne indgår i en lang kunsthistorisk tradition
for gengivelser af arbejderen på marken, og ikonografisk
rækker de længere tilbage end uddrivelsens ”med møje
skal du skaffe dig føden ... I dit ansigts sved skal du spise
dit brød”. 2 Med en nærlæsning af motiv og komposition
behandler jeg Rings fremstilling af en velkendt genre
og figurtype, der i dette tilfælde samtidig undslår sig
netop det traditionelle, det givne og lettilgængelige. Med
opmærksomheden rettet mod værkernes dobbelttydig-
heder omkring genkendelighed og fremmedhed åbner
muligheden sig for at blive klogere på, hvordan det fælles
kulturelle ophav manifesterer sig, og i hvilken form og
udstrækning Ring udvider og overskrider denne baggrund.
En ”eksistentiel realisme”
Rings tilværelse startede i provinsen, hvis kulturform
fortrinsvis hvilede på en tradition for mundtlig formidling.
Livet dér havde ikke et egentligt selvstændigt visuelt
sprog, og det genremaleri, der fra midten af 1800-tallet
havde tematiseret livet på landet, forstås i dag generelt
som en projektion af et borgerligt dannelsesindhold
til rustikke kulisser. 3 For Ring og de senere realistisk
orienterede kunstnere fungerede disse genrebilleder
først og fremmest som afsæt for den egentlige motivaf-
søgning og bearbejdelse: Rings malerier må forstås som
formet efter hans egen levede baggrund og personlige
virkelighedsbillede.
Ud fra denne betragtning bygger min beskæftigelse
med Rings realisme ikke på en forventning om at møde
eller afdække en tilstræbt streng objektivitet i værkerne.
Rettere arbejder jeg med indkredsningen af et ideal om
37 miriam have watts
en sandfærdig og oprigtig virkelighedsgengivelse ud fra
en mere eksistentialistisk tonet forståelse af begrebet
autenticitet. 4 For som bekendt beskriver realismen ikke
alene et kunsthistorisk tidsrum, men har også filosofiske
spørgsmål omkring forholdet til virkeligheden knyttet
ind i sig.
Troskaben mod perceptionen af virkeligheden parret
med realismens velkendte slagord Il faut être de son
temps (man må være af sin tid, red.) kan, ganske bredt
set, afgrænse det realistiske maleri fra orienteringen i
andre –ismer, om end naturalismen bæres af lignende karaktertræk.
Betydningsglidningerne mellem realisme og
naturalisme og den gerne næsten synonyme anvendelse
kan kort forklares med stilbetegnelsernes fælles basis
omkring objektiv præcision, der dog udmøntes i forskellige
udtryk – hvor naturalismen traditionelt set peger mod
impressionismen, mens realismen i sit verdensbillede
kan indeholde en form for ekspressionisme. Sidstnævnte
er en væsentlig pointe for min undersøgelse af Rings
karakterfulde figurer og lægger sig parallelt med mit
forbehold mod at hæfte et egentligt objektivitetsbegreb
på hans arbejder: Det ekspressive forstår jeg i termens
bogstavelige betydning udtryk og udtryksfuld, hvor Rings
skildring af figurer og omgivelser viser såvel noget kraftfuldt
som en særegen sensibilitet – eller en symbolistisk
inklination.
Fundamentale vilkår
Som urbillede på mennesket indskrevet i årstidernes
forløb transcenderer skildringen af landarbejderen
skiftende tider og sæders kulturelle udtryk og hører til
i en bredere, almenmenneskelig fortælling, der løber
fra oldtidens første visuelle spor til i dag. I historiens
forløb optræder typen blandt andet i fabler og i testamentlige
fortællinger om den flittige bonde, der udfylder
sin plads i en virkelighed, som rækker ud over ham selv
og opfyldelsen af basale livsfornødenheder. 5 Således
(Fig. 1) L.a. ring:
I høst, tuehuse 1885
Harvest
Olie på lærred
190,2 x 154,2 cm
Statens Museum
for Kunst

(Fig. 2) L.a. ring:
Sædemanden,
Baldersbrønde 1910
the Sower
Olie på lærred
186,5 x 155,5 cm
Deponeret på Statens
Museum for Kunst
formidler landarbejdermotivet traditionelt en idealopfat-
telse af mennesket, der lever og handler i afbalancerede
cykliske mønstre. Om referencerammen er mytologisk,
religiøs eller verdslig, om formidlingen er tekstlig eller
visuel, illustreres det enkelte menneskes delagtighed i en
større sammenhæng typisk ved, at de personlige træk og
egenskaber underordnes en altfavnende, absolut helhed.
Ring malede i 1885 I høst og koncentrerede hele
høstens arbejde i én markant figur. Efter blyantstudier
omarbejdede han virkelighedens høstmand, storebroren
Ole Peter Ring, og lod i maleriet de personlige karakte-
ristika forsvinde i det bortvendte ansigts uartikulerede
træk. 6 Hovedet er lille, munden står halvt åben, og øjet
er utydeligt under hattens skygge. Figurkompositionen
er spændt op i en trekant dannet af den store, frontalt
stillede krop og dens seje træk med leen. Fornemmelsen
af rytmisk, opslugt arbejde er med til at forene den
ellers reliefagtige figur med kornmarkens tilsvarende
fladepræg. Baggrunden både definerer rummet og åbner
det mod horisonten, så omgivelserne synes at vokse over
høstmandens hoved, knytte ham til jorden og angive
årstidernes cykliske forløb med den traditionelle symbolik
omkring høstarbejdet som en evigt tilbagevendende
og naturgiven aktivitet. Ring har kondenseret motivet
og flyttet sin storebror ud af individualiteten og over i
høstmanden som overordnet type.
Med Sædemanden fra 1910, malet 25 år efter,
skildres den aktivitet, der er en forudsætning for høsten,
og den gentagne spredning af korn henviser til, hvordan
arbejdet har dikteret menneskets bevægelser siden den
første dyrkning af jorden. I et umiddelbart perspektiv
sikrer såningen afgrøden, og langt mere vidtfavnende end
hensynet til individet og slægtens overlevelse fortælles
der om opretholdelsen af en fundamental balance.
Som pendant til høstmandens bortvendte ansigt og
hans opslugte handling giver figuren i Sædemanden en
fornemmelse af fåmælthed, der er med til at fremhæve
arbejdets ensartede karakter. Den højtliggende horisont
fastholder også sædemanden på marken og definerer
rummet omkring ham, hvor en dyster og regnvejrstung
himmels særlige belysning fremhæver enkelte gule
partier: Kornene, han spreder, står gyldne frem af pløjemarken
og lyser i sækkens grove stof. Både høstmanden
og sædemanden har en kejtet fysiognomi, hvor armene
for høstmandens vedkommende er underligt forvoksede
og forkert hæftet på overkroppen, der i sig selv er for
stor og bred til det lille hoved. Sædemandens arme
er anderledes forkortede og ser akavede ud på smalle,
skrånende skuldre, der trækkes op mod det lille hoved.
Hans overkrop virker firkantet bag kornsækken og den
store, slidte arbejdsjakke, og de stive ben i et par klodsede
træsko er overdimensionerede. Hans ansigtstræk er
markerede og karakterfulde i tegningen og adskiller sig
dermed fra høstmandens mindre synlige og udefinerede
ansigt. Hvor sidstnævntes ene arm krydser hen over
den frontalt stillede krop og lukker af for betragteren,
er sædemandens figur midt i et skridt i en mere åben
bevægelse rettet ud af maleriet. Hele hans krop er fri af
marken i modsætning til høstmanden, hvis positur virker
låst med de samlede ben, dækket af leen og forgrundens
detailstudie af aks.
Sædemandens frontalitet og betragterorienterede
fremtoning supplerer dermed den tidlige figurs tillukkede
og mere selvtilstrækkelige fremtrædelse. 7 I modsætning
til dette opslugte og introverte opstår der i helheden
af Sædemanden en anderledes motiveret spænding
i forholdet mellem figur og omgivelser: Hvor det er ud
af optagetheden af arbejdet, at narrationen i I høst
vokser frem, kan det mere konfronterende element i
Sædemanden åbne for en anderledes fortælling om de
skildrede fundamentale livsvilkår – og om en anderledes
bevidsthed herom.
Foran og bagved?
I høst rummer dog langt mere end en enstrenget historie
udsprunget af en gængs formidling af arbejdets karakter
opløftet til en større og værdig (men ikke mindre slidsom)
gerning. Høstmandens særegne men styrkefulde krop
undslår sig en entydig indskrivning i arbejdets rutine,
for anstrengtheden er påtrængende skildret i hans bevægelse,
som samtidig virker hæmmet af hans grove og
kejtede figur. Et skel mellem menneske og omgivelser
materialiserer sig ud af den forcerede kraft, han lægger
i arbejdet, og understøttes desuden af føromtalte
fladeforhold mellem figur og baggrund.
Stiliseringen og fladepræget i flere af Rings værker
er – foruden de oplagte symbolistiske stiltræk i visse malerier
– af kunstnerens anmeldere ofte forklaret ud fra det
forhold, at han typisk udførte omgivelserne først og derefter
indsatte én eller flere figurer på en forberedt plads i
motivet. 8 Det affødte ”ophold” mellem figur og omgivelser
aflæses gerne som et udslag af hans manglende evner
med hensyn til motivisk integration eller som resultat
af hans anvendelse af fotografiske forlæg. 9 Formelle
betragtninger dominerer således behandlingerne af
figurernes disponering i relation til billedrummet, og kun
sjældent er indgangen til forholdet en egentlig afsøgning
af dets mere betydningsskabende potentiale. En tange-
miriam have watts 38

39 miriam have watts

(Fig. 3) Peter Hansen
(1868-1928):
Høstbillede 1910
Harvest Scene
Olie på lærred
103 x 128 cm
Faaborg Museum
ring af det fortolkende ses dog i Thomas Lederballes
Tegningen først efter, der præcist indrammer Rings
vanskeligheder omkring den akademiske figurtegnings
formelle krav med beskrivelsen af kunstnerens bryderier,
der giver sig udslag i ”ulogisk stærkt optrukne former
og skygger i baggrundsmotivet, der nærmest synes at
ophæve det motiviske hierarki mellem foran og bagved.
Figurernes omrids og skyggelægning får dem til at virke
flade, og man lægger mærke til, at Rings fremstilling
lægger vægt på personernes plumpe udseende og grove
fysiognomier i en slags afstandstagen til den akademiske
figurtegning”. 10
Til Rings figurbehandling kan desuden knyttes den
ofte citerede passage, hvor kunstneren selv beskriver,
hvordan han ”Fotograferede adskillige Ting det vil sige
Mennesker”. Det er en central formulering, hvis den ikke
forbigås som tilfældig, men bliver forstået som en form
for ”erklæring”, hvorfra menneskesyn og omverdensforståelse
tør udledes. 11 I mit tolkningsarbejde omkring
Rings fremstilling af sine figurer i forhold til billedrummet
kan udsagnet – med varsomhed – anspore overvejelser
omkring kunstnerens bevidste fremhævelse af netop,
hvad er foran og hvad er bagved – hvad kommer først,
hvad har forrang?
Efterlysning af det sympatiske
I indkredsningen af de valg, Ring har truffet omkring
skildringen af sit umiddelbart traditionelle høstmotiv,
kan en sammenligning med det tematisk og motivisk
beslægtede Høstbillede fra 1910 [fig.3] af fynboen Peter
Hansen (1868-1928) vise sig illustrativ. 12
Peter Hansen har ligesom Ring ladet den høje horisont
miriam have watts 40

signalere høstarbejdernes samhørighed med naturen,
men med repetitionen af billedelementer i komposi-
tionens bløde, rullende bevægelse betoner han også
arbejdet som en rolig og harmonisk foreteelse, der bygger
på et socialt fællesliv. Mennesker og natur fremhæver
hinanden gensidigt ved hjælp af forskellige komposito-
riske greb, der understreger den samlede arbejdsrytme,
hvor piger og karle samler negene efter høstmanden. Det
folkelige og jordbunde tematiseres, hvilket i den såkaldte
bondemalerstrid få år forinden netop blev fremhævet af
forfatteren Johannes V. Jensen (1873-1950) som fyn-
boernes adelsmærke i modsætning til hovedstadskulturens
degeneration. 13
Hos Rings høstmand er ingen medhjælpere i sigte til
at binde negene. Og hvor Peter Hansens forgrundsfigur
er skildret i udgangspositionen for slåningen, der snarere
fordrer balance end kraft, er Rings høstmands bevægelse
med den tunge le netop vist i den stilling, hvor mest
styrke er påkrævet, for at bladet skærer stråene over.
Fællesnævner for de to malerier er vitaliteten i bondeli-
vets fundering i naturen, men Peter Hansens skildring af
41 miriam have watts
den højtidsstemte side af arbejdet overblændes i Rings
maleri af anstrengelsen tegnet i høstmandens krop,
ligesom fynboens skildring af indbyrdes samvirke bliver
transponeret over i formidlingen af enligt slid og isolation
hos Ring.
Det er en forceret vitalitet, der bærer I høst fra 1885
i forhold til Peter Hansens mere rendyrkede vitalisme på
den anden side af århundredskiftet: Ring både understøt-
ter og undergraver den traditionelle høstscenes fremstil-
ling af mennesket harmonisk indskrevet i naturens rytme.
En kritiker fra venstreavisen Morgenbladet udtrykte
således også sin ærgrelse og skuffede forventninger til
Rings fremstillingsform: ”Der er sympathetiske Skikkelser
nok blandt Bønder og Landarbejderne; hvorfor da vælge
en saa indskrænket, dvask udseende Person, der ikke i
mindste Maade er sympathivækkende?” 14
Ethvert sådant sympatisk træk og enhver form for
vitalitet er for længst drænet bort fra Jean-François
Millets (1814-75) Manden med hakken udført omkring
1863 [fig.4], der indskriver sig i den franske realistiske
malers primære motivverden i 1850’erne og 1860’erne.
(Fig. 4) Jean-Francois Millet
(1814-75):
Manden med hakken
(l’homme à la houe) ca. 1863
Man with a Hoe
Olie på lærred
80 x 99 cm
the J. Paul Getty Museum,
Los angeles

(Fig. 5)
Vincent van Gogh
(1853-90):
Et par sko 1886
a Pair of Shoes
Olie på lærred
37,5 x 45 cm
Van Gogh Museum,
amsterdam
Som en forløber til Rings høstmand viser Millet, hvordan
den ydre handling – arbejdet – næsten overblænder en
egen identitet, og med Michael Frieds ord anskueliggør
maleriet en direkte brutalisering af mennesket, afsted-
kommet af gentagen, umådelig fysisk belastning. 15
Manden med hakken er ukærligt skildret, med mørkt
og forgrovet ansigt og hænder, munden halvåben og
blikket ufokuseret og ureflekteret fra de mørke øjenhuler.
Kroppen er ranglet og benet inde under det slidte tøj og
synes at vokse op og ud af de store, tunge træsko. Leen
forbinder ligesom træskoene manden og den knoldede
jord og slutter figurtegningen som et solidt støttepunkt,
der både stabiliserer hans krop og holder ham fast i
arbejdet. Individualiteten synes slidt så langt ned, at
kun fysikken og den ydre handling står tilbage som
identitetsmarkører, og i et tomt og trøstesløst landskab
fremkaldes uddrivelsens ”Tjørn og tidsel skal jorden lade
spire frem til dig”.
En forestilling om uforanderlighed
En sådan indskrivning på godt og ondt af den men-
neskelige eksistens i en større betydningssammenhæng
trækker paralleller til den fænomenologisk oriente-
rede tænkning, hvis analyser grundlæggende angår er-
faringen og erkendelsens mulighedsbetingelser. I Martin
Heideggers (1889-1976) Kunstværkets oprindelse er
hans beskrivelse af et par bondesko i Vincent van Goghs
(1853-1890) maleri fra 1886 [fig.5] 16 forankret hos den
miriam have watts 42

ondekone, der må formodes at have båret fodtøjet:
”Ud af den dunkle åbning i skotøjets udtrådte indre
stirrer arbejdsskridtenes møjsommelighed. I skotøjets
grove og robuste tyngde er ophobet udholdenheden fra
den langsomme gang gennem de vidtstrakte og altid
samme furer på ageren, hvorover en ublid vind blæser.
På læderet ligger jordens fugtighed og fedme. Under
sålerne glider markvejens ensomhed forbi, mens aftenen
falder på. I skotøjet genlyder jordens tavse tilråb, dens
stilfærdige skænken af modnende korn og dens uforkla-
rede vægring mod at yde noget på vintermarkens øde
brak. Gennem dette tøj drager den klageløse ængstelse
for brødets sikkerhed, den ordløse glæde over, at nøden
atter er overstået, en bæven ved den forestående fødsel
og en skælven for dødens allestedsnærværende trussel.
Dette tøj hører til jorden, og det er bevaret i bondekonens
verden. Ud af denne bevarede hjemhørighed stiger tøjet
selv frem til sin i-sig-hvilen.” 17
Tekststykket fortæller om denne tilværelses slidsom-
hed og naturafhængighed ud fra Heideggers fænome-
nologisk opfattede samhørighed mellem menneske og
verden. Mennesket eksisterer i en helhed, hvor både
skotøjets læder og vintermarkens øde brak, klageløs
ængstelse og bæven(!) kan føres tilbage til grundlæg-
gende sammenhænge – hvoraf den sidste og største
betydningshelhed er verden.
Udlægningen af bondeskoene understreger fænome-
nologiens generelle opposition til den metafysiske tænk-
nings essentialisme for i stedet at fastholde fokus på
eksistentialiteten. Interessen i at afdække det værendes
måde at fremtræde på og en kredsen om forståelsen af
en genstands særegne vitalitet kan i en beslægtet form
identificeres som en central stræben inden for maleriet
hos van Gogh, dog uden at forbinde ham med Heidegger.
Van Goghs skildringer af markarbejdet indkredser den
jævne, men universelle betragtning, at ved såvel forbe-
redelsen som ved høsten af arbejdets frugt er den fysiske
indsats af samme slidsomme art. Flere af hans værkserier
formidler et enstrenget handlingsmønster, der fremhæver
tilværelsens uforanderlige vilkår, som korresponderer
med forbilledet Millet – ligesom høstmandens opslugt-
hed hos Ring umiddelbart kan relateres til beskrivelsen
af en fundamental og simpel livsform. Målsætningen om
i maleriet at visualisere fakticiteten, fornemmelsen af det
egentlige arbejde og dets tilbagevendende og ensartede
karakter, forbinder desuden Rings bestræbelser med van
Goghs, hvoraf sidstnævntes som bekendt også udmøn-
tede sig i adskillige høstscener, mange som gentagelser
efter Millet.
43 miriam have watts
Rings motiviske valg og stilistiske greb i I høst
videregiver netop en stoflighed dels i forgrundens de-
tailstudie, dels i høstarbejdet kondenseret i den enlige
og karakteristiske figur. Fladepræget i figur og baggrund
underminerer ikke denne taktilitet, men åbner i stedet
for en dybde af betydningslag, der bærer I høst videre
end en nøgtern realisme og videre end en skildring alene
motiveret af fx politisk overbevisning eller baseret på en
religiøs tilværelsesforståelse.
Distancering fra determinismen
Et romantisk-pastoralt blik bærer Heideggers tekst
om eksistensen indvævet i en større betydningssam-
menhæng, hvor landlivet er en simpel, afbalanceret og
selvopfyldende værensform med jordens goldhed opvejet
af høsten. Ængstelsen beskrives som klageløs og forløses
af glæde, der er ordløs. Ordknapheden genkendes i
Rings høstmand, umiddelbart opslugt og tilsyneladende
hjemme i arbejdet.
For Millet var formidlingen af tilhørsforholdet
menneske og omgivelser en bevidst strategi, og hans
bestræbelser med motiver som Manden med hakken
gik på en deterministisk figurskildring. I et brev fra
1862 redegjorde han således for sin indsats omkring
ikke alene at samle sine kompositioner efter en indre
nødvendigheds princip, men tilsvarende kun at skildre
figurer, der fremtræder i overensstemmelse med deres
position i livet: Det skulle være umuligt for betragteren
at forestille sig, at staffagen kunne være andet, end det
maleriet fremstiller. 18
Men som jeg har understreget, indskriver Rings
høstmands akavede krop og anstrengte bevægelse
ham ikke entydigt i en sådan betydningssammenhæng.
Derimod afsløres et misforhold mellem det arbejdende
menneske og omgivelserne. Rings høstskildring har fået
et vrid bort fra bondekonens ”bevarede hjemhørighed”
og fra Heideggers akademiske og gennemarbejdede
retorik, hvis billeddannende sammenstillinger opretholder
en lyrisk distance til det beskrevne. Skildringen
af en fundamental fænomenologisk sammenhængskraft
modsiges af de indre spændinger i Rings komposition
og figurtegning. I høst både indskriver sig i og udfordrer
samhørighedsforestillingen om et ureflekteret og naturligt
landliv, der stille tåles, og hvis glæder og sorger cyklisk
afløser hinanden.
Også sin sædemand distancerer Ring fra omgivelserne,
så en traditionel sammenskrivning af menneske og
verden tilbageholdes. Sædemandens fysiske fremtræden
genkalder Jules Bastien-Lepages (1848-84) figur i til-

(Fig. 6)
Jules Bastien-Lepage (1848-84):
tiggeren (Le mendiant) 1880
the Beggar
Olie på lærred
193,5 x 180,5 cm
Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek,
København
svarende monumental skala i maleriet Tiggeren fra 1880
[fig.6], som Ring med stor sandsynlighed har skelet til:
Sædemanden er ligesom tiggeren fremstillet med en
overbevisende rumlighed omkring ansigt og hænder,
mens det mere udifferentierede, mørke tøj over en grov
krop har et todimensionalt præg, der korresponderer med
baggrundens opbygning i flader. 19
En tidligere parallel til Rings figur og den fladeprægede
fremstillingsform findes i Gustave Courbets (1819-
77) Stenhuggere fra 1849 [fig.7], som Ring gennem
reproduktioner muligvis også har kendt. 20 Hvor karakteristikken
af sædemanden er væsentlig mere markeret end
hos tiggeren, er Rings fremstilling ikke af så direkte og
radikal karakter som Courbets Stenhuggere: Renset for
miriam have watts 44

klassiske referencer og religiøse analogier lader Courbet
kun det faktiske slid stå tilbage i værket. Også Rings
sædemandsfigur er stiv og kantet ækvivalerende arbejdet
og omgivelserne, men bæres dog samtidig af en vis
kraftfuldhed og af den vitalitet, der er bundet op i selve
såningen. Courbet derimod har valgt at skildre den mest
degraderende beskæftigelse overhovedet; i dansk sammenhæng
kendt i den anderledes patosfyldte formulering
i Jeppe Aakjærs (1866-1930) tekstlige pendant fra 1905
om Jens Vejmand, ”der af sin sure Nød / med Ham’ren
maa forvandle / de haarde Sten til Brød”. 21
Courbets stenhuggere står relief-lignende mod baggrundens
lukkede flade, der rejser sig som en næsten
klaustrofobisk mur og fastholder dem i arbejdsrutinen.
45 miriam have watts
Kunstnerens ven, den yderliggående socialist Pierre-
Joseph Proudhon (1809-65), beskrev således den gamle
mand: ”Hans stive arme hæves og sænkes med en løftestangs
regelmæssighed. Sandelig er her det mekaniske
eller mekaniserede menneske reduceret til en nedbrudt
tilstand af vores prægtige civilisation og enestående
industri.” 22
Disse grundlæggende konsekvenser af den teknologiske
udvikling aftegnede sig i løbet af få år i såvel
nye industrielle områder og en forskudt demografi, som
i den industrielle fremstillingsproces’ forvandling af en
hel ny klasse, fabriksarbejderne, til en stor, anonymiseret
masse. Med sin politiske bevidsthed og interesse for
disse vilkår observerer T.J. Clark i Image of the People,
(Fig. 7)
Gustave Courbet (1818-77):
Stenhuggerne
(Les casseurs de pierres) 1849
Stone Breakers
Olie på lærred
165 x 257 cm
Maleriet blev destrueret
under 2. verdenskrig. Gengivet
er her en malet skitse fra Die
Sammlung Oskar reinhart
’am römerholz’ i Winterthur,
Schweiz

hvordan stenhuggernes beklædning bekræfter deres
fysiske tilstedeværelse, men hverken artikulerer deres
rumlighed eller bevægelse. 23
Rings høstmand og sædemand har samme fysiske
fremtrædelse som stenhuggerne, og baggrunden har
samme kulissepræg, men hans figurers frontale stilling
og karakteristiske fremtræden synes dog mere pointeret
at videregive et nuanceret billede af arbejdets art. Disse
betydningslag ligger lige under Rings maleriers overflade,
idet værkernes udformning netop holder flere forståelses-
dimensioner åbne som modvægt til en ellers reduktion af
figurerne til ren, bevidstløs arbejdskraft.
Vanens betydning og en potentiel
eksistensforandring
Med min forståelse af kroppen og dens handlingsmønster
som den primære bærer af tematiseringen af arbejdet i I
høst og Sædemanden, er det relevant kort at pointere det
forhold, at Heideggers filosofiske system forunderligt nok
forbigår en behandling af en konkret fysikalitet – på trods
af at hans terminologi forudsætter et kropsligt subjekt.
En fænomenologisk tematisering af kroppen kan i stedet
søges hos Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1908-61), der er
langt mere specifik vedrørende den fysiske forankring
i verden. 24
I forbindelse med sin redegørelse for patologiske
tilfælde i Kroppens fænomenologi fra 1945 behandler
Merleau-Ponty betydningen af vaner og eksemplificerer
dette med en blind mands tilvænning til sin stok. Her
sikrer vanen, at stokken overgår til den blindes sanseområde
og derved ikke længere perciperes som genstand,
for dens spids har forøget omfanget og rækkevidden
af følesansen og er blevet analog med blikket hos den
seende. Mennesket – der har vænnet sig til stokken eller
til enhver anden ting som en hat eller en stol – har
indrettet sig i genstanden og har ladet den blive en del
af egenkroppens volumen. Med rod i et langt mere komplekst
tankesystem kan forholdet kortfattet opsummeres
i følgende udsagn om, at ”Vanen er udtryk for vor evne til
at udvide vor væren-i-verden eller ændre eksistens ved at
indlemme nye redskaber.” 25
For Merleau-Ponty har kroppen primat og kan efter
behov producere genstande, så handlingsfeltet udvides
og muligheden for betydningsdannelse øges. Genstanden
eller redskabet indoptages med vanen, der er en modus
ved kroppens grundlæggende uafhængige eksistens.
Kroppen er altså ikke en tingslighed blandt andre ting,
men konstituerer subjektets perspektiv på verden og står
derfor uden for de objekter, den netop har perspektiv på.
Mens subjektet kan fjerne sig fra andre rumlige objekter,
er kroppen altid nærværende.
Ligesom den blinde sanser med stokken, kan
høstmandens arbejde med leen betragtes som udtryk
for redskabets indoptagelse i hans krop, idet han som
subjekt retter sig mod verden via kroppen: Slåningen er
overgået til at være en særlig modulation af hans motorik.
Bevægelsen beskriver en viden, der ligger i høstmandens
hænder, som dét Merleau-Ponty kalder en kropslig
indsats. 26
Ud fra denne vinkel kan man tale om, at høstmanden
udvider og ændrer sin eksistens med indlemmelsen af
redskabet. Kroppen er den generelle måde at have en
verden på, og når kroppens naturlige midler ikke rækker
til den ønskede handling og betydningsdannelse, kan
en kulturverden – med redskaber som leen – opbygges
omkring kroppen, så grundeksistensen forandres.
En form for eksistensmodulation har jeg allerede
omtalt i forbindelse med den tilsyneladende glidning
fra individ til type ud fra Rings skildring af arbejdets
indflydelse på høstmandens fremtrædelse. Som antydet
kan perspektivet på arbejdet som en opslugt, repetitiv
og tilsyneladende automatisk handling tilføjes flere
dimensioner, hvis tolkningerne bredes ud inden for forskellige
fænomenologisk inspirerede anskuelsesrammer.
Merleau-Pontys vanetilegnelse kan således udvide min
værkundersøgelse med sin konkrete beskrivelse af subjektet
og dets handlingsform; et individ med egenvilje,
der forstås som en konkret kropslighed i udveksling med
verden, og ikke en krop reduceret til blot og bar eksistens.
krop-arbejde-redskab
Sideløbende med mine betragtninger over vanetilegnelsen
fastholder jeg dog også, at Rings skildring af bindingen
til arbejdslivet peger på en form for eksistensforandring,
der afstedkommes af en reduktion af individualitet – og
dermed en forøgelse af arbejdertypens dominans.
Forholdet materialiserer sig i Millets Manden med hakken,
hvor figuren næsten vokser over i redskabet, ligesom
overgangen mellem Rings høstmand og leen er glidende
formidlet. Denne indfældelse i arbejdet via redskabet
kan med en skelen til vanetilegnelsen forskydes ved at
stille spørgsmålet, hvor dominansen egentlig placerer sig
i relationen krop og redskab: et spørgsmål om primat, der
også relaterer sig til de formalistiske uklarheder, om hvad
der er foran, og hvad der er bagved.
Med et åbent greb vil jeg derfor vende eksistensudvidelsen
via vanen om: For hvis fortroligheden med
redskabet og udvidelsen af kropsligheden ombyttes i den
miriam have watts 46

forstand, at det bliver redskabet, der absolut definerer
kroppens bevægelse og handlingsmuligheder, så ampute-
res den kropslige relation til omgivelserne; ved en sådan
reduktion af perspektiv på verden indsnævres kroppens
råderum – for i yderste konsekvens at overgå til en form,
der ligner redskabets.
En sådan omvending kan også beskrives med afsæt i
Hannah Arendt (1906-75), når hun i Menneskets vilkår
fra 1958 fremlægger, hvordan det bedste resultat i arbejdet
opnås gennem individuelle bevægelser koordineret i
én rytme:
”Under denne bevægelse mister værktøjet sit
instrumentelle præg, og den klare sondring imellem
mennesket og dets hjælpemidler og mål går i opløsning.
[...] Arbejdets hjælpemidler bliver inddraget i rytmen,
således at både krop og redskab ender med at svinge
i samme repetitive bevægelse, det vil sige således, at
maskinerne [...] nu tvinger kroppen til at bevæge sig, hvor
det før var kroppens bevægelser, der bragte hjælpemidlet
i bevægelse.” 27
Som en udløber af min pointe, om at arbejdet kan
overskrive individualiteten, så først og fremmest typen
materialiserer sig, kan selve redskabet i det repetitive
arbejde ”transcendere” sin status som hjælpemiddel og
igennem brugen overgå til at determinere kroppens bevægelser
og dens relation til verden. Kroppen er da blevet en
form for redskabslighed – en tingslighed blandt verdens
øvrige ting. Denne omvending undergraver selvsagt den
vanetilegnelse, jeg ud fra Merleau-Ponty også finder i
skildringen af høstmandens arbejde med leen, hvor en
beherskelse af redskabet og en udvidelse af kroppens
råderum udtrykkes. Min tilegnelse af vane-begrebet skal
således ikke forstås som direkte overført til maleriet, men
rettere som inspiration til mit konkrete tolkningsarbejde
omkring dobbeltbetydningerne i høstmandens opslugthed
og i min anskueliggørelse af forskelligt værdiladede
transformationer af kropslighed. Med hensyn til tanken
om tingsliggørelse formulerer Finn Terman Frederiksen
noget tilsvarende i en analyse af Rings maleri Landevej
ved Næstved fra 1890. Uddraget kan desuden relateres
til Rings citat om at fotografere ting – ”det vil sige
Mennesker”:
”Efter Rings opfattelse er tilværelsens mest fundamentale
og smertefulde tvedelthed den, der skiller
menneske og verden, den, der gør verden fremmed for
mennesket, den, der gør mennesket hjemløst på jorden.
For Ring er fremmedgørelsen samtidig en tingsliggørelse,
et indtryk, der forstærkes, når Ring som her skaber en
brunligt jordagtig enhedstone og tvinger sin ”påklistrede”
47 miriam have watts
figur ind i et tonefællesskab med omgivelserne, der
tingsliggør denne menneskeskikkelse og forstærker
fremmedfølelsen ved at se mennesket fremstillet, som
var det blot en ting i en verden af ting.” 28
I I høst aflæser jeg flere tolkningsniveauer, hvor først
og fremmest en dobbelt eksistensforskydning er betydningsbærende.
Dels udviskes det enkelte menneskes
identitetsmarkører, dels udvides de under udvekslingen
med omgivelserne – forskydninger, der materialiserer
sig som modulationer og omvendinger i forholdet
krop-arbejde-redskab.
Et splittet perspektiv
I Sædemanden identificerer jeg samme mediering
krop-arbejde-redskab, hvor arbejdsredskabet dog alene
konstitueres af kroppen og defineres af figurens samlede
arbejdsmærkede fremtoning. Der er her samme udtalte
diskrepans omkring figurens rumlige fornemmelse som
helhed og i forhold til omgivelserne, hvilket i dette
maleri ledsages af angivelsen af udadrettet bevægelse,
som i øvrigt også antydes i Bastien-Lepages tigger.
Sædemanden er i sin ambivalente fremtræden fastfrosset
midt i et skridt, der strander på maleriets overflade,
så dynamikken holdes spændt op inden for maleriets
snævre, kulisseagtige rum.
Affødt af blandt andet sædemandens dobbelttydige
fremtoning af stilstand og udadrettethed er det samlede
formelle udtryk mere radikalt end den ellers lignende
fladebehandling og stiliserede form i I høst. Dualismen
giver en mere tydelig pointering i det sene maleri af det
konkret relationelle mellem figur og omgivelser, mellem
subjektet og det objektive: Her eksponeres mennesket
i en anderledes insisterende distance til omgivelserne,
som i mere udtalt form end i I høst kan transponeres
over i tolkningen af en afstandtagen fra forestillingen om
en større meningsstruktur, hvori mennesket fordringsløst
skulle indføje sig. Som en kommentar til en ellers forventelig
skildring af sædemanden som hjemmehørende
i landlivet, synes Ring at placere ham mindre i og mere
over for omgivelserne, og dermed mere entydigt som
subjekt over for det objektive – som mulighedsvæsen
og potentielt selvdannende eksistens i verden. Dette
tilløb til en egentlig subjektformulering problematiserer
Ring samtidig gennem netop de opretholdte skel og det
relationelle, gennem figurens tilsyneladende løsrevethed
fra verden.
Accentueringen af en grundlæggende afstand både
aktualiserer og peger væk fra fænomenologiens primære
sammenskrivning af menneske og verden. Sædemanden

(Fig. 8) L.a. ring:
Er regnen hørt op?
Sankt Jørgensbjerg 1922
Has It Stopped raining?
Olie på lærred
64,5 x 55,5 cm
Statens Museum
for Kunst
kan i den forstand ses som egentlig eksponent for en for-
ståelse af udveksling mellem subjektet og det objektive,
som berørt ud fra Merleau-Ponty, idet figurens postulerede
tilhørsforhold i omgivelserne netop fremviser en
potentiel og forventelig sammenhæng. En sammenhæng,
der dog negeres i den stærkere formulering af ”ophold”
og brudte perspektiver inden for selve billedrummet.
Denne tematisering af afstand inden for det enkelte
værk kan tydeliggøres med inddragelsen af Rings senere
maleri, Er regnen hørt op?, fra 1922 [fig.8], hvor en stor,
udtryksfuld figur i en bred døråbning tøver på tærsklen.
Tilsvarende sædemanden trækker figuren en parallel til
Bastien-Lepages Tiggeren. Rings skildring af manden i
forhold til det omgivende interiør fortæller, at han har
hjemme her, mens gengivelsen af verden udenfor formidler
en anderledes virkelighed, fremmed i forhold til huset,
han befinder sig i: Rings minutiøse detaljegengivelse i
uderummet skaber en særegen selvstændighed i forhold
til det resterende motiv, ligesom han i Sædemanden har
ignoreret illusionen om afstand og genstandes formindskelse
i sin skildring af baggrundens enkeltheder. Med
præcisionen og de skarpt definerede konturer fremstår
disse to værkers billedrum ”elastiske” i den forstand,
at baggrundens formindskede indhold tildeles næsten
samme status som forgrundens forstørrede figurationer.
Rent teknisk og kompositionelt anskueliggøres en konkret
forskel mellem ”her” og ”der”, mellem menneske og
verden. Spørgsmålet om hierarki inden for værkets eget
rum, om foran og bagved, bliver igen nærværende.
Den tidligere behandlede afstand i Sædemanden
underbygges således af den klare definition af baggrunden,
der forstærker de allerede svært bestemmelige
afstandsangivelser og vanskeliggør fastholdelsen af perspektiv
og narration. Foruden sædemandens udadrettede
fremtoning og placering nær rammens kant presser også
gården og træernes detaljeringsgrad i baggrunden sig
på. I Sædemanden finder entydighed og enkelhed aldrig
ro, og skildringens enhedspræg bliver paradoksalt nok
fastholdt som splittet.
Det uhyggelige
Den negation af sammenhængskraft, der er til stede i
I høst og i særdeleshed i Sædemanden, kan yderligere
belyses ud fra elementer fra Sigmund Freuds (1856-
1939) Det uhyggelige fra 1919, hvis hovedtese tager
udgangspunkt i en etymologisk undersøgelse af de
modsigelsesfulde betydninger, der ligger i det uhyggelige
som begreb. 29 I min inddragelse heraf vægter jeg ikke
psykoanalytiske spørgsmål, men vil alene udvide mit
tolkningsperspektiv omkring en umiddelbar helhedsforståelse
og et ellers velkendt virkelighedsbillede, der
antyder og åbner for erfaringen af noget anderledes og
opbrudt.
Det verdensbillede, Ring bygger op inden for
maleriernes ambivalente rum, er hverken ligetil eller
lettilgængeligt, idet ikonografien lader betragteren
føle sig hjemme i betydningsdannelsen, men samtidig
introducerer noget andet i forhold til en forventelig fremstillingsform.
Man kan tale om, at noget ukendt og, især
ud fra sædemandens gestaltning, noget foruroligende
trænger sig på inden for det ellers velkendte og trygge.
En sådan destabilitet og uhygge transponeres af Henrik
Wivel over i en fundamental dødsviethed, der skulle drive
Rings værk, lige fra kunstnerens konkrete skildringer af
dødens triumf til hans figurmaleri, der lodder ”noget sygt
og ubehageligt i sindet, i mennesket.” Wivels fraser om
maleriernes ”forgrovede brutalitet og latente aggressivitet”
bliver først og fremmest interessante igennem hans
perspektiveringer, særligt i hans sammenligninger med
Johannes V. Jensens forståelse af menneskenaturen, der
fx i den tidlige Himmerlandshistorie Oktobernat konkretiserer
et frit og åbent gennemtræk til menneskets mest
primitive instinkter i fremstillingen af en skænkestues
uhjemlighed og skæbnerne omkring den – indrammet af
det manende ”Døren stod aaben til Mørket”. 30
Et veritabelt mørke karakteriserer også det sædemandsbillede
fra 1850 af Millet, hvor en aggressiv figur
i halvløb traverserer marken [fig.9]. Kroppen er bagoverbøjet
og skulderen spændt opad med armene tydeligt definerede
og forkortede, næven ved kornsækken fast knyttet.
Hans kontur tegner sig mod den dystre himmel, hvor
flokke af krager synes at sprede sig med sædekornene fra
den bagudrettede hånd. En kraftig lys- og skyggevirkning
dramatiserer hans fremtoning og mørkner ansigtet, hvis
grove træk med den åbentstående mund forbinder ham
med samme kunstners skildring af manden med hakken
omtrent tretten år senere. Også Rings høstmand relaterer
sig til denne sædemands manglende ansigtsartikulation,
ligesom elementer af voldsomheden kan iagttages i høstmandens
altid underliggende reference til manden med
leen. Foruden det direkte motiviske slægtskab vækker
Rings egen sædemands markante og tvetydigt både indesluttede
og konfronterende fremtoning også mindelser
om Millets figur, uanset værkernes udprægede stilistiske
forskelligheder. De grove kroppe og den potentielle, men
underligt indestængte, kraftfuldhed hos både Rings
høstmand og sædemand tangerer desuden Millets figurs
ominøse fremtoning.
miriam have watts 48

49 miriam have watts

(Fig. 9)
Jean-Francois Millet:
Sædemanden
(Le semeur)1850
the Sower
Olie på lærred
101,6 cx 82,6 cm
Museum of Fine arts,
Boston
Opmærksomheden på det uheldsvangre kan med en
kort ekskurs til Freuds sproghistoriske sporing af det
uhyggeliges etymologi af indbyrdes modsigelsesfuldhed
bidrage til en mere nuanceret læsning af spændingsfeltet
omkring Rings figurer – i min optik særligt givtigt omkring
kunstnerens konfronterende sædemand, når læsningen
af Millets tilsvarende figur holdes in mente.
En omskrivning til noget latent aggressivt i Rings
sædemand relaterer jeg således til ”Das Heimliche”, der i
Freuds artikel vinkles over i ”Das Unheimliche”: Hvor det
hjemlige er både kendt og hyggeligt, indeholder det også
noget privat eller hemmeligt – noget skjult eller ukendt,
noget der er utilgængeligt for den fremmedes blik. Derfra
slår betydningen over i sin egentlige modsætning og
falder sammen med det uhyggelige. Med en henvisning
til Schelling fastslår Freud, at ”Uhyggeligt er alt det, der
burde være forblevet hemmeligt, skjult, men som er trådt
frem.” 31
Med en fri transponering af dette hjemlige ser jeg altså
i både Rings høstmand og sædemand det velkendte i
kraft af den motiviske indskrivning i en tradition, der
fastsætter figurerne som genkendelige typer. Samtidig
betyder figurernes egenartede forankring og fastlåsthed i
billedrummet, at en umiddelbar tilgængelighed vanskeliggøres,
så betragteren efterlades med fornemmelsen af, at
noget i værkerne forbliver tilbageholdt eller måske skjult.
En yderligere nuance dertil er netop sædemandens også
udadrettede, konfronterende karakter, der bærer hans
figur videre end høstmandens gestaltning, så en mere
nuanceret såvel som dramatisk dobbeltbinding mellem
velkendt og ukendt træder frem. Endnu en dimension
af det uhyggelige som begreb kan da komme i spil, i
en egentlig vildrede om hvad det er for en figur, Ring
fremstiller i Sædemanden.
Tvivl om besjæling
Den manglende entydighed bliver i Freuds artikel behandlet
ud fra E.T.A. Hoffmanns (1776-1822) Sandmanden
fra 1815, hvori den mekaniske trædukke Olympia er
kilde til en tvivl om besjæling og giver ”en intellektuel
usikkerhed med hensyn til, om noget er levende eller
livløst”, hvor ”det livløse driver ligheden med det levende
for langt.” 32
En sådan usikkerhed kan også opstå ud af Rings
dobbelte skildring af høstmanden og sædemanden som
både individer og typer, opslugt af arbejdets rutine og
automatiske handlingsmønster, der nuanceres af den
samtidige ambivalens og negation. Deres tilhørsforhold
som både naturligt og forceret afdækker det både
hjemlige og fremmede, og fordi opslugtheden er mindre
entydigt formidlet hos sædemanden end hos høstmanden
forstår jeg forholdet som særligt uafklaret i hans
tilfælde. Hans ansigtstræk og udadrettethed accentuerer
et større potentielt nærvær, som åbner for betragterens
indlæsning af besjæling i hans samtidig hæmmede og
fastlåste figur.
Den projektion af det levende og tilsyneladende velkendte
over på en død ting, som Freud beskriver omkring
dukken eller automaten, virker ikke kun uhyggelig, idet
den døde ting udadtil kan synes perfekt, men intet indre
liv har. Projektionen er særlig ubehagelig, fordi den peger
på det mekaniske, som mennesket også kan opleve i sig
selv, når en del af selvet synes at leve sit eget liv uden
om bevidsthedens kontrollerende instans. 33
En sådan ikke-bevidstgjort – mekanisk – handling
aflæser jeg i såvel høstmanden som sædemandens
repetitive arbejde. Dette knytter sig blandt andet
til min fremskrivning af opslugthed og den form for
automatik, hvormed Proudhon karakteriserede Courbets
miriam have watts 50

Stenhuggere. Beskrivelsen af individets nedbrydning,
der kan være affødt af samtidens teknologiske udvikling,
peger på erfaringen af fremmedgjorthed og formuleres af
Hannah Arendt blandt andet således: ”I et arbejdssam-
fund erstatter maskinernes verden den virkelige verden,
til trods for at denne pseudoverden ikke kan leve op til
det vigtigste krav til menneskets frembringelser, nemlig
at give de dødelige et hjem, der er mere bestandigt og
stabilt end de selv.” 34
Med I høst og Sædemanden indrammer Ring en
lignende tvivl om det hjemmehørende, om end han ikke
som i citatet ovenfor – og kun sjældent i sine værker
generelt – direkte skildrede det samtidige industrisam-
fund. Særligt i Sædemanden kan destabiliteten vokse
eksponentielt med formidlingen af løsrevethed, og til-
svarende den urovækkende glidning mellem menneske,
arbejde og redskab, jeg primært har fremskrevet omkring
I høst, afstedkommer fornemmelsen af noget egentligt
uhyggeligt i sædemandens fremtoning: Kommende imod
betragteren og dog alligevel indelukket i sin gestaltning
anskueliggør figuren dobbelttydigheden omkring det
genkendelige og det fremmede, omkring det tilgængelige
og det indestængtes underliggende aggressivitet.
Rings praksis omkring figurskildringen i I høst og
Sædemanden peger i min undersøgelse altså på en
fundamental erfaring af fremmedgjorthed, der i lyset
af automatens træk netop har tingsligheden som klang-
bund, hvor over maleriernes udsagn fluktuerer mellem
nærvær og ikke-nærvær, mellem det bevidste og det
ubevidste, det levende og det livløse – relationer, der i
min fremskrivning netop udspringer af de grundlæggende
modulationer i forholdet menneske-redskab-arbejde.
Individ og type
Med det 25-årige spænd mellem I høst og Sædemanden
kan værkerne ikke alene afstikke en ramme for en
bredere forståelse af Rings kunstneriske praksis i sin
kredsen om landarbejderskildringer og dertil knyttede
arbejdstematikker: De to malerier står som egentlige
monumentaliseringer af dette motivfelt.
Dobbelttydighederne, jeg ser som bærer af udsagnet i
begge værker, transcenderer en traditionel pastoral, tilbageskuende
tilgang til motiverne og modsiger ahistoriske
billeddannelser rettet mod noget svundent og ophørt. I
stedet fastholder ekspressiviteten det uafsluttede og også
opbrudte, og fremstillingen af virkeligheden står ikke som
en stilistisk konstruktion ved siden af erfaringen, men
formidles i stedet som noget indenfor og i selve denne
personlige horisont. Forankret i det faktisk foreliggende,
51 miriam have watts
i materialiteten, befæster malerierne åbningen mod en
konkret og historisk samtidighed, og tvivlsspørgsmålet
om en bredere forankret stabilitet tematiseres.
Idet kardinalpunktet i I høst ligger i mødet mellem
den selvstændige identitets vitalistiske formulering og
en anderledes vitalisme bundet i arbejdets overblænding
af individualiteten, anskueliggøres en eksistensforskydning
først og fremmest inden for høstmanden selv.
Perspektivet udvides i Sædemanden, hvis umiddelbart
lignende vitalistiske udsagn får en anderledes pågående
karakter og aggressiv drejning gennem figurfremtoningen,
der kan siges at aktivere omgivelserne, så forskydningerne
i højere grad udfælder sig mellem figur og
billedrum. Det verdensvendte og objektiverende sætter
både subjektformuleringen og stækkelsen heraf i spil,
og en andethed materialiserer sig i lakunen mellem det
fortrolige og fremmede.
Med resonansbund i værkernes tematisering af den
samtidige tilstedeværelse af både individ og type i hver
figur lægger et bredt favnende både-og sig således over
de forskellige og ambivalente fortællinger, jeg identificerer
i de to malerier. Samhørigheden og det forbundne, der
i analysen af I høst kommer til syne som moduleret og
modsagt, formuleres i Sædemanden i en mere akut form
omkring fragmentering og negation. Hvor høstmanden
kan pege på en potentiel samklang med omgivelserne,
hvis der kan findes hvile i en nuanceret og flerstrenget
opfattelse af kroppen som bærer af tilværelsen, indsætter
den pågående detaljerealisme anderledes afstand
og ophold inden for billedrummet i Sædemanden. Det
forbundne optræder her i brudstykker, der skyder sig
ind bag og omkring sædemandsfiguren, så motivet bliver
svært at gribe uden om tvetydighederne, og der dannes
betydninger, som uvægerligt også kommer til at pege
tilbage på og influere læsningen af I høst. Der er intet
samlet perspektiv eller nogen egentlig ro inden for de to
maleriers billedrum – kun omkring sammenhængskraften
er formidlingen entydig: Sammenhængen er brudt.

1 artiklen baserer sig på mit konferensspeciale
L.A. Ring, Figur og billedrum – menneske
og verden fra januar 2008.
2 Uddrag af Bibelen, 1. Mosebog 3,17-19, Det
Danske Bibelselskab, København 2004:
”Fordi du lyttede til din kvinde / og spiste af
det træ, / jeg forbød dig at spise af, / skal
agerjorden være forbandet for din skyld; /
med møje skal du skaffe dig føden / alle dine
dage. / tjørn og tidsel skal jorden lade spire
frem til dig, / og du skal leve af markens
planter. / I dit ansigts sved / skal du spise
dit brød, / indtil du vender tilbage til jorden,
/ for af den er du taget. / Ja, jord er du, / og
til jord skal du blive.”
3 I sammenligning med billedkunsten var den
skønlitterære formidlingsform bedre stillet,
idet forfatterne kunne bruge elementer
af landarbejdere og bønders tankesæt og
udtryksmåde ved fx tekstligt at indarbejde
konkrete træk fra den mundtlige fortælletradition.
Dette pointerer Lis Barnkop
i ”Bøndernes billeder – billedernes
bønder”, i Drift og socialitet, Analyser af
fortællinger og malerier om hverdagslivet på
landet i det 19. århundredes slutning samt
kulturhistorik bibliografi (Dansk kulturhistorie
og bevidsthedsdannelse 1880-1920, bind
15), Odense Universitetsforlag 1983, 111.
4 I sammenhæng med det realistiske
maleri bliver begrebet autenticitet fx
indkredset i den lidt ældre, men ganske
anvendelige indføring i perioden af Linda
Nochlin i Realismen, Stil og samfund fra 1971,
på dansk ved Else Mogensen, 1978, 31.
Oprindeligt Nochlin: Realism and Tradition in
Art, 1848-1900, Sources and Documents,
New Jersey 1966.
5 Fx kan henvises til Matthæus 13:24-43,
der fortæller om ukrudtet sået af djævelen
på marken. Den gode sæd er netop de
retfærdige i verden, som i høsten (verdens
ende) sorteres fra ukrudtet, der kastes i den
store ovn med ild.
6 De omtalte forstudier til høstmanden, der
er koncentreret om overkroppens positur
og bevægelsesmønster, findes i Den Kgl.
Kobberstiksamling, Statens Museum for
Kunst: En høstmand, 1885. Blyant, 186 x
109 mm., samt dennes verso: Del af studie til
samme maleri som recto, 1885. Blyant, 186 x
109 mm.
7 I denne artikel må jeg desværre udelade
det ellers væsentlige afsæt, som Michael
Frieds absorptionsbegreb og hans
teatrikalitetsdefinition danner for mit
speciales grundlæggende og mere formelle
undersøgelser af rings motivkomposition
og anvendelse af stilistiske virkemidler.
Frieds formidling af sin teori gennem
udvalgte landarbejderskildringer af
Jean-François Millet har været central for
min analyse af I høst, mens jeg i arbejdet
med Sædemanden har grebet tilbage til ét af
Frieds andre illustrative eksempler i form af
et maleri af Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin.
Det teoretiske fundament for min brug af
Fried er Absorption and Theatricality: Painting
and Beholder in the Age of Diderot, Californien
1980.
8 Denne praksis fremgår for eksempel
helt konkret af rings Ved det gamle hus,
Sankt Jørgensbjerg, der bærer årstallene
1919 for omgivelserne, mens maleriets
egentlige færdiggørelse med en vinterklædt,
piberygende mand dateres 1922. Olie på
lærred, 81 x 102 cm, Nationalmuseum
Stockholm.
9 Figurernes todimensionale fremtoning
kobles fx af Gertrud With med rings
forkærlighed for overraskende motivudsnit
og abrupte afskæringer inspireret af
fotografiet som medie. With: ”Fotografiets
betydning for modernitetens billeddannelse”,
i Fischer Jonge og With (red.): Verden
set på ny, Fotografi og Malerkunst i Danmark
1840-1900, København 2002, 47-51.
10 thomas Lederballe nuancerer forståelsen
af rings stilistiske særtræk med sin undersøgelse
af tegningens rolle i kunstnerens
værker og hans tilsyneladende accept af
udførelsens ufuldkommenhed og uforløste
karakter. Lederballe: ”tegningen først efter”,
i Nørgaard Larsen (red.): L.A. Ring, På kanten
af verden, København 2006, 188-204,
citat 193.
11 ring, udateret brev til Johanne Wilde,
skrevet i Næstved, forsommeren 1891.
Det Kgl. Bibliotek, NKS 4437, VII,3,4°.
12 For en sammenstilling af disse to malerier
kan desuden henvises til Barnkop, Odense
1983, 113-114.
13 Bondemalerstriden udspillede sig
i 1907 i først og fremmest Politikens
spalter mellem naturalistisk og symbolistisk
orienterede modparter. For en uddybning
af konflikten kan henvises til Laursen
og thestrup andersen: Naturen og
kunsten: Bondemalerstriden 1907, Faaborg
Museum 1986. Peter Nørgaard Larsen
kommer desuden ind på forbindelsen
mellem Fynboerne og Johannes V. Jensen i
sin artikel ”Solbilleder, Vitalismen i dansk
billedkunst 1890-1910”, Stjernfelt og
Winkel Holm (red.), Kritik, nr. 171, 37. årgang
2004, 19-28.
14 Usigneret udstillingsomtale, Morgenbladet,
11.04.1889.
15 Fried: Courbet’s Realism, Chicago 1990,
41-44. For en nuancering af denne gængse
aflæsning af Manden med hakken kan
henvises til udstillingskataloget Drawn
into the Light, Rediscovering Jean-François
Millet: I hovedartiklen af samme navn
beskrives figuren som et individ, der
kultiverer sin egen lille jordlod, rettere end
et symbol på arbejdet som umenneskeligt
slid - mens selve værkteksten i samme
publikation lægger sig nært op ad Frieds
udlægning. Se Murphy: ”Drawn into
the Light, rediscovering Jean-François
Millet”, i Murphy, m.fl. (red.): Drawn into
the Light, Rediscovering Jean-François Millet,
Williamstown, Massachusetts 1999, 22-24,
92-93.
16 Van Gogh arbejdede med motivet af et og
flere par gamle sko i midten af 1880’erne.
Maleriet, Heidegger omtaler, er efter al
sandsynlighed den velkendte version
gengivet [fig.5], som også er reproduceret i
Bjørn Holgernes’ artikel ”Kult og livsverden”,
i Kunst og filosofi i det 20. århundrede,
København 2002, 119. Min omtale af
”bondesko” hidrører fra oversættelsen
af Heideggers tekst, mens jeg i øvrigt er
bevidst om de ellers væsentlige klasse- og
standsskel mellem netop bonde og
landarbejder.
17 Heidegger: Kunstværkets oprindelse, citat
39-40. Kunstværkets oprindelse er på dansk
ved Malling Lambert, København 2003.
Oprindeligt Heidegger: Der Ursprung des
Kunstwerks, foredrag holdt første gang
i 1935, trykt af Vittorio Klostermann
1950. For en selvstændig behandling
af Heideggers kunstforståelse, samt
bibliografi over andre publikationer herom,
kan henvises til Joseph J. Knockelmans:
Heidegger on Art and Art Works
(Phenomenologica 99), Dordrecht 1985, der
specifikt behandler Heideggers brug af van
Goghs maleri, 125-137.
18 Millet forklarer sine bestræbelser i et
brev dateret Barbizon den 18.02.1862
til kritikeren théophile thoré (1807-69).
Brevet er omtalt og oversat til engelsk
i Nochlin: Realism and Tradition in Art,
1848-1900, Sources and Documents, 56-57.
Nochlin kommenterer i øvrigt brevets
datering. Desuden er brevet omtalt og
oversat i uddrag i Fried, Chicago 1990,
237. Nochlin og Fried citerer begge efter
Etienne Moreau-Nélaton: Millet raconté
par lui-même, Paris, Henri Laurens 1921,
II, 106-107. Følgende er uddraget bragt i
Fried i den originale franske ordlyd i note 20,
348: ”[Je] désire, dans ce que je fais, que les
choses n’aient point l’air d’être amalgamées
au hasard et par l’occasion, mais qu’elles
aient entre elles une liaison indispensable
et forcée; que les êtres que je représente
aient l’air voués à leur position, et qu’il soit
impossible d’imaginer qu’ils pourraient
être autre chose; somme toute, que gens
ou choses sont toujours là pour une fine. Je
désire mettre pleinement et fortement ce
qui est nécessaire [...]”.
19 Tiggeren blev indkøbt af Carl Jacobsen på
Den Franske Udstilling afholdt i København
i 1888, og hvor ring i sit arbejde med I høst
kan have skelet til Bastien-Lepages’ Den
modne hvede (Les Blés Murs), 1880, olie
miriam have watts 52

på lærred, 79 x 104 cm, Santa Barbara
Museum of art, Californien, har han med
stor sandsynlighed hentet inspiration hos
samme kunstner til sit sædemandsmaleri.
Udstillingen i 1888 må betragtes som banebrydende
for særligt de danske, realistisk
orienterede kunstnere, der ligesom ring
endnu ikke havde været i udlandet og på
første hånd havde stiftet bekendtskab med
denne retning i international sammenhæng.
20 Hvor Tiggerens eksponering og store omtale
på udstillingen i 1888 og den efterfølgende
placering i en fremtrædende samling i
København ikke kan have undgået de danske
realistiske maleres opmærksomhed, er rings
kendskab til Courbets maleri mindre sikker.
Be- eller afkræftelsen af dette kendskab er
dog i min sammenhæng af mindre interesse
end perspektiveringens fortolkningspotentiale.
Maleriet, der har fået status som et af
realismens ikoner, blev destrueret i Dresden
under 2. Verdenskrig, men en malet skitse
eksisterer i Die Sammlung Oskar reinhart
”am römerholz” i Winterthur, Schweiz. Dette
er maleriet afbilledet som [fig.7].
21 Jeppe aakjær: Jens Vejmand, dateret
Jebjerg den 19.06.1905, trykt første gang
i Politiken 26.06.1905. Jf. også rings ven
og kollega H.a. Brendekildes (1857-1942)
monumentale maleri En landevej, 1893, olie
på lærred, 200 x 263 cm, Statens Museum
for Kunst.
22 Citat Pierre-Joseph Proudhon: Du Principe de
l’art et de sa destination sociale, Paris 1865.
Her citeret fra Nochlin: Realism and Tradition
in Art, 1848-1900, Sources and Documents, 52,
efter Oeuvres complètes de P.-J. Proudhon, red.
C. Bouglé og H. Moysset, Paris 1939: ”His
stiff arms rise and fall with the regularity
of a lever. Here indeed is the mechanical
or mechanized man, in the state of ruin
to which our splendid civilization and our
incomparable industry have reduced him”.
23 Clark: Image of the People, London 1973, 80.
Clarks formelle betragtninger kan desuden
gentages omkring Tiggerens manglende
rumlige artikulering.
24 Som fremhævet af Dan Zahavi i ”Heidegger
og rummet”, i Rum og fænomenologi,
filosofi, æstetik, arkitektur, historie, Hellerup
2000, 75-76, er kroppen betingelsen for
Heideggers bestemmelse af genstande
som henholdsvis forhåndenværende og
vedhåndenværende, for distinktionen af
begreberne spiller bestandigt på et fysisk
tilstedeværende subjekt – med hænder.
25 Merleau-Ponty: Kroppens fænomenologi, på
dansk ved Bjørn Nake, Frederiksberg 1994,
citat 99. Oprindeligt Merleau-Ponty: ”Le
Corps”, Phénoménologie de la perception, 1.
del, 81-232, Paris 1945. De forskellige
eksempler, som Merleau-Ponty bruger til
at beskrive vanen og indlemmelsen af genstande
i kroppens volumen, fremgår af kapit-
53 miriam have watts
let ”Vanen som motorisk tilegnelse af ny
betydning”, Kroppens fænomenologi, 97-103.
Som Zahavi redegør for i kapitlet ”rummet
og kroppen”, Fænomenologi, roskilde 2003,
understreger særligt Husserl, Sartre og
Merleau-Ponty, at kroppen ikke blot er et
objekt blandt andre. Deres tematisering
af dette forhold bruger Zahavi til netop at
fremhæve det problematiske i Heideggers
manglende redegørelse for kropsligheden.
Min inddragelse af den fænomenologiske
forståelse af kroppen som egentlig fysisk
tilstedeværelse er dog begrænset til blot
få nedslag til Merleau-Pontys perspektiv,
om end Husserl og Sartre formulerer sig i
lignende vendinger. Jf. evt. thomas Schwarz
Wentzers efterskrift til Heidegger: Væren og
tid, på dansk ved Christian rud Skovgaard,
Århus 2007, 559.
26 Merleau-Ponty: Frederiksberg 1994, 99.
27 Hannah arendt: Menneskets vilkår, på dansk
ved Christian Dahl, introduktion af Dahl
og rune Lykkeberg, København 2005,152.
Oprindeligt arendt: The Human Condition,
the University of Chicago 1958.
28 Finn terman Frederiksen: Den bevingede
knokkelmand, L.A. Ring imellem realisme og
symbolisme, randers 2007, citat 104-105.
29 Den sproghistoriske analyse af det
uhyggelige fjerner sig i Freuds behandling
fra den almindelige opfattelse ved artiklens
udgivelse af, at uhyggen opstår i mødet med
det ukendte. I stedet fremhæver Freud, at
kilden til følelsen af uhygge oftere ligger
i det fortrængtes genkomst. Freud: Det
uhyggelige, på dansk ved Hans Christian Fink,
forord og efterskrift af Steen og Visholm,
København 1998, 15-16. Oprindeligt Freud:
”Das Unheimliche”, artikel trykt i 1919. Siden
publiceret i Gesammelte Werke, bind XII samt
Studienausgabe, bind IV, Psychologische
Schriften, London 1947, der er grundlag for
den danske oversættelse.
30 Wivel: ”Den realistiske uhygge. Vilh.
Hammershøis og L.a. rings motivverden”,
Kritik, nr. 59, København 1982, citater
henholdsvis 45 og 48, samt Johannes V.
Jensen: ”Oktobernat”, Himmerlandshistorier,
København 2005, 22. Første gang trykt
i Illustreret Tidende, 04.04.1897, optrykt i
Himmerlandsfolk, november 1898.
31 Freud, København 1998, 23. ”Das
Unheimliche” er som modstykke det, der
er offentligt, åbent og frit tilgængeligt,
og således også det fremmede og det
uhyggelige, der mangler et hjem. Visholm
kommenterer i sit efterskrift s. 84, at
Schellings forståelse af det uhyggelige
er relationel eller interpersonel – den, der
skjuler noget, kender selv hemmeligheden,
og holder den skjult for andre – mens Freud
i løbet af sin argumentation drejer denne
interpersonelle forståelse over på det
intrapsykiske, hvor det uhyggelige altså slås
fast som det fortrængtes genkomst.
32 Hoffmann: ”Sandmanden”, på dansk ved
Johannes Wulff, 10 fantastiske fortællinger,
udvalg og efterskrift ved Bo Hakon
Jørgensen, Odense 1990, 25. Originalt
Hoffmann: Der Sandmann, 1815, trykt
i Nachtstücke. Herausgegeben von dem
Verfasser der Fantasiestücke in Callots Manier,
Erster Teil, Berlin 1817. Se desuden Freud,
København 1998, 33. Med Sandmandens
langt stærkere eksempler på det uhyggelige
udfolder Freud i den forbindelse ikke særligt
tvivlen på det besjælede. Dog kobles dukken
til det infantile og en gammel barneangsts
opvækkelse, der udspringer af barnets ønske
om, at dukken skal blive levende. Dette
kan så returnere i den voksne som uhygge
omkring den svært bestemmelige besjæling
af en figur.
33 Som Steen og Visholm fremhæver s. 10 i
forordet til oversættelsen, er Det uhyggelige
skrevet af Freud før hans færdigudvikling af
den strukturelle personlighedsmodel med
det, jeg og overjeg, hvorfor han ikke inddrager
overjegets rolle i uhyggeoplevelsen.
34 arendt, København 2005, 157.

asmus kjærboe 54

Stilen
i sig selv
r a s m u s k j æ r b o e
Årene 1914 til 1915 markerede et bemærkelsesværdigt
samtidigt gennembrud for tre danske billedhuggere og
deres bud på en tidssvarende skulptur, der skulle vise
et fornyet kunstnerisk engagement i traditionen. Svend
Rathsacks Adam nyskabt (1913-14), Johannes C. Bjergs
Abessinier (1914) og Einar Utzon-Franks Afrodite (1914)
[fig. 1-3] er som statuer i legemsstørrelse ressource-
krævende, helt bevidste kunstneriske satsninger og kan
beskrives som de tidligste, danske eksempler på en
engang populær og udbredt international klassicisme. 1
De tre kunstnere skabte i årene efter en række værker i
den nye stil, der i kunstnernes levetid blev anset for at
være blandt det vigtigste, kunsten her i landet kunne
præstere, 2 men som i dag er næsten ukendte for både
kunsthistorikere og lægfolk. Noget i skulpturernes
udtryksløse stivnen samt deres mangel på både drama
og genkendelig fortælling synes at forhindre en nutidig
tilskuer i at se dem som engagerende og meningsfulde.
Sådan har det ikke altid været. En betydelig mængde
skulpturer af Utzon-Frank, Bjerg og Rathsack kan i
dag ses på offentlige steder, pladser og museer rundt
omkring i Danmark. Som kunstnere blev de anset for
55 rasmus kjærboe
Det klassiske, det moderne og den moderne
klassicisme i tre gennembrudsskulpturer
af svend Rathsack, Johannes C. Bjerg
og Einar Utzon-Frank
væsentlige; to af dem fungerede som professorer ved
Kunstakademiet, den sidste lavede mellemkrigstidens
største mindesmærke, Søfartsmonumentet ved Langelinie,
og de skabte alle tre en anselig mængde offentlige monumenter
og udsmykninger. 3 Denne artikel forsøger at tolke
og udlægge deres tre gennembrudsskulpturer på Statens
Museum for Kunst og ARoS ved samtidig at forklare og
perspektivere begyndelsen på en mindre epoke i dansk
skulpturhistorie, hvor klassicisme og modernisme stod i
et gensidigt spændingsforhold. 4
At beskrive og definere kunstneriske udtryk er altid
i fare for at fremtræde unødigt reduktivt i forklaringsmæssige
sammenhænge, og forsøg på stilistisk at
sammenkæde kunstværker på baggrund af rent formelle
træk har gentagne gange været udsat for berettiget kritik.
5 Følgende gennemgang forsøger at undgå nogle
almindelige faldgruber ved at afstå fra at fastlægge et
rigidt katalog over væsentlige former eller give brede
samfundsmæssige årsagsforklaringer. I stedet flyttes
fokus til en undersøgelse af en række forestillinger om
det klassiske og moderne, og hvordan disse begrebers
skiftende anskuelse både har haft betydning for en hel
Detalje af (Fig 3)
Einar Utzon-Frank:
afrodite 1914
aphrodite
Bronze
157,5 x 52 x 40,5 cm
Statens Museum
for Kunst

periodes mere traditionelle skulpturproduktion og for
dennes senere glemsel. En sådan længere, indledende
afdækning af begreber om det klassiske og moderne kan
synes nærmest pedantisk, men er en nødvendig øvelse for
at skabe en tolkningsramme om undersøgelsens skulptu-
rer. Efter dette analyseres, hvordan de tre enkeltværker
først og fremmest skaber deres betydning gennem en
række associationer og henvisninger til fortiden og det
klassiske, og endeligt afrundes med en kort diskussion
omkring det konventionelle kropsbilledes betydning, og
den klassiske modernisme i dansk skulptur opsummeres
som en kunstnerisk strategi.
Målet med artiklen er altså vise, hvordan man kan
karakterisere den moderne klassicisme og se den som
en bevidst genformulering af det klassiske projekt på
nye præmisser. Som kunstnerisk strategi bliver dette
identificeret i blot tre værker, der grundet undfangelses-
tidspunkt, størrelse og ambitionsniveau kan anskues som
eksemplariske, men i et videre perspektiv er det mit håb,
at dette kan åbne for en ny forståelse af et langt større
og rigere felt af næsten glemte skulpturer.
kunsthistorisk glemsel
Bortset fra enkelte, mindre omtaler, 6 har de tre tidligere
så anerkendte kunstneres produktion ikke været genstand
for nogen større fortolkning eller analyse i de seneste fem
årtier. 7 Spørgsmålet, om hvordan denne udelukkelse er
kommet i stand, kan kun besvares ved at erkende, at hi-
storien som bearbejdet produkt ikke er noget givet, men
altid skabes og skrives fra et bagudskuende perspektiv og
med bestemte, måske uerkendte, mål for øje. 8
Selektion, tilvalg og fravalg er det helt grundlæg-
gende problem for al fremstillende historieskrivning, og
den danske kunsthistorie er ikke nogen undtagelse fra
dette. 9 Gennem valg og fravalg gøres fortiden meningsfuld.
Skulptur, og særligt den delvist naturalistiske og
traditionsbårne skulptur, der fuldstændig dominerede i
første halvdel af 1900-tallet, er langt hen ad vejen blevet
valgt fra i den nyere kunsthistoriske bevidsthed. Godt
nok står de fleste af værkerne stadig rundt omkring, men
uden at være en del af nogen hovedfortælling, der kan
give dem en forståelsesramme. 10 Bortset fra værker af
særlige ”helte”, såsom J.F. Willumsen og Kai Nielsen,
glimrer skulpturen fra første halvdel af 1900-tallet
næsten helt ved sit fravær fra både forskning og bredt
fremstillende historiebøger. 11 Med et litterært begreb
kan en hel generation af skulptører karakteriseres som
”udskrevne” af kunsthistorien.
En nærliggende forklaring på denne udskrivning
gennem glemsel kan findes i en særlig værdiladet
grundfortælling, der har domineret vestlig kunsthistorie
siden efterkrigstiden. Forestillingen om kunstens ensporede
udvikling båret af modernismens og avantgardens
fremskridt har skubbet alt til side, der ikke har kunnet
indpasses i en forestilling om radikale eksperimenter,
opgør med traditionen og stadig tilnærmelse til det
abstrakte. 12 Modernismen er i dag opløftet til en ideologi,
som ikke nødvendigvis følges af en eksplicit viden om
dens ophav, 13 men er trængt helt ned i selve kernedefinitionen
af, hvad god kunst er: en kunst i konstant
udvikling, der er kendetegnet ved fortsat kritik, opgør og
anti-repræsentation.
For en nutidig betragter, der erkendt eller uerkendt
er indfoldet i en modernistisk kunstforståelse, må et
mytologisk motiv som Afrodite af Utzon-Frank eller en
atletisk nøgenskulptur som Rathsacks Adam nyskabt
synes underligt utidssvarende. Omtrent samtidig med
disse skulpturers første fremvisninger kunne man opleve
international avantgardekunst på enkelte udstillinger
i København, 14 og i Paris havde kubisme og futurisme
fået et mindre gennembrud. Den modernistiske kunstforståelses
værdier er i dag blevet institutionaliserede
til en grad, hvor kunsthistorikere og -kritikere nøjes med
at forbigå det, der ikke passer ind i en særlig udviklingslogik,
i tavshed. Af samme årsag er en meget stor
gruppe traditionshenvisende kunstværker, særligt fra
1910’erne og 1920’erne, i dag hovedsageligt ufortolkede
og ukommenterede.
Den internationale, moderne klassicisme
I årene fra lige før 1. Verdenskrig til langt op i mellemkrigstiden
oplevede europæisk og særligt fransk kunst
en opblomstring af en mangesidig, heterogen bevægelse,
man kan kalde ”moderne klassicisme”. 15 Dette manifesteredes
blandt andet som en fornyet interesse for
gengivelser af den unge, idealiserede krop i mere eller
mindre naturalistisk stil og forudsatte en i dag tabt evne
til skarpt at kunne skelne imellem, tolke og tyde næsten
ens fremstillinger af kroppen i maleri og skulptur. 16
I samtiden blev den moderne klassicisme opfattet
som en positiv genoptagelse af traditionen vendt mod det,
man så som de værste modernistiske overdrivelser og
formeksperimenter, og en fornyet, tidssvarende udvikling
hen mod noget kunstnerisk mere essentielt. 17 En række
fremtrædende kritikere og kunstnere, der tidligere havde
været associerede med avantgarde og modernisme, tog i
den forbindelse fat på at diskutere og bearbejde et mere
figurativt formsprog end i de umiddelbart foregående
rasmus kjærboe 56

år. Den nye strømning, som eksempelvis talte tidligere
prominente avantgardister som Pablo Picasso, Georges
Braque og Gino Severini, kombinerede motiviske henvis-
ninger til fortiden med en genoptagelse af mere traditio-
nel, akademisk, mimetisk og naturalistisk teknik, som af
mange kritikere blev set som forsøg på at genformulere
en moderne klassicisme på basis af evige værdier. 18
Den betydningsfulde bannerfører for kubismen,
forfatteren og kritikeren Guillaume Apollinaire, skrev
eksempelvis i et essay fra 1916 om avantgardekunst-
neren André Derain, at det nu var hans nyfundne evne
til at modstå fristelsen fra de nye kunstretninger og i
stedet placere sin kunst inden for Den store tradition,
der markerede hans geni. 19 Året efter skrev Georges
Braque en række ”refleksioner”, hvor han forbandt sine
tidligere kubistiske eksperimenter med en ny klassicisme,
og fremstod dermed som en del af en generel ”rappel
à l’ordre” blandt flere af førkrigstidens avantgardister. 20
Andre kunstnere, som eksempelvis de figurative, franske
skulptører Charles Despiau, Emile Bourdelle og Aristide
Maillol, havde hele tiden arbejdet inden for en motivisk
og kunstnerisk påberåbelse af en klassisk fortid og opnå-
ede nu større og større anerkendelse i hele Europa med
et udtryk centreret om et behersket figurativt formsprog
oftest uden store, ekspressive fortællinger.
57 rasmus kjærboe
Selv om det i nyere tid er blevet argumenteret, at
denne klassicisme var en melankolsk og reaktionær
bevægelse, 21 kan den også anskues som i bund og grund
mangefacetteret og uden et forenet ideologisk eller
politisk fokus. 22 Fortiden, der skulle fremhæves som
eksempel for nutiden, bar på nogle evige, ”klassiske”
værdier, men det klassiske og klassicismen blev dog
hurtigt utroligt rummelige begreber, der i praksis kunne
henvise til både antikken, middelalderen og renæssancen,
Grækenlands, Italiens eller selve det mediterranes
ånd, og kun havde en vag ramme i form af forestillinger
om enhed og sandhedssøgen og den naturalistiske repræsentations
nødvendighed. I sit mere konkrete udtryk
blev resultatet, at det nøgne figurstudie kom til at få en
ny prægnans, og at det historiefortællende, socialrealistiske
og anekdotiske blev forvist fra den kunstneriske
motivverden. 23
Den moderne klassicisme i dansk kunst
I en dansk sammenhæng var en moderne klassicisme
ved at finde fodfæste inden for skulpturen, da den i
Paris bosatte kunstner Adam Fischer i slutningen af
1918, i lighed med eksempelvis Georges Braque året før,
præsenterede en række tanker om det klassiske i kunsten
i en artikel i det eksperimenterende, danske kunsttids-
(Fig 1)
Svend rathsack:
adam nyskabt 1913-14
adam Newly Created
Bronze
178 x 65 x 75 cm
aroS aarhus Kunstmuseum
(Fig 2)
Johannes C. Bjerg:
abessinier 1914
abyssinia
Bronze
199 cm
Fuglsang Kunstmuseum,
toreby Lolland

skrift Klingen. 24 Fischer havde kort forinden skrevet om
primitivisme og sin inspiration fra kubismen og udstillet
kubistiske og avantgardeorienterede værker, 25 men
lagde sig nu i slipstrømmen af den samtidige franske
klassicisme. Tilbage i Danmark havde situationen paral-
leller inden for maleriet, hvor en række kunstnere som
William Scharff og Vilhelm Lundstrøm også efterhånden
begyndte at skabe kunstværker inden for en klassice-
rende ramme. 26
I en større sammenhæng havde kunstscenen i
Danmark oplevet en overvejende negativ offentlig debat
om Kunstnernes Efterårsudstilling i 1917 og 1918, hvor
en række kunstværker viste forsøg på at eksperimentere
med kubisme, futurisme og opløsningen af det naturali-
stiske, repræsenterende kunstværk. 27 Umiddelbart efter,
i starten af 1919, udvikledes den såkaldte dysmorfis-
medebat om sindslidelse som forudsætningen for visse
moderne kunstretninger. 28 Ligeledes argumenterede den
ansete kunsthistoriker Vilhelm Wanscher gentagne gange
for Den store Stil og afslutningen på tidligere eksperimenter
til fordel for en tilbagevenden til en klassicisme i
kunsten. 29
Enhver sammenligning mellem fremkomsten af
en klassicerende strømning i dansk kunst under og
umiddelbart efter 1. Verdenskrig og lignende idéer og
forestillinger i resten af Europa må dog ske analogisk.
Kildematerialet er sparsomt og i de fleste tilfælde er det
svært at påvise en direkte dansk reception af en europæisk
kunstdebat, der foregik på andre forudsætninger end
den lokale. En forklaringsmodel, der eksempelvis lægger
vægt på klassicismens succes som en reaktion på verdenskrigens
meningsløshed, 30 kan heller ikke anvendes
direkte på et land, der holdt sig uden for og profiterede
af sin neutralitet. Alligevel kan det hævdes, at den nye
internationale, moderne klassicisme i maleri og især
skulptur i det mindste dannede et positivt forbillede og
afstak nogle rammer for, hvordan yngre kunstnere kunne
markere sig selv ved at skabe en klassisk kunst under
danske forhold.
Adam Fischer forblev en forholdsvis marginal figur på
den danske kunstscene, hvorimod Svend Rathsack, Einar
Utzon-Frank og Johannes C. Bjerg var på vej til at blive
deres generations synligste danske skulptører, særligt
efter Kai Nielsens død i 1924. Svend Rathsack nåede
at udstille sit klassicerende gennembrudsværk, Adam
nyskabt, som den første i 1914, og året efter præsenterede
Einar Utzon-Frank og Johannes C. Bjerg hver deres:
Afrodite og Abessinier. Ingen af de tre var uddannede
på billedhuggerskolerne på Kunstakademiet; Rathsack
havde dog fulgt uddannelsen som maler, hvorimod Bjerg
ikke havde søgt optagelse, og Utzon-Frank havde meldt
sig ud efter et semester i protest mod undervisningens
konformitet. 31 Bjerg og Rathsack havde længere ophold
i Paris, hvor de færdedes i yderkredsen af tidens mere
eksperimenterende, unge kunstnere, mens Utzon-Frank
tidligt havde associeret sig med gruppen omkring det
socialt bevidste tidsskrift Gnisten. 32
Under 1. Verdenskrig fik de deres egentlige gennembrud,
både kommercielt og blandt kritikerne, hvor en
medvirkende faktor til deres popularitet kan have været
de gode økonomiske vilkår, der muliggjorde et stort salg
af statuetter fra bl.a. Dansk Kunsthandel. 33 Efter krigens
afslutning konsolideredes deres position; Utzon-Frank
blev udnævnt til professor ved Kunstakademiet i 1918,
Rathsack vandt i 1924 konkurrencen om at levere et
af tidens største monumenter, Søfartsmonumentet på
Langelinie, og Bjerg begyndte en stribe af bestillinger,
der gjorde ham til mellemkrigstidens mest anvendte
kunstner til offentlige udsmykninger. Fra at have været
uden for den anerkendte kreds af skulptører med officiel
uddannelse blev de tre op gennem 1920’erne til tidens
mest anerkendte kunstnere med talrige værker i det offentlige
rum og på de danske museer.
De tre skulptører blev dermed de fremmeste producenter
af en række værker, der beskæftigede sig med at
udspille, undersøge og afprøve en moderne klassicisme.
At disse skulle forstås i relation til en forbilledlig fortid,
understregedes i artikler og interviews med kunstnerne,
hvor det græske, det klassiske og det ideelle flettedes
sammen i omtalen af deres kunst. De tre skulpturer på
Statens Museum for Kunst og ARoS er alle fra tidligt i
deres karriere og viser rammerne for det spændingsfelt,
som en ny type dansk skulptur arbejdede inden for.
klassisk og moderne
som modstillede begreber 34
I The Oxford Companion to Western Art er klassicisme
generelt: ”[en] henvisning eller sværgen troskab til en
kanonisk (‘klassisk’) fortidig kunst eller dens værdier”, 35
og i A Dictionary of Twentieth-Century Art beskrives det
20. århundredes internationale, ”nye klassicisme” som:
”[…] en tilbagevenden til mådehold efter en periode med
uhørte eksperimenter”. 36 Som antydet i det andet citat
optrådte den moderne klassicisme uløseligt i forbindelse
med – og forsøgte måske at overvinde – den historiske
modernisme.
I forlængelse af dette findes en særligt betydningsfuld
modstilling mellem idéen om det klassiske og det
rasmus kjærboe 58

moderne, mellem fortidens genfødsel og nutidens præg-
nans, også selv om de to grundbegreber optræder under
forskellige navne og i mange forskellige sammenhænge.
Begrebernes specifikke indhold varierer med sammen-
hængen, men i en konventionel forståelsesramme er det
klassiske en bagudskuen mod fortiden, det moderne
derimod en beskæftigen sig med det, der er lige nu, eller
en fremadskuen mod det, som skal komme. I lighed med
andre modstillinger har denne opereret som en arketypisk
forskelssætten, der i strukturalistisk forstand først og
fremmest har udtrykt sig gennem negationen: Det moderne
er, modsat det klassiske, ikke konservativt, ikke
antik, ikke bevarende, ikke stillestående. Det klassiske er
på sin side, modsat det moderne, ikke modebetonet, ikke
tidsbunden, ikke flygtig, ikke forvrænget. Mange flere
træk og definitioner kunne fyldes på, men som begreber
er det klassiske og det moderne uden en kerne, deres
egentlige indhold defineres altid i forhold til modstillingen,
og som oftest i en negativ relation. Der er noget,
de ikke er. Klassisk og moderne indgår, med en semiotisk
betegnelse hentet fra lingvisten Ferdinand Saussure, i et
sprog (langue), hvor det er ordenes indbyrdes relationer,
der bestemmer det egentlige indhold. 37 I lighed med
andre begreber udviskes og usynliggøres det relationelle
forhold som klassisk og moderne har til hinanden og
til andre ord dog ofte i praksis, og det processuelle og
omskiftelige i deres indbyrdes forhold overses.
Kunsthistoriske beskrivelser af det klassiske har
næsten konsekvent taget form som lange årsags- og virkningskæder
af værker og kunstnere, men litteraturen har
derimod ikke beskæftiget sig meget med at historisere
rammerne for selve forståelsen af, hvad ”klassisk” er og
betyder som begreb. Snarere er dette blevet opfattet som
en meningsfuld konstans, der har kunnet identificeres
og uddrages fra utroligt divergerende æstetiske sfærer. 38
Det moderne indtager strukturelt set på mange måder
den samme rolle som det klassiske, hvor det i forskellige
sammenhænge besidder vidt forskellige meninger. I en
kunstteoretisk sammenhæng er de begge diskursive
metabegreber, der ikke i sig selv har en stabil betydning,
men som altid henviser til et nyt indhold, der konstant
forskydes til at være noget anderledes i hver enkelt
sammenhæng.
Klassisk og moderne har – som ord – interessante
etymologiske forbindelser tilbage til senantik og middelalderlig
latin. 39 I æstetiske anliggender defineredes
begge begreber dog først i det sene 1600-tal, hvor der
blandt europæiske lærde postuleredes en opposition
mellem fortidens og nutidens relevans for kunstnerisk
59 rasmus kjærboe
produktion. Kendt som ”La Querelle des Anciens et des
Modernes” (fejden mellem de antikke og de moderne,
red.) konstituerede debatten en stadig aktuel idé om det
klassiske som en modsætning til det moderne, enten
som forbillede eller hæmsko, men særligt som noget, der
var afskåret fra nutiden af en uoverskridelig diakroni. 40
Idéen om det kunstnerisk klassiske som forbundet med
fortiden og det kunstnerisk moderne som forbundet med
nutiden fødtes simpelthen sammen. Med udgivelsen af
arkæologen J.J. Winckelmanns umådeligt indflydelsesrige
skrifter i midten af 1700-tallet fremkom idéen
om den klassiske fortid som specifikt afgrænset til den
græske antik. 41 Denne tildeltes en afgørende, normativ
rolle for produktionen af nye værker, og det nutidige og
modernes mangel blev til et ofte gentaget tema. 42 Senere
kunsthistorie har efterfølgende samlet den tids forskellige,
antik-inspirerede forestillinger og kunstværker under
betegnelsen ”nyklassicisme”. 43
Fra 1800-tallets midte begyndte dikotomien mellem
klassisk og moderne dog at blive mere og mere kompliceret.
For dens fortalere blev det klassiske i stigende grad
set som en bredt defineret fond af viden og sandhed, som
ikke stod i evig modsætning til det nutidige, men som det
ægte moderne værk skulle tage ved lære af for at være
kunst. På den ene side plæderede kunstkritikeren Charles
Baudelaire, der traditionelt ses som udtalt modernist, i
sin kendte artikel om Det moderne livs maler (1863)
for en kunst, der både er klassisk og moderne, og som
baseres på et ekvilibrium mellem kunstens evige, klassiske
regler og det nutidiges fluks. 44 På den anden side
filtreredes den æstetiske veneration for antikken gennem
den moderne positivisme; skulpturerne fra Parthenon
beundredes for deres anatomiske korrekthed og deres
naturstudium, og den antagede induktive viden om den
perfekte menneskekrop beundredes som underbyggelse
af den gryende racelære. 45
Den diskursive og praktisk kunstneriske udveksling
imellem de to metabegreber moderne og klassisk fortsatte
op igennem 1800-tallet og ind i det 20. århundrede.
Som komplicerede spil imellem reaktion og modreaktion
fik denne sin sidste kulmination med den moderne klassicisme
i årene omkring og efter 1. Verdenskrig.
En ny kunstnerisk strategi: Adam nyskabt
I 1913 modellerede den danske kunstner, Svend
Rathsack, sin første større skulptur, Adam nyskabt [fig.
1]. Værket vandt straks anerkendelse og præmieredes af
Kunstakademiet, selv om det til at starte med afvistes til
Charlottenborg-udstillingen i 1914. Med Adam nyskabt

transformeredes Svend Rathsack fra maler til skulptør
og fik med det samme adgang til kunstlivet og senere
bestillinger. 46 Værket markerede samtidig ankomsten af
en moderne klassicisme som en ny billedkunstnerisk
strategi i en dansk sammenhæng. 47
Opfattes Adam nyskabt som et uproblematisk billede,
er der tale om en naturalistisk fremvisning af en ideelt
bygget og formet mandskrop i legemsstørrelse: en tradi-
tionel statue. Værket sammenføjer en række henvisninger
til skulptur fra den græske oldtid, som de typisk kunne
blive opsummeret i gængse fremstillinger af kunstens
historie i starten af det 20. århundrede. 48 Modelleringen
af torso, arme, hals og hoved peger på den klassiske
periode i græsk skulptur (ca. 480-323 f.Kr.) og er i et
formsprog, der kan siges at signalere dette: naturalistisk
med kun afdæmpede, lokale lys- og skyggevirkninger.
Den smalle lyske, de stive ben og den markante stilling
peger derimod direkte på noget ældre skulpturer fra den
græske, arkaiske periode (ca. 700-480 f.Kr.), hvilket
yderligere ses i de stiliserede kønsorganer, føddernes
placering og de udbulende lårs samlede omkreds, der
er større end hoftens. 49 Tegnene på klassisk og arkaisk
kunst sættes sammen med nyere skulpturelle tegn, der
bryder med billedet af græsk oldtid, såsom de fremadrakte
arme og det mere ”ugræske” ansigt. 50 Værket
ligner et forsøg på at lave en moderne kouros-statue; en
stilistisk sammenstykket og generaliseret fremstilling af
den unge mands krop på højdepunktet af hans fysik. 51
Gennem fysik og stilhenvisninger trækker Adam
nyskabt i tegnmæssig forstand afgørende på forskellige
uudtalte konnotationer af fortidig idealitet, som kobles
med samtidige forestillinger om den sunde, muskuløse
krop. Dermed er skulpturen også i dialog med det forhold,
at veltrænethed for første gang blev formuleret som et
individuelt, personligt mål i slutningen af 1800-tallet og
starten af det 20. århundrede, direkte på baggrund af
den antikke kunst. 52 Endelig kan værket også ses som en
diskret bearbejdning af et moderne, symbolistisk motiv
i forlængelse af Rathsacks tidligere underviser, maleren
Joakim Skovgaard, og den schweiziske maler Ferdinand
Hodlers billeder af det nøgne, isolerede menneske.
Set i forhold til andre samtidige kunstretningers ønske
om et demonstrativt opgør med traditionen synes denne
manøvre med ”genbrug” og sammenblanding af forskellige
stilarter nærmest regressiv: 53 Adam nyskabt hævder
stolt en forestilling om de klassiske, ideelle, græske
forbilleder. Den kunstneriske tradition vises dermed også
som en slags tematisk blanding af distinkte perioder fra
den græske oldtids kunst med en nyere symbolisme. I
stedet for at anvende eksplicitte symboler og attributter
sker disse henvisninger dog igennem diskrete stiltegn,
hvilket får værket til at fremtræde mindre litterært og
mere umiddelbart og direkte end andre, tydeligt narrative
skulpturer. Deraf følger, hvad den franske kulturteoretiker
Roland Barthes har kaldt ”en myte” eller ideologi; et
forsøg på at skjule en retorisk konstruerethed bag et skin
af noget naturligt: 54 Adam nyskabt er blot den almenmenneskelige
krop i sin fineste fremtræden og et billede af
det moderne menneske, der hviler på et fundament af
historisk stabilitet, eksemplificeret ved kunstens højeste
ophav i den græske fortid. Konnotationerne af ungdom,
stabilitet, idealititet og arkaisk ro lader værket fortælle
en historie om ur-menneskelighed og en slags åndelig
begyndelse og iboen i det kropslige selv. 55
Kunsthistorikeren Erik Zahle skriver i 1943 om Adam
nyskabt, at ”[..] den stærke Virkning er ikke fremkommet
ved Trods, men i Lydighed overfor den gamle Kunst;
og paa den anden Side kan Figuren opfattes som et
Vidnesbyrd om ikke ringe Selvstændighed, ikke blot
i valget af forbilleder; der er en egen karsk og stærk
Naturanskuelse udtrykt i den ranke Mand [..]”. 56 Ifølge
Zahle er statuen altså mulig at tolke som både en
hyldest til den skulpturelle tradition og som et originalt
og selvstændigt værk. Set fra et nutidigt synspunkt er
originaliteten dog først og fremmest betinget af den sømløse
kobling mellem forskellige henvisninger til arkaisk og
klassisk kunst og moderne symbolisme.
Adam nyskabt fremviser altså i bund og grund et
stilistisk flertydigt formsprog, hvor kunstværket diskret
inkorporerer fragmenter af forskellige antikke stilperioder
og fra samtiden. Det samme er, i forskellige variationer,
tilfældet med flere af Einar Utzon-Franks og Johannes
C. Bjergs værker, der i årene fra 1914 til starten af
1920’erne markerer de to andre kunstneres medvirken
til at skabe en moderne klassicisme i dansk sammenhæng.
Disse værker udmærker sig ved en slags stiliseret
naturalisme med forskellige historiske henvisninger, hvor
enkeltdetaljer simplificeres, og med den hele, ufragmenterede,
nøgne menneskekrop som hovedmotiv. I valget
af den afklædte krop adskiller de sig ikke fuldstændig
fra tidligere danske skulpturer, det nye er snarere, at
værkerne indpakkes i et formsprog, hvor der – implicit
og eksplicit – plæderes for en moderne kontinuitet med
en idealiseret fortid gennem en bortfjernelse af både
fortællende og mere ekspressive elementer.
rasmus kjærboe 60

61 rasmus kjærboe
(Fig 1)
Svend rathsack
adam nyskabt 1913-14
adam Newly Created
Bronze
178 x 65 x 75 cm
aroS aarhus Kunstmuseum

(Fig 2)
Johannes C. Bjerg
abessinier 1914
abyssinian
Bronze
199 cm
Fuglsang Kunstmuseum,
toreby Lolland
rasmus kjærboe 62

mødet mellem to modsætninger: Abessinier
Johannes C. Bjerg fremstillede omkring 1914 tre versioner
af Abessinier [fig. 2] i form af to statuetter og en statue.
Den store statue kan, ligesom Rathsacks Adam nyskabt,
anskues som en ung kunstners ambitiøse ansøgning om
optagelse i det danske kunstliv og blev følgelig Bjergs
gennembrudsværk. 57 Værket kan dog også ses som en
form for formidlende møde mellem de to metadiskurser,
moderne og klassisk, 58 der er svær at indpasse i en
udviklingsfikseret, modernistisk orienteret kunsthistorie.
I sammenligning med statuetternes noget abstrakte og
generaliserede form ligger den store Abessinier inden
for en mere traditionel, figurativ statuetradition, og som
udgangspunkt anvendes hele det klassiske vokabular i
form af en idealiseret kropsgengivelse med en naturali-
stisk, svagt abstraheret anatomi og klar kontur. I dette
tilfælde indeholder den klassiske ramme dog tydelige
henvisninger til sin egen modsætning, hvor forskellige
tegn på det moderne eksisterer side om side med de
traditionshenvisende greb.
Abessiniers motiv, den sorte krop, er i sig selv antiklassisk,
og moderniteten selv, i form af kolonialismen,
er den grundlæggende betingelse for at kunne opleve
billedet af en sort mand i en vestlig kontekst. 59 Den
afrikanske diaspora i Europa og USA kan dertil anskues
som billedet på det første moderne folk overhovedet, da
de tidligt gennemlever en tilstand af voldsom forandring
og opbrud i traditioner og kontinuitet. 60 Henvisningerne
til det moderne konkretiseres formmæssigt i figurens
hoved, hvis forsimplede og stiliserede træk fremtræder,
som var de indeholdt i en aflang kugle og dermed underlagt
et ”modernistisk” formeksperiment. Kuglens form
understreges videre af de mandelformede øjne, der buler
ud for at møde kuglens usynlige grænse, men også, nok
så væsentligt, gentager endnu andre, samtidige modernismers
primitivistiske inspiration fra afrikansk skulptur.
Ved siden af de moderne og modernistiske tegn underbygger
Abessinier yderligere sin henvisning til fortid
og tradition ved en harmonisk og dynamisk kontrapost,
der i spiralbevægelse og svaj eksempelvis findes i tidlig
florentinsk skulptur, og i sin aflange form, der bringer
mindelser om fransk-tyske skulpturer fra gotikken. Det er
oplagt ligeledes at se henvisninger til fransk og italiensk
manierisme i dette, sådan som senere kommentatorer
finder det hos både Bjerg og Utzon-Frank, 61 men dette
kan kun ske tentativt, da manierisme endnu ikke er udviklet
som et definerbart og positivt anskuet stilbegreb
før tidligst omkring 1925. 62
Som i Adam nyskabt er det klassiske hos Abessinier
63 rasmus kjærboe
at forstå som en fond af forskellige fortidige greb, snarere
end en fast defineret kanon, men her fremstilles de
mere direkte i konfrontation med tegn, der kan opfattes
som moderne og anti-klassiske. Motivet og de abstraktreduktive
former i Abessinier signalerer det moderne,
men underneden er værket stadig afhængigt af et snævert
mimetisk-repræsentativt rum, hvor identifikationen
af menneskekroppens former er omdrejningspunkt for
værkets effekt og den oprejste nøgne krop er bærer af
budskabet i sig selv. Som konsekvens vises, at både klassisk
og moderne kan genkendes som elementer inden for
rammerne af den samme skulptur.
Bjergs værk kan betragtes som en syntese af
forskelligartede henvisninger, hvor den klassiske arv er
opretholdt og genformuleret til noget mere rummeligt,
som en beholder for flere distinkte udtryk, herunder det
moderne. Værket er hverken gammeldags skulptur eller
rendyrket modernisme, men i stedet en slags mellemstation.
Værkets henvisninger til begge diskurser foregår
dog ikke som deciderede citater, snarere analogisk, som
noget der ”minder om”, hvilket problematiserer en simpel
deskriptiv identifikation af værkets stil. Hvis Abessinier
kan indeholde henvisninger til flere stilarter, hvilken betydning
har stilen så tilbage?
klassisk og moderne stil: Afrodite som
moderne klassicisme
Den konventionelle stilanalyse synes at sige, at et
kunstværks stil og form entydigt placerer det inden for
den ene eller anden periode og den ene eller anden
horisont. 63 Den nye danske klassicismes tredje gennembrudsværk,
Einar Utzon-Franks Afrodite [fig. 3], kan i
denne sammenhæng illustrere, hvordan et kunstværk i
praksis kan arbejde med stil for at komplicere begrebet. I
1914 blev skulpturen udstillet på Efterårsudstillingen og
markerede et decideret brud med kunstnerens tidligere
ekspressive og socialrealistiske værker, 64 der mest af
alt syntes inspirerede af Rodin og Constantin Meuniers
arbejder på Glyptoteket. 65 Med det nye formsprog blev
han, ligesom Svend Rathsack og Johannes C. Bjerg på
samme tidspunkt, en del af en større offentlighed og fik
efterfølgende Afrodite solgt til bl.a. norske, svenske og
tyske museer. 66
I en kort, illustreret artikel af kulturkritikeren Poul
Henningsen fra 1918 karakteriseredes Utzon-Frank som
både ”en Elsker af Klassicismen” og som ”[…] Kender
og elsker af den klassiske Kunst.” 67 I PH’s skudsmål
blev kunstner og oeuvre reduceret til at være identiske
med følgende konklusion: ”Ogsaa han tror paa den

Renæssance, som Tiden taler om, og han arbejder ud
fra sine egne Synspunkter og Forudsætninger imod bedre
Tider. At han virker moderne, er fordi det bedste i Tiden
falder sammen med hans Syn.” 68 Artiklen er bemærkel-
sesværdig for sin fordring om en positiv udvikling imod
en kunstnerisk renæssance, der tager udgangspunkt i
fortiden, men samtidig er moderne. Det dobbelte krav,
klassisk og moderne, som er blevet diskuteret ovenfor
som en forudsætning for den internationale klassicisme,
indebærer en udfordring af en enstrenget stilforståelse.
På den ene side vil en ren gentagelse af en fortidig, ”klas-
sisk” stil hverken være moderne eller original, på den
anden side vil for megen modernisme eller originalitet
undsige de klassiske forbilleders formmæssige autoritet.
En skulptur som Afrodite viser en løsning på problemet
ved direkte, men diskret, at manipulere med dette
forhold.
Som udgangspunkt signalerer Afrodite øjeblikkelig
fortid og tradition: En mimetisk og repræsentativ, nøgen
kvindefigur i en stillestående kontrapost med langt,
opsat hår og blanke øjne uden pupiller er stærke tegn,
der skaber en række associationer til en opfattet klas-
sisk tradition for fremstillinger af kærlighedsgudinden
fra oldtiden til i dag. 69 Forlægget synes eksempelvis at
kunne findes i så tidsmæssigt forskudte værker som den
antikke Venus Medici og Thorvaldsens Venus med æblet
[fig. 4], der begge viser en lignende glat og blødt rundet
anatomi. De motiviske henvisninger nærmest overtager
værket og ville, uden modforanstaltninger, betyde, at det
som selvstændigt udsagn nærmest blev usynliggjort af
en lang tradition af forgængere.
I bogen Tradition and Desire. From David to Delacroix
har den britiske kunsthistoriker Norman Bryson beskæf-
tiget sig med, hvordan nye kunstværker skabes i forhold
til traditionen. 70 I vestlig kunst har det været almindeligt
at bygge på fortidige præstationer, og ingen steder er
det sværere for et værk at fremtræde selvstændigt, som
når ”det klassiske” er målestokken: ”Nyklassicisme er en
dræbende stil; den har en dødbringende kvalitet […]”, for
der er en særlig lammelse, der sætter ind, når traditionen
får meget plads i den kunstneriske agenda, og alt allerede
synes gjort til perfektion. 71 I en dansk sammenhæng
ligger Utzon-Franks Afrodite altså i spændingsfeltet
mellem de utallige antikke kvindeskulpturer, der kunne
ses på Den kgl. Afstøbningssamling og Ny Carlsberg
Glyptotek, og de nyere, antikhenvisende skulpturer
af Bertel Thorvaldsen. Det dødbringende, lammende
element i en påberåbelse af det klassiske betød som
konsekvens, at flere generationer af danske skulptører
forud for Utzon-Frank så at sige arbejdede i afmagt i
skyggen af Thorvaldsen og antikken. 72
Utzon-Franks Afrodite modarbejder forvekslingen
med fortiden, Thorvaldsen og antikken ved diskret at
modernisere sig selv. Dette sker som en rensning i forhold
til forbillederne, hvor figuren slankes og afsensualiseres,
alle ansatser til fortælling fjernes, og anatomiske detaljer
reduceres med det resultat, at kroppens konturer og
lemmernes linjer bliver fremhævet som det vigtige. Både
Venus Medici og Thorvaldsens Venus har en anekdotisk
ramme; den ene dækker sig til for vores blikke, den anden
betragter det gyldne æble uden at anerkende tilskueren.
Dette er væk i det nyere værk, ligesom det dramatiske
modspil mellem bøjet-udstrakt, højre-venstre og den
spiralformede, opadstigende bevægelse fra sokkel til top
i Thorvaldsens figur er væk. I stedet synes skulpturen,
ligesom Rathsacks Adam nyskabt, at være mere almen,
mere ”moderne”, fordi den synes mindre retorisk og uden
et ekspressivt psykologisk rum. Heri ligger værkets nye
stil; inden for rammerne af traditionen, det mimetiske og
repræsentative, søger Afrodite ned til en grundfigur, der
fremtræder mere stillestående og mere generaliseret end
sine forgængere. Utzon-Franks værk kan gå i dialog med
kunstens fortid i stedet for at blive opslugt af den, fordi
det fremtræder som en destillering af både antikken og
Thorvaldsen. Afrodite viser sig selv som bedre end sin
tradition, fordi værket synes at vise ”det væsentligste”.
Muligvis er det reduktionen og destilleringen, som PH
i sin artikel karakteriserer som Utzon-Franks ”klarhed”,
”ro” og ”kølighed”, 73 altså kvaliteter, der forbindes med
det særligt moderne.
Afrodite forudsætter evnen til stilistisk sammenligning
for både at fungere som tegn på det fortidige og på dets
genformulering og rensning. Statuen synes at potensere
et udtryk, at fremhæve en række elementer som ”den
rene stil”. Værket handler ikke om noget og har ingen
anekdote eller historie; ”Afrodite” som titel er i sig selv
så brugt, at det bliver tomt. ”Iagttagelsen af Naturen har
føjet sig efter Kravene til Stilen, og vi har en følelse af,
at netop den – Stilen i sig selv – har været Kunstnerens
egentlige Maal,” 74 skriver Aksel Rode om Afrodite i 1948.
Det, værket handler om, når der ingen narration og ingen
formmæssige spændinger er til stede, er stilen selv.
Stilen er værkets indhold, synes det at sige. 75
skulpturkroppen
Adam nyskabt, Abessinier og Afrodite er skulpturer uden
eksplicit narration eller definerende attributter, hvilket
placerer dem i dialog med en kernemodernistisk tradition
rasmus kjærboe 64

65 rasmus kjærboe
(Fig 3)
Einar Utzon-Frank
afrodite 1914
aphrodite
Bronze
157,5 x 52 x 40,5 cm
Statens Museum
for Kunst

(Fig 4)
Bertel thorvaldsen
Venus med æblet 1809
Venus with an apple
Marmor
109,6 x 48 x 41 cm
Statens Museum
for Kunst
rasmus kjærboe 66

for at eliminere alle ansatser til det fortællende: På
trods af påberåbelsen af fortiden er det også moderne
udstillingsstykker, skabt til museets tid. Skulpturerne
er, ligesom dele af den samtidige avantgardes værker,
optaget af at undersøge ”Stilen i sig selv”, men tager i
modsætning til de sidstnævntes opgør med traditionen
direkte udgangspunkt i forestillingen om det klassiskes
relevans. Afhængigheden af en klassisk motivverden
og et naturalistisk formsprog får som konsekvens, at
skulpturkroppen samtidig får en væsentlig betydning
som bærer af en række traditionelle forestillinger om sjæl
og legeme.
I en vestlig sammenhæng har kroppen i mindst et par
århundreder været forbundet med spørgsmål om etisk og
essentiel forståelse. Billedet af kroppen er blevet anskuet
som en ideel repræsentation af et helt menneske gennem
en fast og veldefineret form, hvor det ydre læses som en
afspejling af det indre. 76 Den amerikanske kunsthistoriker
Rosalind Krauss har i forhold til kunsten beskrevet dette
som en forståelse af skulpturens overflade som henvisning
til både kroppens indre struktur, tanker og iboende
ånd. 77 På denne måde kan eksempelvis billeder af den
ideelle krop i balance læses ”symptomatisk” og henvise
til et sind og en væren i balance. Kropslige udtryk i billedlige
repræsentationer bliver et spørgsmål om rigtige og
forkerte måder for kroppen at være og udtrykke sig på, 78
og fremtræder dermed som forbilleder og anvisninger for
tilskueren.
Forestillingen om den klassiske kunst har siden
renæssancen været forbundet med det almene, det konventionelle
og korrekte. 79 Dermed kunne stærke følelser
og ekspressive former heller ikke være et passende emne
for et værk, da disse på en og samme tid kan opfattes
som alt for kontingente og specifikke. De tre omtalte
skulpturer af Rathsack, Utzon-Frank og Bjerg markerer
i denne sammenhæng en moderne accelerering af den
etiske kropsforståelse med klassisk fortegn: Ro, balance
og perfektion gøres i fraværet af fortælling til værkernes
eneste tydelige budskab. Følger man Roland Barthes’
logik, så denoterer skulpturerne nok kroppe, men som
deres egentlige betydning konnoteres til en række
traditionsbundne, allerede eksisterende forestillinger
om, hvordan den sunde krop afslører den sunde sjæl. 80
Denotationen, den blotte fremvisning af en krop, skjuler
altid, at der tilskrives en merbetydning ud over den blotte
konstatering: Her er tale om statuen, der i omtrentlig
legemsstørrelse ikke synes at fortælle historier med ydre
handling, men i stedet lader kulturelle forestillinger om
kroppen være selve historien.
67 rasmus kjærboe
De tre værker af Rathsack, Utzon-Frank og Bjerg, der
her er omtalt, mobiliserer og nytolker en klassisk tradition,
der som kunstnerisk undersøgelse af stilen markerer
et nybrud, men motivisk set trækker de på traditionelle
forestillinger om den forbilledlige krop som kønnet og essentiel.
Adam nyskabt viser den ideelle, hvide mand som
en sammenføjning af krop og ånd, uafhængig af modernitetens
krav og påvirkninger; Abessinier gør det samme
ved den etniske krop og indskriver den paradoksalt
hermed i en klassisk tradition, men fratager den dermed
også enhver reelt historisk og moderne kontekst. Afrodite
fremstår ligeledes som et billede på den essentielle kvindekrop
i ro og løfter dermed idealbilledet af kvinden ud af
enhver samtidig polemik om kvinders stilling i samfundet.
En kunstnerisk strategi
De tidlige skulpturer af Rathsack, Bjerg og Utzon-Frank,
der her er blevet omtalt, er involverede i flere, samtidige
manøvrer, der også kan siges at udstikke rammerne for
den moderne klassicisme som en selvstændig stil og
mulig kunstnerisk strategi.
For det første sker en forenkling af skulpturens udtryk
i en stilisering af anatomiske detaljer og stillingsmotiver
samt en bortfjernelse af ekspressive og narrative træk.
Modsat de endnu voldsommere forenklinger og den
hurtige tilnærmelse til abstraktionen, som sker i andre
af samtidens kunstværker, bevares forbindelsen til et
naturalistisk formsprog, og skulpturerne kan stadig
anskues og opfattes som ideelle repræsentationer af
en konkret, fysisk virkelighed. Forenklingen finder altså
sted inden for rammerne af traditionel skulpturel praksis,
hvor konventionelle virkemidler, såsom soklen, den
opretstående, sammenhængende krop, det mimetiske og
det eksemplariske, ikke overskrides. I forhold til tidligere
klassicismer kan denne forenkling, stilisering og mangel
på narration dog hævdes at være radikal og sikrer dermed
skulpturernes status som originale og selvstændige
værker, ikke blot gentagelser af traditionen.
For det andet bliver stilen selv til et undersøgelsesområde,
hvor divergerende tegn for arkaisk eller klassisk
græsk kunst, middelalder, renæssance og modernisme
inkorporeres i det samme kunstværk. Denne stilbevidsthed
kan tilnærmelsesvist ses som en konsekvens af en
voksende, moderne opmærksomhed over for fortidens og
samtidens mange forskellige kunstneriske udtryk, og den
tilstræbte sammenblanding af henvisninger markerer en
afgørende forskel fra tidligere skulptur. De mange lån og
henvisninger til forskellige forestillinger om det klassiske
sikrer værkerne legitimitet og giver mulighed for at vise

en ny kunstnerisk begyndelse på baggrund af det bedste
fra fortiden og moderniteten.
For det tredje bliver disse træk – den naturalistiske
forms forenkling, de fortællende elementers bortfald
samt den komplekse stilbevidsthed – forbundet med
et konventionelt budskab om kønnets og kroppens
essentielle mening og betydning. Hvor skulpturernes
naturalistiske stilisering og sammensatte stilhenvisninger
til fortid og nutid fremtræder som noget nyt omkring
1914-1915, virker repræsentationen af det nøgne legeme
som bærer af et budskab om essentielle værdier ganske
konventionelt, hvilket sandsynligvis har bidraget til den
moderne klassicismes hurtige og brede anerkendelse.
Som tidligere beskrevet betyder den i dag skarpt optrukne
opposition mellem klassisk og moderne kunst, at
både kunsthistorikere, kritikere og gængs kunstforståelse
finder motiviske eller formelle henvisninger til fortiden
uforenelige med det progressivt moderne. 81 Rathsacks,
Bjergs og Utzon-Franks skulpturer stammer fra en anden
tid, hvor selve det moderne og modernismen stadig var
ved at blive defineret, og hvor der ikke fandtes en enkelt,
dominerende opfattelse af, hvordan den rigtige kunst
skulle udformes. Den svenske kunsthistoriker Jessica
Sjöholm Skrubbe har i sin ph.d.-afhandling, Skulptur i
folkhemmet, skrevet om, hvordan en lignende situation
kan konstateres i forhold til en lidt senere offentlig skulptur
i Sverige. I sin afhandling betegner hun en række
skulpturer som ”hybridformer”, der ligger et sted imellem
det traditionelle skulpturværk og det ”selvreferentielle”,
modernistiske værk, 82 som på nogle punkter ligner
situationen for den moderne klassicismes værker.
Rathsacks, Bjergs og Utzon-Franks moderne klassicisme,
som formuleret i deres tre gennembrudsværker, viser
forsøget på en balancegang mellem forestillingen om det
klassiske og moderne, mellem rensede og abstraherede
former og den samtidige henvisning til traditionen. Selve
stilen bliver nok en bærer af et budskab om kroppens
prægnans, men samtidig er arbejdet med at formulere
en ny stil også et forsøg på at afgrænse et eget rum, der
kan tillade deres kunstværker at blive set som fornyende,
originale og i samklang med tidens krav. Hvis man godtager
Norman Brysons forestilling om, at enhver kunstner
må reagere imod sine forgængere, 83 så er den moderne
klassicisme et oprør vendt mod den type skulptur, som
umiddelbart satte dagsordenen i perioden omkring deres
gennembrud: Willumsens ekspressive og symbolladede
kunst eller Kunstakademiets professorer Carl Aarsleffs
og Vilhelm Bissens hyperrealistiske naturalisme. Den
danske moderne klassicisme i skulpturen befæster sin
egen position ved at forbigå de lidt ældre skulptørers
værk for at gribe tilbage i tiden og hævde det klassiskes
autoritet som understøttelse for en ny, kunstnerisk strategi,
der diskret inkorporerer modernistiske elementer.
Dette markante arbejde med at definere og fremvise
en ny, klassisk og moderne stil blev i videre forstand
til en undersøgelse af, hvordan det er muligt at lave
et kunstværk, der skaber og udtrykker mening på en
ny og tidssvarende måde uden at følge i den radikale
modernismes slipstrøm. Noget i Rathsacks, Bjergs og
Utzon-Franks kunst vandt genklang; en række af deres
værker blev i årene efter 1. Verdenskrig til som udsmykninger
af nye bygninger i København84 og som offentlige
monumenter og mindesmærker, og deres egen succes fik
indflydelse på en hel generation af yngre skulptører, 85 der
helt frem til årene efter 2. Verdenskrig forsøgte at vinde
deres eget fodfæste gennem variationer og gentagelser
over det samme motiv: den ideelle, velformede menneskekrop
i et abstraheret, ikke-fortællende formsprog.
Denne artikel tager udgangspunkt i nogle af argumenterne
i min magisterkonferensafhandling fra 2008, Det
klassiske som figur. Mening og nærvær i skulpturer af
Svend Rathsack, Johannes C. Bjerg og Einar Utzon-
Frank. Tak skyldes i den forbindelse endnu en gang
til min kyndige vejleder, lektor, Ph.d. Gunhild Ravn
Borggreen. En stor tak gives også til museumsinspektør,
mag.art. Ernst Jonas Bencard, hvis kritiske kommentarer
har hjulpet til at skærpe artiklens pointer.
rasmus kjærboe 68

1 Der findes ingen publicerede, komplette
og gennemarbejdede fortegnelser over
kunstnernes værker med sikre dateringer.
Dateringerne er i denne sammenhæng
baseret på mit bedste skøn over, hvornår
originalmodellen i gips stod færdig på baggrund
af den forhåndenværende litteratur
og arkivstudier på Danmarks Kunstbibliotek.
Nogle ukomplette fortegnelser findes i
det følgende: For Svend rathsack se: Erik
Zahle: “Svend rathsack II: 1920-1941”,
Kunstmuseets Aarsskrift XXXI-XXXII, 1945.
For Johannes C. Bjerg se: Minna Bjerg:
Billedhuggeren Johannes C. Bjerg, upubliceret
manuskript, tilgængelig på www.johannesbjerg.com/superframe-biografi.html.
For Einar Utzon-Frank se: Utzon-Frank
og hans elever 1918-1943: Udstilling i
Udstillingsbygningen ved Charlottenborg,
Kunstakademiet, København 1943.
2 Se eksempelvis Sigurd Schultz: Nyere dansk
Billedhuggerkunst. Fra Niels Skovgaard til Jais
Nielsen, København 1929; serien Vor Tids
Kunst, udgivet fra 1931-1976 i 76 hæfter,
først fra forlaget rasmus Naver, senere
fra Gyldendal; Haavard rostrup: ”Fra Kai
Nielsen til de yngste”, i Viggo thorlacius-
Ussing (red.): Danmarks billedhuggerkunst.
Fra oldtid til nutid, København 1950;
eller aksel rode: ”Billedhuggerkunsten”, i
Frithiof Brandt, Haakon Shetelig og alf
Nyman (red.): Vor tids kunst og digtning i
Skandinavien, København 1948.
3 Utzon-Frank var professor på
Kunstakademiet fra 1918 til sin død i 1955,
Bjerg fra 1945 til sin død i 1955. I perioden
1943-46 var Bjerg også direktør sammesteds.
Da der ingen oversigter findes over
kunstnernes produktion, kan udbredelsen
af deres værker og deres popularitet kun
skønnes gennem læsning af en række
ukomplette opgørelser, dagbladskritik og
de hovedsageligt samtidige artikler og
småhæfter, der omhandler kunstnerne.
4 Den relative ubemærkethed, som de tre
kunstnere og deres værker har været
underlagt, er heller ikke gået let hen over
skulpturerne på Statens Museum for Kunst.
Efter at have været placeret foran museet
i årtier, blev en række skulpturer i starten
af 2000-årene hårdhændet restaureret
i Italien uden hensyntagen til oprindelig
patinering. Dette gik særligt ud over
Bjergs Abessinier, som nu fremtræder med
en mat gylden overflade, der ligger langt
fra de oprindelige intentioner. Udgaven
af Abessinier, der befinder sig på Fuglsang
Kunstmuseum, var indtil 2004 i familiens
eje og har bevaret den oprindelige overflade.
af samme årsag er det denne skulptur, der
er afbilledet i artiklen. Se Birger thøgersen,
”Kunsten på helsetur”, Politiken, 27.8.2003.
5 Stilanalysen er kontinuerligt blevet udfordret
og kritiseret igennem de seneste 30 år,
69 rasmus kjærboe
men består stadig som en ofte ureflekteret
og alligevel grundlæggende manøvre i
hjertet af en kunsthistorisk praksis. Se
eksempelvis Willibald Sauerländer: “From
Stilus to Style: reflections on the Fate of a
Notion”, Art History 6 nr. 3, 1983; Svetlana
alpers: “Style is What You Make It. the
Visual arts Once again”, i Berel Lang (red.):
The Concept of Style, Ithaca 1987, 2. udg.;
Jas Elsner: ”Style”, i robert S. Nelson og
richard Shiff (red): Critical Terms for Art
History, Chicago og London 2003, 2. udg.
6 Se især teresa Nielsen: Johannes C. Bjerg.
De tidlige år 1909-21, Kunstmuseet Køge
Skitsesamling, Køge 1990 og kortere
omtaler i Hanne abildgaard: ”Modernitet
og menneske”, i Jens Erik Sørensen
(red.): Dansk skulptur i 125 år, København
1996; Hanne abildgaard: Tidlig dansk
modernisme, Ny dansk kunsthistorie, bd. 6,
København 1994, 161ff; Gertrud Oelsner
og Gertrud Hvidberg-Hansen (red.): Livslyst.
Sundhed – Skønhed – Styrke i dansk kunst
1890-1940, Fuglsang Kunstmuseum og Fyns
Kunstmuseum, toreby L. og Odense 2008.
7 abildgaard, 1994, 219. Min magisterkonferensafhandling
fra 2008, indleveret ved
Institut for Kunst- og Kulturvidenskab,
Københavns Universitet, Det klassiske som
figur. Mening og nærvær i skulpturer af Svend
Rathsack, Einar Utzon-Frank og Johannes C.
Bjerg, som denne artikel tager udgangspunkt
i, er det første teoretisk ambitiøse studium
af de tre skulptørers værk i nyere tid.
Der eksisterer ligeledes et upubliceret
speciale fra 2002 om Einar Utzon-Frank, der
desværre lider af teoretiske og metodiske
mangler.
8 Michel Foucault: ”Nietzsche – genealogien,
historien”, i Søren Gosvig Olesen (red.):
Epistemologi, København 1983, 96.
9 Se eksempelvis Hans Dam Christensen:
Forskydningens kunst. Kritiske bidrag til
kunsthistoriens historie, København 2001.
10 Det eneste nogenlunde integrerede forsøg
i nyere tid på at konstruere en decideret
fortælling om kunsten fra tiden før 2.
Verdenskrig, som inkluderer den traditionshenvisende,
figurative skulptur, kom med udstillingen
Livslyst på Fuglsang Kunstmuseum
og Fyns Kunstmuseum i 2008. Udstillingens
tema, vitalismen i dansk kunst, dækker
over mange slags kunstneriske udtryk og
er i denne sammenhæng for bredt til at
belyse specifikke kunstneriske formvalg hos
rathsack, Bjerg og Utzon-Frank. Se Oelsner
og Hvidberg-Hansen, 2008.
11 Ganske sigende får rathsack, Bjerg og
Utzon-Frank et par sider sammen med
andre skulptører i Hans Edvard Nørregaard-
Nielsens 672 sider lange, meget solgte bog
om dansk kunsthistorie under overskriften:
”Og de andre”, hvor rathsacks efternavn
i øvrigt staves forkert. Hans Edvard
Nørregård-Nielsen: Dansk kunst. Tusind
års kunsthistorie, København 2003, 6. udg.,
478ff. Den mest gennemgribende formidling
af tidens skulptur, der dog er ganske
overordnet, findes i abildgaard, 1996.
12 Det hidtil største og mest sammenhængende
studie af modernismen som
”hovedfortælling” findes i Hans Hayden:
Modernismen som institution.Om etableringen
av ett estetisk och historiografiskt paradigm,
Stockholm og Stehag 2006.
13 Ibid., 8ff; James Elkins: Master Narratives and
Their Discontents, New York og London 2005,
30-31, 73-74.
14 Se Dorthe aagesen (red.): Avantgarde i
dansk og europæisk kunst 1909-19, Statens
Museum for Kunst, København 2002.
15 Begrebet ”moderne klassicisme”,
”klassicerende modernisme” eller ”ny
klassicisme” er forskellige betegnelser for
et fænomen, der stadig er underbelyst og
kontroversielt, og de fleste diskussioner
af dette findes indlejret i oversigtsværker,
monografier og udstillingskataloger om
avantgardekunstnere. En række nyere
udstillinger med tilhørende kataloger har
dog forsøgt at tackle problematikken,
heriblandt: Elizabeth Cowling og Jennifer
Mundy (red.): On Classic Ground, udstillingskatalog
tate Gallery, 6.6.1990 – 2.9.1990,
London 1990; Gottfried Boehm, Ulrich
Mosch og Katharina Schmidt (red.): Canto
d’Amore. Classicism in Modern Art and Music
1914-1935, udstillingskatalog Kunstmuseum
Basel, 27.4.1996 – 11.8.1996, London 1996;
robert Storr: Modern Art despite Modernism,
udstillingskatalog the Museum of Modern
art, New York, 16.3.2000 – 26.7.2000, New
York 2000. Det eneste nyere oversigtsværk
over skulptur, der konsekvent medtager
den moderne klassicisme, synes at være:
Penelope Curtis: Sculpture 1900-1945. After
Rodin, Oxford 1999. Et inspirerende studie
af sammenkoblingen mellem nationalisme,
politik og kunst i mellemkrigstidens Frankrig
findes i: romy Golan: Modernity and
Nostalgia. Art and politics in France between
the war, New Haven og London 1995.
Dertil har en række værker om primært
fransk (avantgarde)kunst ligeledes taget
vigtige aspekter af problematikken op:
David Cottington: Cubism in the Shadow of
War. The Avant-Garde and Politics in Paris
1905-1914, New Haven og London 1998;
Christopher Green: Cubism and its Enemies.
Modern Movements and Reaction in French
Art, 1916-1928, New Haven og London 1987;
Christopher Green: Art in France 1900-1940,
New Haven og London 2000; Kenneth
E. Silver: Esprit de Corps. The Art of the
Parisian Avant-Garde and the First World War,
1914-1925, London 1989.
16 Curtis, 1999, 215.
17 Elizabeth Cowling: ”Introduction”, i

Elizabeth Cowling og Jennifer Mundy (red.):
On Classic Ground, tate Gallery, London 1990,
11.
18 Ibid.
19 Guillaume apollinaire: ”andré Derain”, i
Apollinaire on Art, redigeret af Leroy C.
Breuning, London 1972, 444-445.
20 Green, 2000, 203.
21 Se Golan, 1995.
22 Se særligt Christopher Green, ”Part Five.
History, tradition and the French Nation”,
Art in France 1900-1940, New Haven og
London 2000.
23 Befriet for anekdoter og som et værdigt
udtryk for det evige og sande i en nations
sjæl blev landskabet det andet store motiv
for periodens billedkunstnere. Se Green,
2000; Golan, 1995.
24 adam Fischer: “Moderne klassisk kunst i
Paris”, Klingen 2. årg. nr. 3, 1918.
25 adam Fischer: “Negersculptur og moderne
kunst”, Klingen 1. årg. nr. 6, 1918.
26 abildgaard, 1994, 153ff.
27 abildgaard, 1994, 121ff.
28 abildgaard, 1994, 139ff.
29 Se eksempelvis Vilhelm Wanscher: ”Moderne
Kunst”, Politiken 3.2.1919.
30 En forklaringsmodel, der anvendes bl.a. i
Golan, 1995.
31 Leo Swane: Svend Rathsack. Et Udvalg af
Skulpturer med indledende Tekst, Vor tids
Kunst 17, København 1934, 9; Leo Swane:
Johannes C. Bjerg. Et Udvalg af Skulpturer
med indledende Tekst, Vor tids Kunst 9,
København 1932, 13; Sigurd Schultz: Utzon
Frank. Et Udvalg af Skulpturer med indledende
Tekst, Vor tids Kunst 10, København 1932, 5.
32 Schultz, 1932, 6.
33 Maria Fabricius Hansen: “the Great age of
Statuettes. Danish Decorative Sculpture,
1900-1925”, Scandinavian Journal of Design
History vol. 3, 1993.
34 I denne sammenhæng ses ”klassicisme”
som en reference til, eller et ønske om, at
være inden for et felt, der betegnes ”klassisk”,
og ”modernisme” som en reference
til, eller et ønske om, at være inden for et
felt, der bærer i hvert fald medbetydninger
af ”moderne”. Med fare for reduktionen
optræder ”klassisk” og ”klassicisme” delvist
som synonymer, ligesom ”moderne” og
”modernisme”, igennem teksten. For en mere
udviklet distinktion omkring det klassiske
og klassicisme, se Gottfried Boehm: “an
alternative Modern. On the Concept and
Basis of the Exhibition”, i Gottfried Boehm,
Ulrich Mosch og Katharina Schmidt (red.):
Canto d’Amore. Classicism in Modern Art
and Music 1914-1935, Kunstmuseum Basel,
London 1996, 24. Begrebet modernisme
er en abstraktion, der som oftest vil blive
forstået som en reaktion på en oplevelse
af en ”modernitetserfaring”. Yderligere
afgrænsninger af, hvad der skal til for
at udgøre en modernisme, er dog lige så
omdiskuterede som definitionen på, hvad
det moderne er. For nogle i dag udbredte
definitioner på modernisme som en erfaring,
se Marshall Berman: All That is Solid Melts
into Air. The Experience of Modernity [1982],
London og New York, 1995.
35 Paul Holberton: ”Classicism”, i Hugh
Brigstocke (red.): Oxford Companion to
Western Art, Oxford 2001.
36 ”Neoclassicism”, i Ian Chilvers (red.): A
Dictionary of Twentieth-Century Art, Oxford
1998.
37 Ferdinand de Saussure: “Lingvistikkens
objekt” [1916], i Peter Madsen (red.):
Strukturalisme. En antologi, København 1970.
38 Det er selvsagt umuligt at give en oversigt
over alt, der er skrevet om den klassiske
tradition, endsige give en meningsfuld
gennemgang af værker og kunstnere, der
er blevet kaldt klassiske. Se eksempelvis
litteraturlisten og overvejelserne over den
i Michael Greenhalgh, The Classical Tradition
in Art, London 1978, 9, 235ff. Her opregnes
omtrent 1000 artikler og bøger om klassisk
billedkunst og arkitektur.
39 Calinescu, 1987, 13-14; Johan Fornäs:
Cultural Theory and Late Modernity, London
1995, 19; Boehm, 1996, 24.
40 Calinescu, 1987, 26ff.
41 to af Winckelmanns bøger kom til at stå i
centrum for forestillingen om den klassiske
antiks forbilledlige, kunstneriske status:
Johann Joachim Winckelmann: Gedanken
über die Nachahmung der griechischen Werke
in Malerey und Bildhauerkunst, Dresden og
Leipzig 1756; Johann Joachim Winckelmann:
Geschichte der Kunst des Alterthums, Dresden
1764.
42 alex Potts: Flesh and the Ideal. Winckelmann
and the Origins of Art History, New Haven og
London 2000, 98.
43 Hugh Honour: ”Neo-Classicism”, i The Age
of Neo-Classicism, the arts Council of Great
Britain, London 1972, xxii.
44 “Moderniteten, det er det forbigående, det
flygtige, det ikke-nødvendige, kunstens
ene halvdel, hvis anden halvdel er det evige
og urokkelige.” Charles Baudelaire: Det
moderne livs maler [1863], Århus 2001, 33;
Kunsthistorikeren Craig Owens citerer
Jules Lemaîtres udlægning af Baudelaires
kunstsyn som: “[a] constant combination
of two opposite modes of reaction … a past
and a present mode.” Craig Owens: ”the
allegorical Impulse”, i Brian Wallis (red.): Art
After Modernism: Rethinking Representation,
New York 1984, 211.
45 athena S. Leoussi: Nationalism and Classicism.
The Classical Body as National Symbol in
Nineteenth-Century England and France,
London 1998, 25ff.
46 Erik Zahle, “Svend rathsacks Ungdom”,
Kunstmuseets Aarsskrift XXX, 1943, 110-11;
abildgaard, 1996, 126.
47 En samtidig moderne klassicisme kan
konstateres i dansk arkitektur med Carl
Petersens Faaborg Museum som et tidligt
eksempel, men at diskutere arkitektur som
en decideret analogi til billedkunsten ligger
langt uden for artiklens område.
48 For et overblik over tidens forestillinger om
den antikke kunsts periodeinddelinger og
karaktertræk se eksempelvis en populær
håndbog, der blev trykt i talrige oplag
og udgaver: J.M. Secher: Græsk-romersk
Kunsthistorie til Skolebrug, København 1926,
6. udg.
49 Jf. Zahle, 1943, 110.
50 I kunsthistorisk og arkæologisk litteratur
er der enighed om, at fremadrakte eller
løftede arme i friskulpturen er træk, der
tidligst ses i den senklassiske skulptur, men
som først virkelig udfoldes i renæssancens
bronzeskulpturer. Se robin Osborne: Archaic
and Classical Greek Art, Oxford 1998, 226.
51 Synet på kourosstatuen som i hvert fald til
tider ideel og almen er generelt vedtaget.
robin Osborne: ”Men Without Clothes:
Heroic Nakedness and Greek art”, Gender
& History vol. 9 nr.3, 1997, 512; Nanette
Salomon: “the Venus Pudica: uncovering art
history’s ‘hidden agendas’ and pernicious
pedigrees”, i Griselda Pollock (red.):
Generations and Geographies in the Visual Arts,
London og New York 1996, 71ff.
52 Om tidens kropskultur og dens klassiske forbilleder
se tamar Garb: Bodies of Modernity.
Figure and Flesh in Fin-de-Siècle France,
London 1998, 54-79; En dansk kontekst
beskrives i Gertrud Hvidberg-Hansen:
”Hellas under nordlig himmel”, i Gertrud
Oelsner og Gertrud Hvidbeg-Hansen (red.):
Livslyst. Sundhed – Skønhed – Styrke i dansk
kunst 1890-1940, toreby L. og Odense 2008.
53 traditionsopgøret ses i den meste
litteratur som et afgørende, fremadrettet
grundlag fælles for både modernismen
og avantgarden. Se eksempelvis de
indflydelsesrige studier: Peter Bürger:
Theory of the Avant-Garde, Minneapolis 1994,
3. udg., 22, 49, 60-63; Matei Calinescu: Five
Faces of Modernity, Durham, 1987, 2. udg.,
5, 10; renato Poggioli: The Theory of the
Avant-Garde Cambridge Ma og London 1968,
30ff, 52ff.
54 roland Barthes: ”Myten i dag”, Mytologier
[1957/70], København 1996.
55 Den bogstavelige, hebraiske betydning af
adam er ”menneske”, og i almen, vestlig
og kristen influeret forståelse er adam et
billede på alle mennesker igennem sin rolle
som det første menneske, den første synder
og den første agerbruger. James F. Driscoll:
”adam”, i The Catholic Encyclopedia, New York
1907), tilgængelig på www.newadvent.org/
cathen/
56 Zahle, 1943, 110.
rasmus kjærboe 70

57 aksel rode: ”to danske billedhuggere”,
Konstspegeln 6/7, 1955/56, 17.
58 Kunsthistorikeren anne Højer Petersen giver
en meget lignende analyse: ”Bjerg har i den
store Abessinier forenet det klassiske (menneskefiguren,
materialet) med det moderne
(det motivløse, ikke-fortællende indhold, det
etniske) i en helstøbt enhed og tilmed skabt
en sjældent fuldgyldig rundskulptur i det
monumentale format”. anne Højer Petersen:
”Johannes C. Bjerg, Abessinier (1914-15)”, i
tine Nielsen Fabienke og Gertrud Oelsner
(red.): Vores bedste stykker, toreby L. 2008,
68.
59 Skulpturen er lavet over samme mandlige
model som Georg Kolbes to år ældre Torso
eines Somalinegers, så motivet kan polemisk
set også være Kolbes statue, snarere end den
levende model. Se ”to arbejder efter samme
Model”, Dagens Nyheder, 16.2.1932.
60 Fornäs, 1995, 30. til dette kan bemærkes,
at forskellige folkeslag tidligere har
oplevet at blive ”revet op med rode”; de
jødiske folkeslag og forskellige historiske
folkevandringer er gode eksempler. De
afrikanske folk i vesten er dog de første,
som på en massiv skala både oplever at blive
fysisk flyttet og få deres kultur systematisk
udsat for udryddelse, nedgørelse og glemsel.
61 Haavard rostrup, 1950, 438, 442; rode,
1955/56, 16-17. Sigurd Schultz karakteriserede
allerede i 1929 Utzon-Franks
kunst som havende en tilbøjelighed til ”det
Maniererede”, hvilket skal ses som en
traditionel, kvalitativ kritik og ikke som en
bestemmelse af kunstneren som inspireret
af manierismen. I samme tekst fremhæves
Utzon-Franks inspiration som stammende
fra antikken og florentinsk renæssance.
Schultz, 1929, 13-14.
62 Ernst Jonas Bencard har i forbindelse
med denne artikel gjort opmærksom på,
at manierisme og ”manieret” er
begreber, der findes flere steder i omtalen
af Bjerg og Utzon-Frank og derfor kunne
medtages som del af en analyse af deres
tidlige kunst. til dette er at bemærke, at
manierisme er en både forkætret og meget
løs definition, og at karakteristikken af
Bjergs og Utzon-Franks kunst sker noget
senere end værkernes produktionstidspunkt,
og først efter de to absolut grundlæggende
bestemmelser af manierismen som stilart af
de østrigske kunsthistorikere Max Dvořák og
Walter Friedländer udkommer i henholdsvis
1922 og 1925. Særligt Friedländers
karakteristisk af det ”anti-klassiske” og
Dvořáks åndshistoriske bestemmelse
af ”krisefornemmelser” i manierismen er
absolut mulige at diskutere i sammenhæng
med den moderne klassicisme, men
det er usandsynligt at sætte Bjergs og
Utzon-Franks værker i forbindelse med
denne type tolkninger, før de var mere
71 rasmus kjærboe
udbredte. Selv om enkelte kunstnere
såsom El Greco, Giambologna og Cellini, der
senere skulle blive anskuet som inkarnerede
manierister, var beundrede før 1920’erne, er
det langt overvejende sandsynligt, at det
er de proto-manieristiske karaktertræk i de
allerede anerkendte gotiske og florentinske
1400-tals skulpturer, det først og fremmest
har været målet at associere til. Max
Dvořák: ”Über Greco und den Manierismus”,
Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschicthe, XV,
1921/1922; Walter Friedländer: „Die
Entstehung des antiklassischen Stiles in der
italienischen Malerei um 1520“, Repertorium
für Kunstwissenschaft, XLVI, 1925.
63 Jf. note 5.
64 Flere af disse værker er i dag forsvundet
og findes kun dokumenteret fotografisk i
Danmarks Kunstbibliotek, Kunsthistorisk
Billedarkiv. Se også Chr. Engelstoft: ”Einar
Utzon Frank”, Skønvirke V, 1919, 102.
65 rodin og Meunier synes at være bredt
accepterede som Utzon-Franks forbilleder
i forsøget på at frasige sig den form for
naturalistisk skulptur, der undervistes i på
Kunstakademiet af Carl aarsleff, og som var
den dominerende type skulptur i Danmark
i de første årtier af det 20. århundrede. Se
eksempelvis rode, 1955/56, 15; Schultz,
1932, 8.
66 Schultz, Utzon Frank, 10, 23.
67 Poul Henningsen: ”Einar Utzon Frank”, Vor
Tid II, 1918, 140, 149.
68 Henningsen, 1918, 149.
69 Caroline arscott og Katie Scott:
”Introducing Venus”, i Caroline arscott og
Katie Scott (red.): Manifestations of Venus.
Art and Sexuality, Manchester 2000.
70 Norman Bryson: Tradition and Desire. From
David to Delacroix, Cambridge 1984.
71 Bryson, 1984, 30.
72 Ernst Jonas Bencard: ”Generationen uden
egenskaber”, i Ernst Jonas Bencard og
Stig Miss: Afmagt. Dansk billedhuggerkunst
1850-1900, København 2002); aksel rode:
“1880’ernes og 90’ernes billedhuggere. Fra
klassicismens efterklange til 90’ernes
stilsøgen”, i Viggo thorlacius-Ussing (red.):
Danmarks billedhuggerkunst. Fra oldtid til
nutid, København 1950, 382-383.
73 Henningsen, 1918, 140, 149.
74 rode, 1948, 114.
75 Samme funktion, det moderne klassiske
værk som selvbevidst fremviser af stilen
selv, identificerer kunsthistorikerne Jens
toft og Gottfried Boehm uafhængigt af
hinanden som en central strategi hos andre
af tidens kunstnere. Jens toft: “Nogle
betragtninger over tegnet i maleriet”,
Periskop. Forum for kunsthistorisk debat nr. 4,
1995; Boehm, 1996.
76 ”In other words, the notion of unified form
is integrally bound up with the perception
of self, and the construction of individual
identity.” Lynda Nead: The Female Nude.
Art, Obscenity and Sexuality, New York og
London 2004, 7; Se også George L. Mosse:
The Image of Man. The Creation of Modern
Masculinity, Oxford og New York 1996, 24ff.
77 rosalind Krauss: Passages in Modern
Sculpture, Cambridge Ma og London 1981,
23ff.
78 Denne læsning går stik imod en tradition
for at opfatte det kunstneriske kropsbillede
som primært et æstetisk anliggende, som
eksempelvis argumenteret i kunsthistorikeren
Kenneth Clarks indflydelsesrige bog: The
Nude. A Study in Ideal Form [1956], London
1973. En væsentlig kritik af Clark og hans
position ses i Nead, 2004, 12ff.
79 Se eksempelvis richard Shiff: “Phototropism
(Figuring the Proper)”, i Kathleen Preciardo
(red.): Retaining the Original. Multiple Originals,
Copies, and Reproductions, Washington 1989,
164, 169.
80 Barthes, 1977.
81 Se eksempelvis angrebet på postmoderne,
traditionshenvisende kunst i Benjamin H.D.
Buchloh: ”Figures of authority, Ciphers
of regression: Notes on the return of
representation in European Painting”,
October 16, 1981.
82 Jessica Sjöholm Skrubbe: Skulptur i
folkhemmet. Den offentlige skulpturens
institutionalisering, referentialitet och rumsliga
situationer 1940-1975, Göteborg 2007, 113.
83 Bryson, 1984, 15ff.
84 rathsack og Bjerg skabte i 1920’erne en del
forlæg til relieffer på nye boligblokke bygget
i ”dansk klassicisme” og funktionalisme i
bl.a. Vanløse, København NV og på Østerbro.
Utzon-Frank skabte bl.a. forlæg til
figurerne på facaden af Det kongelige
teaters tilbygning, Stærekassen, omkring
1930-31, og relieffet Tyr i det moderne
slagterikompleks i Kødbyen i 1933. Værker
af kunstnerne opstilledes ligeledes i
forbindelse med aarhus Stadion og Østerbro
Stadion, i offentlige parker og i mange andre
arkitektoniske sammenhænge.
85 Bjergs og Utzon-Franks virke som
professorer formede en generation af
danske billedhuggere på godt og ondt og
blev i stigende grad set som hæmmende. Se
Ernst Jonas Bencard: ”Den bundne varme”,
BKF. Billedkunstnernes Forbund, nr. 5-6 1985;
rasmus Kjærboe: “Billedhuggerskole med
vægt på traditionen. Johannes C. Bjerg,
professor 1945-55”, i Henrik B. andersen
og Carsten Jarlov (red.): Billedhuggerskolen i
Frederiksholms Kanal, København 2008.

kathrine segel og ole nørregaard jensen 72

Henri matisse
LE LUxE II
k at h r i n e segel og ole nørrega a r d jensen
Maleriet Le Luxe II 1 [fig. 1] af Henri Matisse (1869-1954)
blev i 2009 restaureret på Statens Museum for Kunsts
(SMK) Bevaringsafdeling. I forbindelse med behandlin-
gen blev der foretaget en række undersøgelser for at opnå
en større viden om maleriets tilblivelse og for generelt at
udvide kendskabet til Matisses maleteknik. Man var bl.a.
interesseret i at afdække, hvordan kunstneren havde
overført motivet til lærredet. Endvidere ønskede man at
finde svar på, i hvilket medium Matisse havde udført Le
Luxe II, eftersom den eksisterende information pegede i
forskellige retninger. I forbindelse med den omfattende
undersøgelse blev der etableret et samarbejde med pro-
teinforskere fra Institut for Biokemi og Molekylær Biologi
på Syddansk Universitet (SDU) i Odense.
Tre gange Le Luxe
Som maleriets titel indikerer, malede Matisse to udgaver
af Le Luxe. Den ældste version, Le Luxe I, udførte Matisse
i starten af 1907 i Collioure i Sydfrankrig. Maleriet blev
udført i olie og måler 210 cm x 138 cm. Det blev udstil-
let senere samme år på Salon d’Automne i Paris under
titlen Luxe (esquisse). Det faktum, at Matisse dengang
tilføjede ordet skitse til maleriets titel, kan opfattes som
en antydning af, at maleriet enten var uafsluttet, eller
at det udgjorde en del af en længere proces. Maleriet,
som i dag kendes under navnet Le Luxe I, forblev i
kunstnerens eje helt frem til 1945, hvor det blev solgt
73 kathrine segel og ole nørregaard jensen
til Musée National d’Art Moderne i Paris (i dag Centre
George Pompidou).
Modsat den oven for beskrevne ældre version herskede
der i en lang årrække en del uklarhed om tilblivelsen og
dateringen af det efterfølgende arbejde, Le Luxe II. 2 I dag
er man dog overbevist om, at Matisse malede værket i sit
atelier i Couvert des Oiseaux i Paris enten i slutningen
af 1907 eller begyndelsen af 1908. 3 Le Luxe II måler
209,5 cm x 139 cm. Ud over den størrelsesmæssige
lighed med Le Luxe I er kompositionen i de to malerier
næsten identisk. I modsætning til den ældre udgave er
Le Luxe II tydeligvis ikke udført i olie, hvilket bl.a. er
baggrunden for denne artikel. Le Luxe II blev udstillet i
Køln og London i 1912, og maleriet var desuden med på
Armory Show i New York året efter. I 1917 købte den danske
ingeniør, politiker og boligspekulant Johannes Rump
maleriet. Han donerede i januar 1928 sin kunstsamling
til SMK, heriblandt Le Luxe II.
Trods ligheder i kompositionen mellem de to versioner
af Le Luxe adskiller malerierne sig stilmæssigt fra
hinanden. Le Luxe I er malet med brede, uregelmæssige
penselstrøg, hvilket skaber en form for volumen, mens
landskab og figurer i Le Luxe II er forenklede og reducerede
til næsten flade monokrome farvefelter. Maleriet
viser tre nøgne kvindefigurer på en strand. I forgrunden
ses en mørkhåret kvinde, som står på et hvidt klæde.
Ved kvindens fødder ses en knælende, blond kvinde, der
(Fig. 1) Henri Matisse:
Le Luxe II 1907-08
Limfarve på lærred
Statens Museum
for Kunst

enten forsøger at tørre den opretstående kvindes fødder
eller befri hende for klædet. Maleriets tredje kvindefigur
er på vej hen imod de to andre. Hun har en buket blomster
i hånden, og hendes positur antyder, at hun ønsker at
overbringe buketten til den stående kvinde. Nogle mener,
at maleriet giver associationer til Venus fødsel. 4 Andre
tolker motivet som en allegori over tre tilstande: aktivitet,
passivitet og kontemplation. 5
Ud over de to ovennævnte malerier findes der en
udateret fortegning af motivet, som tilhører Centre
George Pompidou i Paris. Tegningen måler i dag 225
cm x 137 cm og er derfor en anelse højere i forhold til
de to malerier. I hver ende af tegningen er der lagt 7,5
cm til som to tomme horisontale bånd. Disse horisontale
bånd er formentlig en del af tegningens ombukningskant,
som man i forbindelse med en tidligere doublering har
”foldet ud” og således føjet til værket. 6 Hvis dette er
tilfældet, har tegningen oprindeligt målt 210 cm x 137
cm, hvilket stemmer overens med størrelsen af de to
malerier. Fortegningen er udført på papir, som er blevet
inddelt i kvadrater af cirka 20 x 20 cm med en rødlig
streg. Oven på kvadreringen har Matisse tegnet motivet
med kul. Matisse har undladt at datere fortegningen,
men forskning har vist, at Matisse kan have udført den
i perioden mellem Le Luxe I og Le Luxe II. 7 I så fald
har fortegningen fungeret som et redskab, så Matisse
kunne fastholde motivet i sin erindring, fordi Le Luxe I
skulle på udstilling umiddelbart efter dets færdiggørelse.
Denne tese underbygges af det faktum, at Le Luxe I blev
udstillet på Salon d’Automne som Luxe (esquisse), hvilket
kan opfattes som en indikation på, at et endeligt værk var
under udarbejdelse.
Endvidere har kunsthistoriker Yve-Alain Bois registreret,
at Matisse foretog en række kompositionelle ændringer
i den senere version af maleriet. 8 Den opretstående
kvinde på Le Luxe I har front mod beskueren, hvorimod
hun på Le Luxe II drejer sig en anelse mere mod heraldisk
venstre. Ligeså flytter denne kvindefigur foden fra heraldisk
højre mod heraldisk venstre. Sammenlignes malerierne
med fortegningen, er det, som om at fortegningen
kompositorisk placerer sig mellem de to versioner af Le
Luxe. Justeringerne på fortegningen kan tolkes, som om
Matisse på idéniveau var ved at foretage en rotation af
maleriets centrale figur.
konserveringen af Le Luxe II i 1966
I 1966 foretog konservatorer på SMK en gennemgribende
konservering af Le Luxe II. Maleriets overflade var
allerede på dette tidspunkt stærkt medtaget grundet en
større vandskade i øverste halvdel samt skjolddannelser
og løbere fra mindre vandstænk. Et fotografi af Le Luxe II
fra 1919 afslørede, at denne vandskade ikke var original
[fig. 2]. 9 Det matte farvelag var dækket af talrige opskalninger
og revnedannelser. Endvidere var lærredet stærkt
medtaget. Derfor valgte man at doublere maleriet med
limklister på varmebord. Limklisteren, som anvendtes til
behandlingen, blev fremstillet af hvedemel, gelatine,
benzosyre og vand. 10 Lokalt blev opskalninger fastlagt med
gelatine. Desuden retoucherede man de mest beskadigede
områder af Le Luxe II med en blanding af tørpigment
og gelatine, som matchede farvelagets matte udseende.
Udgangspunkt for de maletekniske
undersøgelser i 2009
I begyndelsen af 2009 blev Le Luxe II af æstetiske
årsager igen taget ind til behandling på SMK’s
Bevaringsafdeling. De gamle retoucher var misfarvede og
virkede forstyrrende på oplevelsen af maleriet. Samtidig
var man interesseret i at foretage en række undersøgelser
af Le Luxe II for at udbygge allerede eksisterende viden
om Matisses maleteknik samt at af- eller bekræfte nogle
modstridende oplysninger om værket.
For det første herskede der ved undersøgelsens
start tvivl om, hvordan Matisse havde overført motivet
til lærred. Pga. overordnede ligheder i kompositionen
mellem henholdsvis Le Luxe II og fortegningen gættede
man på, at Matisse formentlig havde benyttet sig af en
eller anden form for overførselsteknik. Dog kunne man
med det blotte øje ikke umiddelbart se indikationer på
en undertegning under farvelaget.
For det andet søgte man svar på, hvilket medium Le
Luxe II var malet med. Eksisterende litteratur beskrev
farvelaget som enten kasein eller limfarve, hvilket kemisk
set er to vidt forskellige farvetyper. Den tidligste danske
kilde, som omtaler maleriet, er et udstillingskatalog over
J. Rumps Samling af moderne fransk kunst. Kataloget
udkom i 1929, og her blev det angivet, at maleriet var
udført i limfarve. 11 Men i en spørgeskemaundersøgelse
fra 1951, som blev foretaget i forbindelse med en retrospektiv
udstilling på MoMA i New York, skulle Matisse
efter sigende have udtalt, at Le Luxe II var udført i
détrempe. 12 Begrebet détrempe har på fransk to betydninger,
13 og ordet kan således oversættes til både limfarve
(eng: distemper) og emulsionsmaling/ tempera. I A.H.
Barrs publikation om Matisse fra 1951, der bl.a. tager
udgangspunkt i spørgeskemaundersøgelsen, er détrempe
oversat til engelsk med ”casein” (da: kaseinmaling). 14
Sidenhen har man i diverse internationale publikationer
kathrine segel og ole nørregaard jensen 74

kunnet se begge begreber anvendt i beskrivelsen af
farvelaget på Le Luxe II. Endvidere findes der oplysninger
om, at Matisse skulle have fået malingsopskriften fra
den relativt ukendte, catalanske maler Etienne Terrus, 15
men trods ihærdig efterforskning er det ikke lykkedes at
fremskaffe den originale opskrift. 16
Visuelt forekom farvelaget på Le Luxe II at være
ekstremt mat, nærmest pastelagtig. Desuden viste en
forundersøgelse, at farvelaget var vandopløseligt. Disse
to registreringer af farvelaget pegede umiddelbart i
retning af limfarve. Omvendt kunne det også være en
indikation på et farvelag i en meget nedbrudt tilstand.
Uafhængigt af hvilket medium Matisse skulle vise sig
at have brugt, adskiller Le Luxe II sig fra kunstnerens
øvrige værker ved ikke at være udført i olie. Så vidt vides
findes der kun tre lignende tilfælde, hvoraf de to malerier
eksisterer i dag. På kunstmuseet i Grenoble i Frankrig
har man foretaget en bindemiddelsanalyse af maleriet
75 kathrine segel og ole nørregaard jensen
Intérieur aux Aubergines (da: Interiør med auberginer) fra
1911. Undersøgelsen afslørede, at farvelaget indeholdt
animalsk lim. 17 Ifølge konservatorerne på Eremitagen
i Skt. Petersborg er Le café Arabe/ Café marocain (da:
Marokkansk/ Arabisk café) fra 1913 formentlig også udført
i limfarveteknik. 18 Denne oplysning beroede dog udeluk-
kende på konservatorernes empiriske materialekendskab.
Her forelå igen tekniske resultater. Det tredje maleri La
Nuit/ Grand Nu à la colle (da: Stor nøgen kvinde) fra 1911
er desværre ødelagt, formentlig af kunstneren selv, men
var ifølge litteraturen ligeledes udført i limfarve. 19
kvadrering
Da prydrammen til Le Luxe II blev afmonteret i forbin-
delse med restaureringen, kunne man langs maleriets
horisontale sider se en cirka 1 cm lang streg for hver 20
cm. Nogle steder havde stregen form som et smalt ’v’. De
korte streger var afsat vinkelret i forhold til siden af male-
(Fig. 1)
Henri Matisse:
Le Luxe II 1907-08
Limfarve på lærred
Statens Museum
for Kunst
(Fig. 2)
Fotografi af Le Luxe II
fra 1919
Photograph of Le Luxe II

(Fig. 3)
afstandsmarkering
langs maleriets
horisontale sider
Distance marks along
the painting’s
horizontal sides
(Fig. 4)
Infrarød optagelse af
afstandsmarkeringen langs
maleriets vertikale sider
Infrared photograph of
distance marks along the
vertical sides
riet [fig. 3]. I alt kunne man se seks streger i henholdsvis
top og bund. De små afmærkninger var lavet med blyant.
Stregerne var afsat med cirka samme afstand og kunne
iagttages parvis over for hinanden langs top og bund.
Dette indikerede, at Matisse formentlig havde benyttet
sig af en eller anden form for inddeling af lærredet.
Med det blotte øje kunne man dog ikke umiddelbart se
lignende streger langs maleriets vertikale sider.
Herefter blev maleriet studeret med infrarødt lys. Til
undersøgelsen blev brugt Artist PRO® kamera fra Art
Innovation. 20 De infrarøde optagelser afslørede, at der
langs maleriets to vertikale sider fandtes samme type
afstandsmarkering. De 1 cm lange streger var ligeledes
sat med en afstand på cirka 20 cm, og markeringen var
vinkelret på malerisiden [fig. 4]. I hver side kunne man
iagttage i alt 10 streger. Den øverste markering var afsat
20 cm fra maleriets overkant, og som følge af maleriets
længde (209,5 cm) befandt den sidste markering sig
ca. 10 cm fra bunden. Grunden, til at man med det
blotte øje ikke kunne se afmærkningerne langs maleriets
vertikale sider, var, at Matisse i disse områder malede
helt ud til kanten (i modsætning til top og bund). Der var
nu klare indikationer på, at Matisse havde haft inddelt
lærredet i felter. I det infrarøde lys kunne man dog ikke
umiddelbart se, at punkterne havde været forbundet
med henholdsvis vandrette og lodrette linjer og således
afsløret en kvadrering af malefladen. En kvadrering er
en velkendt overførselsteknik, som bruges, når man skal
overføre et motiv fra en flade til en anden (fx fra skitse
kathrine segel og ole nørregaard jensen 76

til lærred). Kvadreringen tillader kunstneren at tegne
motivet op med frihånd ved at bruge kvadreringens gitter
som hjælpelinjer. 21
Ved en nærmere visuel analyse blev det dog afsløret,
at lærredet havde været inddelt i kvadrater. I områder,
hvor grunderingen stod blottet, eller hvor farvelaget var
transparent påført, kunne man enkelte steder iagttage
brudstykker af enten en horisontal eller en vertikal linje.
Placeringen af disse linjefragmenter korresponderede
med afmærkningerne langs maleriets kanter. I alt kunne
man på Le Luxe II observere spor efter kvadreringen tolv
forskellige steder [fig. 5]. Malefladen havde oprindeligt
været inddelt i 10,5 x 7 felter. Denne inddeling er identisk
med den kvadrering, som ses på fortegningen, hvis man
ser bort fra de to horisontale bånd, der er stykket til tegningen.
Kvadreringen på Le Luxe II var udført med kridt
i en svagt rødlig farve, hvilket var grunden til, at man ikke
kunne se den i infrarødt lys. Endvidere viste kridtstregen
sig at være vandopløselig, og kvadreringen blev derfor
formodentlig ”malet væk”, da Matisse påførte det vandige
farvelag. Kvadreringens vandopløselighed forklarer
desuden, hvorfor maleriets lyse farvelag (særligt karnationen)
lokalt har et rødligt skær. I disse områder har den
røde farve fra kvadreringen blandet sig med farvelaget.
Undertegning
Efter at have inddelt lærredet i kvadrater trak Matisse
motivet op med en tynd, mørkegrå kulstreg. Ligesom
den rødlige kvadrering viste konturstregen sig at være
vandopløselig, og stregen blev derfor formodentlig opløst,
da Matisse påførte farvelaget. Det forklarer, hvorfor man
ikke kan se undertegningen på de infrarøde optagelser.
Undertegningen kan derfor kun iagttages i de ganske
få områder, hvor farvelaget ikke er dækkende. Ét sted,
hvor stregen er tydelig, er ved overgangen mellem hals
og skulder på maleriets centrale figur, den opretstående
kvinde [fig. 6]. Lokalt har undertegningen (ligesom
kvadreringen) medført en skyggeagtig misfarvning af
farvelaget rundt om motivets konturer pga. stregens
vandopløselighed.
Det er ikke klart, i hvor stort et omfang Matisse
udførte kompositionelle rettelser i undertegningen (som
dem, man ser på den eksisterende fortegning). Eftersom
den skyggeagtige misfarvning kun kan iagttages lokalt
omkring motivets konturlinjer, må man gå ud fra, at
omfanget af eventuelle rettelser var begrænset. Matisse
har formentlig kun trukket motivet op med en tynd
streg. Fig.7 viser en skitsering af kvadreringen og den
formodentlige undertegning til Le Luxe II.
77 kathrine segel og ole nørregaard jensen
(Fig. 5)
Detaljefoto, som
viser et fragment af
kvadreringen
Detail photograph
showing fragment
of the grid
(Fig. 6)
Detaljefoto, som
viser et fragment
af den oprindelige
skitse
Detail photograph
showing fragment
of original underdrawing

(Fig. 7)
Skitsering af kvadreringen
og den formodentlige
undertegning til Le Luxe II
Sketch showing grid and
possible underdrawing
of Le Luxe II
Bindemiddelsanalyse
Som en del af undersøgelsen blev der foretaget en
bindemiddelsanalyse for at fastslå, i hvilket medium
Matisse havde udført Le Luxe II. Resultatet ville bl.a.
have betydning for forståelsen af Matisses maleteknik
og kunstneriske udvikling. Yderligere ville en identifika-
tion af bindemidlet have betydning for den forestående
restaurering af maleriet, idet man ønskede at anvende
retoucheringsmaterialer, der var reversible i forhold til de
originale materialer anvendt af Matisse.
Som udgangspunkt havde man en formodning om, at
Le Luxe II var udført i enten kasein eller limfarve. Kasein
er et andet navn for en gruppe proteinmolekyler, som
findes i mælk. Det tørrede kaseinpulver er i sig selv
uopløseligt i vand, men kan gøres opløseligt og klæbende
ved tilsætning af en basisk (alkalisk) væske, fx ammoniumhydrogenkarbonat.
22 Da kaseinet efter den alkaliske
behandling både kan opløses i vand og olie, kaldes farven
også for emulsionsmaling eller tempera (det latinske
ord for ’at blande’). Efter tørring er kaseinfarven atter
uopløselig i vand, fordi dens bestanddele, herunder proteinmolekylerne,
krydsbindes under hærdningsprocessen.
Limfarve er en malingstype bestående af tørpigmenter
oprørt i en vandig lim. Inden for malerkunsten er der
som regel tale om en animalsk lim fremstillet af afkog
fra enten knogler eller skind. 23 I dyreknogler og -skind
findes bl.a. et protein, som kaldes kollagen. I forsøget på
at afklare, i hvilket medium Matisse udførte Le Luxe II,
gav det derfor god mening at foretage en proteinanalyse,
eftersom begge de formodede typer bindemidler er proteinholdige
og adskiller sig fra hinanden ved bestemte
proteinkomponenter.
Proteinmolekyler er linære kæder af aminosyrer, som
er bundet sammen af peptidbindinger. Det enkelte proteins
opbygning kan inddeles i fire niveauer. Det laveste
niveau kaldes molekylets primære struktur, og dette
beskriver aminosyrernes rækkefølge i den linære kæde,
analogt med perler på en snor. Herefter følger den
sekundære struktur, som beskriver de lokale foldningsdomæner
i aminosyrekæden. Proteinmolekylets tertiære
struktur beskriver hele aminosyrekædens struktur i tre
dimensioner, dvs. den rumlige struktur af proteinet. Det
højeste niveau, den kvarternære struktur, beskriver bl.a.
proteiners vekselvirkning med hinanden.
Eftersom det ikke var muligt at foretage proteinanalyser
på SMK, blev der taget kontakt til proteinforsker Ole
Nørregaard Jensen, professor ved Institut for Biokemi og
Molekylær Biologi på SDU.
Proteinanalysen blev udført ved at ekstrahere og
analysere en meget lille mængde afskrab fra maleriet Le
Luxe II. Prøvematerialet blev udtaget mekanisk med en
steril skalpel. I alt blev der udtaget seks prøver, hvoraf
de tre var fra farvelaget, og én var fra grunderingen. Der
blev udtaget prøvemateriale fra det blå, røde og grønne
farvelag. De resterende to prøver var fra retoucheringsfarven.
Hver enkelt prøve blev overført til en steril beholder
og bragt til proteinforskningslaboratoriet på SDU. I de
følgende afsnit vil der blive fokuseret på resultatet af
prøverne fra henholdsvis farvelag og grundering.
sDs-PAGE
Materialet blev først analyseret ved gelelektroforese
(SDS-PAGE). 24 I denne teknik anvendes et elektrisk
felt til at separere proteiner ud fra deres molekylevægt
(størrelse). De enkelte prøver fra Le Luxe II blev opløst i
natriumdodecylsulfat (eng: SDS), hvilket medfører en ef-
kathrine segel og ole nørregaard jensen 78

MV
sDs-PAGE separation of protein
SDS‐PAGE separation of protein
Sample no.
1 2 3 4 5 6
fektiv opløsning og udfoldning af de proteiner, der måtte
være til stede i materialet. Efter den elektroforetiske
separation ’fremkaldes’ og visualiseres proteinmønsteret
ved hjælp af sølvfarvning [fig. 8], analogt til fotografiske
fremkaldelsesteknikker.
Til forsøget anvendtes en gradient-polyakylamidgel
med en koncentration på 4-20%. Proteinerne vandrer
igennem gelen ud fra deres størrelse, dvs. de små
proteiner bevæger sig hurtigere end de større proteiner,
hvorved der opnås en adskillelse af komponenterne i en
given proteinblanding.
MW
170 kDa
130
95
72
55
43
34
26
17
10
79 kathrine segel og ole nørregaard jensen
Ved SDS-PAGE separation anvendes måleenheden
kilodalton (kDa) 25 til at beskrive proteinernes stør-
relse. Analysen viste, at alle prøverne indeholdt protein
i intervallet 50-200 kDa, og at flere af prøverne også
indeholdt mindre proteiner i området 10-50 kDA [fig. 8].
Farvningsmønsteret tyder på, at proteinerne er blevet
nedbrudt, idet der ikke fremstår tydelige individuelle
proteinbånd, men snarere et udtværet spor af protein
for hver af prøverne. Dette indikerede, at prøverne fra
farvelaget på Le Luxe II indeholdt nedbrudt proteinmateriale,
og at de oprindelige intakte proteiner var relativt
store, dvs. større end 50 kDa. Her skal bemærkes, at
kaseinproteiner er små (mindre end 50 kDa), mens
kollagen-protein er større end 100 kDa.
LC-ms/ms
For at komme nærmere en eksakt identifikation af
komponenterne i de proteinholdige farvelag fra Le Luxe
II blev prøvematerialet herefter analyseret ved hjælp
af LC-MS/MS. 26 Dette er en teknik, som er udbredt til
proteinkarakterisering inden for cellebiologisk forskning,
proteinkemi og proteomanalyse. LC-MS/MS kombinerer
højtryks-væskekromatografi (HPLC) med avanceret massespektrometri
(MS/MS). Sidstnævnte er en højfølsom
teknik, som gør det muligt at sekventere proteiner, dvs.
at bestemme rækkefølgen af aminosyrer i proteinkæden.
Rækkefølgen af aminosyrer (sekvensen) er unik for de
EsI ms/ms analysis: Collagen Protein fragment: GAAGLIGPk (572-580)
(Fig. 8)
Fotografi af de afsatte
markører på
polyakrylamidgelen
Photograph of
the markers left on the
polyacrylamide gel
(Fig. 9)
Identifikation af kollagen
v.h.a. LC-MS/MS. Dette
tandem massespektrum af
et peptid gør det muligt at
udlede peptidets aminosyresekvens
v.h.a. søgning i en
proteinsekvens-database.
Derved identificeres proteinets
kollagen som værende en
komponent i prøven.
Identification of collagen
using LC-MS/MS. this
tandem mass spectrum of
the peptide makes it possible
to determine the peptide
sequence of animo acid by
searching in a protein
sequence database. the
protein collagen was thereby
identified as one of the
components in the sample

(Fig. 10)
Farvesnit af det
røde farvelag med
konturlinje øverst
Cross section of
red paint layer with
contour line on top
(Fig. 11)
Farvesnit af det
lyserøde farvelag
Cross section of
pink paint layer
enkelte proteiner og tillader derved identifikation af de
enkelte proteinkomponenter i en blanding ud fra en
søgning i en protein-sekvensdatabase. Metoden svarer
til at tage et fingeraftryk eller et tandaftryk af en person
og anvende dette til at identificere vedkommende ved at
søge i en database over mulige kandidater.
Massespektrometri anvendes bl.a. til strukturopklaring
af organiske molekyler såsom proteiner, nukleinsyrer,
fedtstoffer og metabolitter. I det her omtalte studie
anvendte vi elektrospray-ionisering massespektrometri,
hvor molekylerne overføres fra væskefasen til gasfasen,
hvor de ioniseres, dvs. de påføres en ladning. Gasfase
molekyle-ionerne kan manipuleres i elektriske og magnetiske
felter, og ud fra deres bevægelse og energi kan
deres masse-til-ladning-forhold (m/z), og derved deres
molekylevægt, bestemmes. Desuden kan molekyle-ionerne
fragmenteres, hvorved den kemiske sammensætning
bestemmes. Massespektrometri baseret på fragmentering
af proteiner giver som nævnt ovenfor mulighed for
at bestemme aminosyresekvensen af proteinerne. Man
kan således identificere det specifikke protein ved at
sammenligne analysens resultater med information fra
en proteindatabase.
Når man arbejder med malerier af ældre dato, kan
det ofte være svært at identificere bindemidlet, fordi
materialet allerede er delvist nedbrudt. Endvidere betyder
genstandens funktion og værdi, at man kun kan
udtage prøvemateriale i meget begrænsede mængder.
Massespektrometrisk proteinanalyse af prøvematerialet,
der blev udtaget fra Le Luxe II, viste et stort indhold
af specielt én stor proteinkomponent, nemlig bovint
kollagen alfa-1 [fig. 9]. Kollagen er et protein, som
findes i dyreknogler, og analysen viste endvidere, at det
identificerede kollagen stammede fra en ko! Desuden
blev der fundet spor af keratin, hvilket ligeledes er et
pattedyr-protein. Keratin findes bl.a. i hud, hår og horn.
Resultatet var identisk for både farvelag og grundering.
Det skal understreges, at der ud fra LC-MS/MS
analysen var stor overensstemmelse mellem prøverne,
hvilket er med til at underbygge analysens resultater.
Endvidere var der ingen spor af proteiner fra kasein i
prøvematerialet. 27 Kontrolforsøg udført ved LCMS/MSanalyse
af friske lim- og kaseinfarver viste de forventede
resultater, dvs. identifikation af henholdsvis kollagen- og
kaseinprotein. Desuden viste GC-MS-analyser udført
på Nationalmuseets laboratorium et stort indhold af
hydroxyprolin i prøverne fra Le Luxe II. Denne aminosyre
er hyppigt forekommende i kollagenproteiner.
Undersøgelsens resultater peger altså i retning af, at
Matisse udførte Le Luxe II i limfarveteknik. Bindemidlet
i henholdsvis grundering og farvelag har været baseret
på knogleafkog, hvilket det store indhold af kollagen i
prøvematerialet viste. Tilstedeværelsen af keratin kan
enten forklares med, at der har været rester af dyreskind
til stede under kogningen af limen, eller at det stammer
fra den gelatine, som blev anvendt i forbindelse med
konserveringen i 1966. 28 Konklusionen, at Le Luxe II er
malet med limfarve, stemmer overens med det faktum,
at maleriets farvelag er yderst vandopløseligt, hvilket forundersøgelsen
havde vist. Havde Le Luxe II været malet
med kaseintempera, havde man formodentlig ikke kunnet
kathrine segel og ole nørregaard jensen 80

opløse farven med vand. Endvidere stemmer konklu-
sionen overens med oplysningen fra Rump-kataloget fra
1929, hvor det som nævnt står beskrevet, at Le Luxe II var
udført i limfarveteknik. Den misvisende information, om
at maleriet var udført i kasein, er formentlig opstået efter
spørgeskemaundersøgelsen i 1951, hvor begrebet détrempe
efterfølgende blev forkert oversat fra fransk til engelsk.
maletekniske undersøgelser
I forbindelse med undersøgelsen blev der udtaget en
række farvesnit fra forskellige områder i maleriet. De
enkelte farvesnit blev udtaget med skalpel og indstøbt
i Serifix, 29 som er en tokomponent polyesterresin.
Farvesnittene viste, at maleriet generelt bestod af en
grundering, hvorpå der var blevet påført ét tyndt farvelag.
Efterfølgende var motivets konturlinjer blevet trukket op
oven på farvelaget [fig. 10]. Dette resultat understøttede
den visuelle analyse af Le Luxe II. I nogle områder kunne
grunderingen iagttages gennem limfarvelaget, og lokalt
var grunderingen stadigvæk synlig.
Da limfarveteknikken kræver en vis effektivitet fra
kunstnerens side, er det mange steder muligt at betragte
penselstrøgene. De synlige penselstrøg skal formentlig
ses som en kombination af, at farvefelterne er blevet ud-
fyldt forholdsvist hurtigt, og/eller fordi den pågældende
limfarveblanding ikke var dækkende. Penselstrøgene kan
fx iagttages på det lilla bjerg i baggrunden. Her er limfar-
ven tydeligvis lagt på med vandrette strøg, og farvelaget i
højre side er slet ikke dækkende, hvilket indikerer, at det
er gået stærkt.
Den lyserøde sky
Lokalt var der dog afvigelser fra denne opbygning. Et
farvesnit af den store lyserøde sky, som ses i maleriets
højre side, afslører, at der under det lyserøde farvelag
findes et grønligt farvelag bestående af hvide og grønne
pigmentkorn [fig. 11]. Det grønlige farvelag kan stadig
iagttages langs kanten af maleriet samt de steder, hvor
det lyserøde farvelag er beskadiget [fig. 12]. I den sam-
menhæng er det interessant at bemærke, at skyen på Le
Luxe I er malet med en lys grøn. Måske har Matisse haft
som udgangspunkt, at farveholdningen i de to versioner
af maleriet skulle stemme mere overens?
Det faktum, at Matisse kun i dette område af Le Luxe
II malede to farvelag oven på hinanden, kan være med
til at forklare de skrab, der ses i farvelag og grundering
netop i dette område. I skyens nederste, venstre halvdel
er grunderingen og det underliggende grønne farvelag
blevet skrabet af ned til lærredet. Skrabene er dog at
81 kathrine segel og ole nørregaard jensen
betragte som originale, i og med det øverste lyserøde
farvelag er blevet påført hen over det blottede lærred.
Endvidere kan de fleste af skrabene anes på et fotografi,
som Rump sendte til Matisses kunsthandler, Charles
Vildrac, d. 27. september 1920 [fig. 2]. 30
Pga. limfarvens egenskaber viste det sig måske, at det
var sværere end som så at påføre et farvelag oven på
det originale. Limfarveteknikken kræver nemlig, at man
arbejder i et hurtigt og jævnt tempo for at få et ensartet
farvelag. Endvidere er limfarvelaget fortsat vandopløse-
ligt efter tørring, og det er derfor svært at påføre et øvre
farvelag uden at opløse det nedenunder. Matisse kan
derfor på baggrund af dårlige erfaringer have valgt at
begrænse rettelserne til dette område af maleriet.
Som beskrevet udførte Matisse hovedparten af sine
malerier i olie. Kun et begrænset antal værker er udført
i andre medier – formentlig alle i limfarve. De omtalte
fire malerier malede Matisse i perioden 1907-13. At
Matisse kun forsøgte sig med limfarven i en ganske
kort periode, kan måske forklares med, at teknikken
ikke levede op til kunstnerens krav. Matisses malerier
gennemgik ofte en lang række forskellige stadier, før de
kunne betragtes som færdige værker. De mange stadier
var en del af arbejdsprocessen, hvor Matisse løbende
ændrede på værkets farveholdning og komposition mm.
Som eksempel kan nævnes maleriet Gran desnudo reco-
stado/Desnudo rosa fra 1935, 31 der tilhører The Baltimore
Museum of Art. Maleriet blev over en periode på seks
måneder ændret 22 gange. Som dokumentation lod
Matisse hver af maleriets stadier fotografere. 32 Oliefarve
krydslinker under hærdningsprocessen. Det betyder, at
(Fig. 12)
Detaljefoto, som viser det
underliggende grønne farvelag
Detail photograph showing
the green paint layer

(Fig. 13)
Korrektion af
konturfarven
Correction of
contour line
farvelaget ikke opløses, når man maler et nyt lag ovenpå.
Oliefarven gjorde det muligt for Matisse at viderebear-
bejde sine værker. Limfarvens egenskaber tillod ikke den
samme form for lagvise opbygning.
konturlinjerne
Som beskrevet viste farvesnittene og de visuelle analyser,
at motivets konturlinjer var trukket op oven på farvelaget.
Enkelte steder var der dog afvigelser fra denne opbygning.
I første omgang valgte Matisse at bruge en mørkebrun
farve til konturlinjerne. Farven var identisk med den
farve, som Matisse brugte til hårfarven på to af maleriets
kvinder. Oprindeligt var det meste af omridset på den
løbende kvinde malet i den mørke farve. Ligeledes var
pandepartiet på den knælende kvinde og det røde bjerg
i baggrunden trukket op med denne farve. Senere valgte
Matisse at trække konturlinjerne op med en grå farve i
stedet. Alligevel er den mørkebrune farve stadigvæk synlig,
fordi kunstneren ikke var helt præcis i sin linjeføring
[fig. 13]. Kun øjenpartiet på Le Luxe II’s centrale figur er
stadigvæk udført i mørkebrun. I resten af kvindens ansigt
valgte Matisse at bruge den grå farve til konturlinjerne.
konklusion
Analytisk fotografi og visuelle studier af Le Luxe II viste,
at Matisse anvendte en kvadrering til at overføre motivet
til lærredet. Kvadreringen var udført med rødligt kridt,
mens selve undertegningen havde været trukket op med
en mørkegrå farve. Det underliggende forarbejde til
maleriet var stort set blevet malet væk, fordi kridtstregen
var vandopløselig. Dette er grunden til, at man i dag kun
kan iagttage fragmenter af den oprindelige undertegning.
Derudover blev det konstateret, at der var overensstemmelse
mellem en udateret fortegning, som tilhører Centre
George Pompidou, og den oprindelige kvadrering og
undertegning på Le Luxe II.
På SDU’s laboratorium analyserede man maleriets
grundering og farvelag ved hjælp af SDS-PAGE og LC-
MS/MS. Resultaterne viste, at der var kollagen og spor af
keratin i prøvematerialet. Det kunne derfor konkluderes,
at Matisse havde udført Le Luxe II i limfarve, og at denne
var fremstillet af benlim. De kunsthistoriske undersøgelser
viste, at Matisse kun fire gange i sit liv anvendte et
andet medium end olie til sine malerier. Ud over Le Luxe
II viste studiet, at de tre andre malerier formentlig alle
var/er udført i limfarve.
Farvesnitsundersøgelser viste, at Le Luxe II generelt
bestod af henholdsvis grundering og ét farvelag, hvorpå
motivets konturlinjer var trukket op. Dog var der lokale afvigelser
fra den generelle opbygning. Dels havde Matisse
ændret konturstregens farve, dels havde den store lyserøde
sky øverst i maleriets højre side et underliggende
grønt farvelag. Originale skrab i farvelaget i dette område
tydede på, at det ikke havde været let for Matisse at
arbejde med en lagvis opbygning i limfarveteknik. Det
blev derfor konkluderet, at Matisse formentlig havde
forsøgt at begrænse omfanget af rettelser på Le Luxe II.
Limfarveteknikkens begrænsning kan være forklaringen
på, at Matisse kun anvendte dette medium ganske få
gange i løbet af sin kunstneriske karriere.
kathrine segel og ole nørregaard jensen 82

Mange tak til Kate Tierney Powell og Stephanie D’Alessandro fra Chicago Art Institute for løbende samarbejde
under projektet. Tak til Cécile Debray, Geraldine Guillaume-Chavannes og Per Jonas Storsve fra Centre Pompidou
i Paris for informationer om Le Luxe I og skitsen. Tak til Hélène Vincent og Gilles Barabant fra kunstmuseet i
Grenoble for supplerende oplysninger vedrørende maleriet Intérieur aux Aubergines (1911). Ligeledes tak til Marina
Guruleva fra Erimitagen i Skt. Petersborg for informationer vedrørende værket Le café Arabe/ Café marocain (1913).
Tak til Søren Andersen, Lene Jakobsen og Martin R. Larsen fra SDU i Odense for assistance med massespektrometrisk
analyse. Tak til Mads Chr. Christensen fra Nationalmuseets Bevaringsafdeling i Brede. Også tak til Mikkel Scharff
og Esben Segel for kommentarer og korrekturlæsning.
1 Matisses værker har ofte flere titler.
Endvidere bruges i nogle sammenhænge
den oprindelige franske titel, mens andre
værker kendes bedst under deres engelske
oversættelse. I denne artikel bruges
værkernes originale franske titel/ titler.
I de tilfælde, hvor der findes en dansk
oversættelse, er denne angivet i parentes
bagefter. I den engelske version af artiklen,
som findes i tidsskriftets bagerste del, er
værkets engelske titel i stedet angivet i
parentes bagefter originaltitlen.
2 Forvirringen om maleriets proveniens
skyldes bl.a., at Matisses maleri, Luxe,
calme et volupté (da: Yppighed, sjælsro og
elskovslyst) (1904-05), i mange år var
forsvundet. Grundet lighed i titlerne var Le
Luxe II i en årrække kendt under det forkerte
navn, Barr, a.H., Matisse, his art and his public,
Museum of Modern art, New York 1951, 95.
3 For en udførlig beskrivelse af Le Luxe II’s
historie henvises til Kasper Monrad, Henri
Matisse. Fire store samlere, Statens Museum
for Kunst, København 1999, 298-299.
4 Flam, J., The Man and his Art 1869-1918,
London, thames and Hudson 1986, 209.
5 Monod-Fontaine et al., Oeuvres de Henri
Matisse, Musée national d’art moderne,
Centre George Pompidou, Paris 1989, 35.
6 Samtale med Cécile Debray og Geraldine
Guillaume-Chavannes fra Centre Pompidou i
Paris 18.09.2009.
7 Bois, Y.-a., ’Et de luxe-eksperiment. Le Luxe
II’, i: aagesen, D., Monrad, K. & Warming, r.,
Matisse. Mesterværker på Statens Museum
for Kunst, Statens Museum for Kunst,
København 2005, 116.
8 Ibid., 123.
9 Det har hverken været muligt at fastslå,
hvornår eller hvorfor skaden er opstået.
På et fotografi af Le Luxe II, som rump
sendte til Matisses kunsthandler Charles
Vildrac 27. september 1920, er skaden ikke
med på billedet [fig. 2]. Det bekræfter, at
vandskaden ikke er original (Brevarkivet,
SMK, København). I rump-udstillingens
katalog fra 1929 ses vandskaden derimod,
Swane, L, Katalog over J. Rumps Samling
af moderne fransk Kunst, Statens Museum
for Kunst, København 1929, 86. I perioden
83 kathrine segel og ole nørregaard jensen
mellem 1920 og 1929 hang maleriet
ifølge rumps barnebarn i et børneværelse i
Puggaardsgade, Gottlieb, L., Johannes Rump.
Portræt af en samler, Statens Museum for
Kunst, København 1994, 73.
10 Opskriften på limklisteren findes i
bevaringsafdelingens opskriftssamling og i
restaureringsrapporten fra 1966.
11 Swane, L., (1929), 45.
12 Det har desværre ikke været muligt at
fremskaffe en kopi af spørgeskemaet, men
a.H. Barr henviser til Questionnaire IV i: Barr,
a.H., (1951), 95 og 533.
13 Mayer, r., The Artist’s Handbook of Materials
and Techniques, 3. oplag, London, Faber and
Faber 1972 [originaludgave fra 1951], 644.
14 Barr, a.H., (1951), 95.
15 Spurling, H., The Unknown Matisse. A life
of Henri Matisse. Volume one. 1869-1908,
London, Hamish Hamilton 1998, 396.
16 Opskriften eksisterer formodentlig ikke
mere.
17 Korrespondance med Gilles Barabant and
Hélène Vincent fra kunstmuseet i Grenoble,
13/07/09.
18 Korrespondance med Marina Guruleva fra
Eremitagen i Skt. Petersborg 22/04/09.
19 Bois, Y.-a., (2005), 123.
20 Den infrarøde fotografering blev gennemført
af Kathrine Segel med et artist PrO®
kamera (art Innovation, Hengelo, Holland)
monteret med en CCD progressive scan
image sensor (1360 x 1036 pixels) og en
Schneider Kreuznach Xenoplan 23 mm F/1.4
CCtV linse i nær Infrared 2 med et long
wave pass filter 1000 mm. Billederne blev
taget med et artist software (udgave 1.2).
21 Carlyle, L., The Artist’s Assistant: Oil Painting
Instruction Manuals and Handbooks in Britain
1800-1900, London, archetype Publications
2001, 208.
22 ammoniumhydrogenkarbonat kaldes i daglig
tale hjortetaksalt.
23 alternativt kan limen fremstilles ud fra
planter som fx tang eller forskellige
kornsorter, hvor det stivelsesholdige mel
bruges til at fremstille en limklister.
24 SDS-PaGE er en forkortelse for Sodium
dodecyl sulfate-polyacrylamide gel
electrophoresis.
25 kDa er en måleenhed, der anvendes inden
for biokemien. Proteiner er store molekyler,
og deres masse angives derfor i kDa. Én kDa
svarer til 1000 Da. Da (dalton) er et andet
navn for en unificeret atommasseenhed (u),
der bruges til at måle massen af partikler af
atomar størrelse.
26 LC-MS/MS er en forkortelse for Liquid
chromatograghy mass spectrometry (tandem
MS).
27 tilstedeværelsen af kasein kan ikke udelukkes
helt, fordi man har at gøre med nedbrudt
materiale. analysens resultater peger dog
entydigt i retning af bovin kollagen alfa-1.
28 Det er muligt, at noget af limen fra den
limklister, man anvendte til doubleringen i
1966, kan være trukket op i farvelaget under
behandlingen.
29 Serifix fra Struers a/S, www.struers.com
30 Brevarkivet, SMK, København.
31 Maleriet kendes under de to titler.
32 andre, L., Seeing with Fresh Eyes. Matisse in
the Cone Collection, the Baltimore Museum
of art 2001.

DEN FOrLaDtE BY
En fortolkning af
Palle Nielsens radérserie 1
k a s pa r t h o r m o d

Den danske tegner og grafiker, Palle Nielsen (1920-
2000), er måske den største fortolker af det urbane
landskab i dansk billedkunst. Samtidig er han en af de
mest betydelige ruinfortolkere. I Nielsens værk synes rui-
nen at være et permanent vilkår for den moderne storby:
Facaderne smuldrer, husene er forladte, byen står for
fald. Spørgsmålet er, hvilke betydninger der knytter sig
til dette urbane forfald. De seneste 20 års forskning har
i altovervejende grad anskuet forfaldet i lyset af Nielsens
85 kaspar thormod
biografi og samtid, fx hans oplevelser i forbindelse med
2. Verdenskrig eller Den Kolde Krig. 2
Imidlertid kan man argumentere for, at der ikke kun
kan være én ultimativ biografisk eller kulturhistorisk
forklaring på forfaldets betydning på færde i Nielsens
værk. Tværtimod gestaltes urbane forfalds betydninger
på mange forskellige måder i de enkelte serier. Derfor vil
nærværende artikel kaste lys over en enkelt Nielsen-serie
kaldet Den forladte by (1973-1976).
(Fig 1) Palle Nielsen:
Den forladte by,
opus 134, 1973
the abandoned City
radering
102 x 200 mm
Statens Museum
for Kunst

Denne serie er karakteriseret ved en særlig struktur, hvor
perspektivløse fremstillinger af industrielle rester i seri-
ens første del stilles over for næsten over-perspektivisk
iscenesatte tomme bylandskaber i seriens anden del. I
stedet for – som den sparsomme litteratur om serien
hidtil har gjort – enten at ignorere eller afvise seriens
heterogene karakter vil det blive undersøgt, hvorledes
Den forladte by trods en række forskelle i raderteknik
og rumkonstruktion alligevel samles mentalt af sin titel,
af motivernes mennesketomhed og af raderingernes
visuelt destabiliserende karakter. Seriens spaltning gør
det ydermere muligt at forbinde den med værket Opere
Varie af den venetianske billedkunstner Giovanni Battista
Piranesi (1720-78). Det er gennem en sammenligning
med Piranesi, at konturerne af Nielsens tvetydige kulturkritiske
forfaldsgestaltning træder frem.
struktur og reception
Det første spørgsmål, der melder sig i forbindelse med
en undersøgelse af Den forladte by, er, hvordan serien
er konstitueret. I forhold til de gængse fortegnelser over
Nielsens værk, har det gennem arkivstudier været muligt
at udvide serien til 11 raderinger fra perioden 1973-75. 3
Nielsen har anført titlen Den forladte by på disse raderinger,
der aldrig har været udgivet i bogform.
I kraft af de fortløbende opusnumre, som Nielsen har
inddelt sit værk i, falder seriens raderinger i to dele: De
syv første raderinger er fra 1973 og har opusnummer
133-139, og de sidste fire raderinger er fra 1976 og har
opusnummer opus 155-158. Denne tvedeling af værket
kan også iagttages på et motivisk niveau, idet den
første del viser opskalerede udsnit af forfaldne industrifragmenter,
fx rør og maskindele, mens den anden del
forestiller vues over to typer urbane rum, banelegemet og
pladsen. Kombinationen af nærbilleder og vues afføder
et dobbeltblik på byen, som i det følgende vil være af
afgørende betydning for forståelsen af serien. Lad os dog
først kaste et blik på seriens reception.
Den forladte by er omtalt tre steder i Palle Nielsenforskningen:
i Kristian Romares Den fortryllede by. En
bog om Palle Nielsen, i Jørgen Gammelgaards Palle
Nielsen. Temaer i hans værk og i Jytte Rex’ Palle Nielsen.
Timebog. 4 Romare behandler serien i forbindelse med
Nielsens mindre byserier, der fra midten af 60’erne folder
sig ud sideløbende med hovedserien Den fortryllede
by. Romare hæfter sig ved, at Nielsen i anden halvdel
af Den forladte by arbejder med ”den fine og præcist
beskrivende stregradering” 5 , mens seriens første del, de
industrielle rester, karakteriseres således:
”[Palle Nielsen] går tæt på ruinerne efter katastroferne
i ’Pandæmonium’ og portrætterer ituslåede rørledninger
og knuste ventilationssystemer. De bliver til den moderne
bys sønderrevne lemmer og flænsede blodårer, med
noget af den samme uhyggelige virkning som udrevne
tarme på en arena til tyrefægtning.” 6
Ud over at forbinde Den forladte bys motivverden
med en anden samtidig serie, Pandæmonium, mener
Romare også, at seriens første del er udtryk for en krads
kulturkritik. Denne dobbelte vinkling genfinder man også
hos Gammelgaard. Også han sætter Den forladte by i forbindelse
med de omkringstående serier, Pandæmonium
og Nekropolis, samtidig med at han kæder raderingerne
fra 1973 sammen med en gryende samfundsmæssig
bevidsthed om ”virkningen af den vestlige verdens
overforbrug”, der tog fart i starten af 60’erne. 7 Dermed
bliver 1973-raderingerne ”knyttet til lossepladsen som
det ultimative sindbillede på en massecivilisations
overforbrug”. 8 Gammelgaard er dog også opmærksom
på, at Den forladte by rummer visse fortolkningsmæssige
problemer, som knytter sig til seriens motiviske spaltning,
hvor den første del synes at tematisere efterladte
ting, mens den anden del henviser til efterladte eller
tomme rum. Konsekvensen er, ifølge Gammelgaard, at
man ”må forholde sig til to stærkt adskilte oplevelser af
forladthed.” 9
Det sidste sted, hvor Den forladte by omtales, er i
Rex’ bog, hvor tre raderinger (opus 138, 155 og 157) er
gengivet. I tråd med bogens generelle opbygning er den
eneste tekst, der følger med billederne, et fragment fra
Palle Nielsens egne, upublicerede notater:
”Den forladte by handler om det, der er sket, om det
rum, der efterlades, når noget har passeret … ingenting,
en tom støbeform, det ikke-synlige. … Jeg så ind i noget
fuldstændig ukendt og fremmed.” 10
Dette fortættede fragment kan med lidt god vilje
knyttes til det forladthedstema, som vi præsenteres for
gennem titlen. Citatets første del betoner de forladte rum,
der kommer til syne, når en begivenhed er hændt. Dette
perspektiv giver mening i forhold til Den forladte by, men
det lægger ikke noget væsentligt til det af titlen angivne
grundtema. De efterfølgende sentenser om ”en tom
støbeform”, ”det ikke-synlige” og det visionære ”jeg så”
er svært forståelige i forhold til serien. Det ”ikke-synlige”
kunne dog relateres til Nielsens interesse for fænomenologen
Maurice Merleau-Ponty, som netop benytter sig af
dette begreb, men sammenhængen er her yderst uklar. 11
Denne korte præsentation af den sparsomme litteratur
om Den forladte by siger ikke alene noget om serien,
kaspar thormod 86

men gør det også muligt at iagttage nogle fællestræk ved
receptionen af Nielsens værk. For det første er brugen
af tekstfragmentet i forbindelse med Den forladte by et
eksempel på, hvorledes værket ofte bliver læst gennem
kunstnerens egne tekster. Både Romare, Gammelgaard
og Rex henviser direkte eller indirekte til fragmentet, fx
når Romare et sted skriver, at ”Den forladte by handler,
har han [Palle Nielsen] forklaret, om det, der har fundet
sted, om det rum, der efterlades, når noget har passe-
ret”, 12 eller når Gammelgaard omtaler seriens emne, som
det der ”bliver efterladt, når man forlader et sted”. 13 Man
savner her en kritisk stillingtagen til tekstfragmentets
faktiske udsagn.
For det andet syntetiserer Romare og Gammelgaard
Den forladte by med de omkringliggende serier. Romare læ-
ser 1973-raderingerne sammen med Pandæmonium, og
Gammelgaard grupperer Den forladte by, Pandæmonium
og Nekropolis som en ”trilogi om byens forfald og under-
87 kaspar thormod
gang”, primært fordi disse serier kronologisk er knyttet
sammen. 14 Imidlertid adskiller iscenesættelsen af forfaldet
i Den forladte by sig på mindst to punkter i forhold til de
omkringstående serier. For det første er der, som titlen
antyder, ingen mennesker i Den forladte by, og for det
andet er der en markant spænding mellem seriens te-
matisering af industrielle rester og bylandskaber. Begge
dele er atypisk i forhold til serier som Nekropolis og
Pandæmonium.
Endelig synes der i litteraturen også at være et ønske
om at læse Den forladte by som udtryk for en firkantet
kulturkritik, jævnfør Romares associationer til ”den mo-
derne bys sønderrevne lemmer” og Gammelgaards ditto
til ”en fortælling om industrialismens rovdrift på jordens
ressourcer.” 15 Men som det vil blive klart af det følgende,
evner denne karakteristik ikke at fange Den forladte bys
særlige struktur og tvetydige betydning.
(Fig 2) Palle Nielsen:
Den forladte by,
opus 138, 1973
the abandoned City
radering
102 x 200 mm
Statens Museum
for Kunst

(Fig 3) Palle Nielsen:
Den forladte by,
opus 155, 1976
the abandoned City
radering
102 x 200 mm
Statens Museum
for Kunst
Industrilandskab
Den forladte bys første del er karakteriseret ved mængder
af vragdele og industrifragmenter, som ligger spredt i
landskaber domineret af klipper, småsten og vand. Dette
landskab vil der i det følgende blive refereret til som et
industrilandskab. Formaterne i denne raderserie hører
til blandt de største, som Palle Nielsen arbejdede med,
men formatet fører ikke et overblik med sig. 16 Derimod
er raderingerne udformet som opskalerede udsnit af det
samme uoverskuelige landskab, hvis sammensætning og
betydning serien ikke umiddelbart afslører. En overordnet,
fremadskridende fortælling er her afløst af et serielt
udtryk: Det lader til at være variationer af det samme
landskabs forfaldne industrifragmenter.
Et kompositorisk fællestræk er, at terrænet skråner
fra venstre mod højre i hovedparten af raderingerne.
Denne bevægelse forstærkes af rør og maskindele, som
overalt er placeret i kæntrende positioner, der ser ud til
at kunne falde mod højre. Dette ses for eksempel i opus
133, hvor et perforeret rør yderst til højre hænger ud
over en afgrund, eller i opus 137, hvor en kæmpestruktur,
som kunne ligne et ventilationssystem, balancerer i baggrunden.
Mange af de industrielle fragmenter er også
fremstillet på en ensartet måde i de forskellige raderinger.
Det gælder fx de allestedsnærværende sorte røråbninger
som de karakteristiske rørbugtninger (opus 133-139) eller
brugen af markante elementer som en flymotor eller
turbine (opus 136 og 139). Altså lader disse raderinger til
at skildre variationer over det samme univers af efterladte
ting – et univers, som er karakteriseret ved en spænding
mellem stillestående, forladte landskaber og en række
forvredne fragmenters truende fald.
kaspar thormod 88

Trods den ensartede komposition og motivverden er der
også en vis udvikling at spore gennem seriens første
del. I opus 133-137 danner raderingernes forskellige
dybdeniveauer et nogenlunde konsistent perspektivisk
rum, som imidlertid bliver opløst i opus 138 og 139.
I opus 138 er forskellige rørformationer begravet i et
materiale, der kunne forestille vand eller røg, men som
samtidig er blandet med klipper, sten og vragdele. Selv
om det er muligt at skelne vragdele og rør, som kobles
sammen eller forsvinder ind bag hinanden fra andre delelementer,
kan der ikke længere etableres ét perspektiv. I
stedet fremhæves mange forskellige heterogene flader og
niveauer, der støder op til eller fletter sig ind i hinanden
uden dog at være en logisk del af det samme rum. En
lignende opløsning finder sted i opus 139, hvor surrealistisk
sammenflettede og tilsyneladende svævende
89 kaspar thormod
industrifragmenter destabiliserer perspektivet. Således
bliver det gennem serien muligt at se en begyndende
opløsning af det perspektiviske rum.
Banelegeme, plads
Anden del af Den forladte by skildrer et distinkt urbant
landskab, der koncentrerer sig om to specifikke byrum:
banelegemet (opus 156 og 157) og pladsen (opus 155
og 158). Banelegemeterrænet i opus 156 og 157 er
fremstillet næsten identisk med hængende køreledninger
og huse på hver side. I disse raderinger lader udgangspunktet
for perspektivet til at være centreret omkring et
punkt nede mellem selve sporene. Skinnerne og køreledningerne
udnyttes her til at angive blikkets retning ud af
byen og til at eksplicitere et markant centralperspektiv.
Køreledningerne fortsætter ud mod horisonten, efter
bebyggelsen er hørt op, og danner deres eget halvtransparente
rum, der markerer en forskel mellem sporet og
omgivelserne. Den by, der kigges ud af, har øjensynligt
ingen forstæder, industri eller organisk natur. Der er, som
Romare også har bemærket, noget foruroligende ved
dette perspektiv centreret omkring togskinnerne. 17 Det
af togskinnerne accentuerede centralperspektiv skaber
en illusion om accelererende hastighed, idet afstanden
mellem de master, der holder ledningerne, synes stadig
kortere, jo længere de er væk. På denne måde får man
oplevelsen af, at der dannes en sugende dybde i papirets
todimensionelle flade.
Centralperspektivet dominerer også i opus 155 og
158, hvor pladsen er i centrum. I opus 155 er pladsen
et rum, hvis grænser antydes af en række spredte
bygninger. Pladsen er her delvist skjult bag en treetagers
beboelsesejendom, som er placeret i raderingens
forgrund. Til højre for denne ses en kuppelbygning, og
i baggrunden markerer nogle større bygninger i midten
og til venstre pladsens fjerneste sider. Det er, som om
disse bygninger oprindeligt har været en del af større
karreer eller bygningskomplekser, men nu står mærkeligt
afsondret. Terrænet er fuldstændig fladt; dets overflade
udgøres af tynde, horisontale linjer – et slags gitter, der
er lagt ud over byrummet og fremhæver dets geometri.
Længst fremme i forgrunden til venstre og højre er der
antydet et lavt fortov, hvis linjer flugter med husenes ind
mod et eksplicit forsvindingspunkt i horisonten. Dybden
i det geometriske rum forstærkes ydermere af to parallelle
linjer, som løber fra raderingens forgrund ud mod
forsvindingspunktet.
Når man sammenligner opus 155 og 158, kan man
få den tanke, at det er den samme plads bare set fra

(Fig 4) Palle Nielsen:
Den forladte by,
opus 157, 1976
the abandoned City
radering
102 x 200 mm
Statens Museum
for Kunst
forskellige vinkler, ligesom man umiddelbart tror, at opus
156 og 157 fremstiller det samme banelegeme. Men ved
nærmere eftersyn er kuppelbygningerne ikke identiske
og pladsen ikke den samme. Dette ses blandt andet ved,
at pladsen i opus 158, som leder op til en monumental
kirkebygning, er klart defineret. Til venstre og til højre for
kirken markerer to seks etager høje bygninger pladsens
sider. Der ligger papir, småsten og murbrokker spredt
over det meste af pladsen, selv om der ikke er tegn på,
at disse fragmenter stammer fra husene. Papiret og
murbrokkerne fremhæves af perspektivet, som ved at
have sit udgangspunkt ganske tæt på pladsens overflade
ligeledes fremhæver bygningernes monumentalitet og
den høje, farveløse himmel.
modsætningernes by
Den forladte by falder altså i to distinkte dele, der vanskeliggør
et samlet udsagn om serien. Alligevel er det
nødvendigt at fastholde spørgsmålet om, hvordan man
kan forstå seriens samlede iscenesættelse af byens
forladthed og forfald.
Lad os først overveje seriens grafiske præsentation af
de tre byrum. Selv om der er tale om én raderserie, er
det grafiske udtryk anvendt på vidt forskellige måder i
de to dele. I seriens første del arbejder Nielsen med en
rig deltaljering og stærke kontraster i de tæt beskrevne
billedflader. I opus 133 er det skrånende terræn fx opbygget
af et mylder af lokale kontraster mellem områder
med tydeligt adskilte linjer, hvor det hvide papir skinner
igennem, og sorte skyggelignende plamager, hvor skraveringerne
ligger tæt. 18 Resultatet er en rigt moduleret og
kompleks fremstilling, der især i opus 138 er med til at
destabilisere perspektivet. Her synes de mørke områder
øverst i midten at antyde åbningen af et sort rum inde
bag kollagen af rør og klippelandskaber, som undergraver
deres placering.
I Den forladte bys anden del er raderteknikken brugt
meget anderledes. Opus 155-158 er karakteriseret
ved skarpe, præcise streger og en afdæmpet tonalitet,
der holder sig i lysegrå nuancer. Eneste undtagelse er
de sorte vinduer i beboelsesejendommen og kuppelbygningen
i opus 155 og i kirkebygningen i opus 158.
Kontrast mellem facaderne og vinduerne, der synes at
afsløre et mørke eller tomhed i husene, får os til at sætte
spørgsmålstegn ved det realistiske i skildringen. Ved i raderprocessen
kun at have ætset facadearealerne i ganske
kort tid opnår Nielsen, at det ser ud, som om de bliver
ramt af lys i varierende styrke fra alle sider på samme tid.
Derved kommer byen til at fremtræde i et næsten scenisk
lys, der igen synes at hæve skildringen af banelegemet
og pladsen ind i et uvirkeligt, urbant univers. Man kan
sige, at hvor Nielsen i første del af Den forladte by bruger
raderingen til at fremstille et komplekst, rigt moduleret
og til tider destabiliseret rum, fremhæver og overbelyser
han – næsten i fotografisk forstand – byens ekstremt
geometriske struktur i seriens anden del.
kaspar thormod 90

I forlængelse af de grafiske forskelle mellem de to dele
af Den forladte by kan man ligeledes på et motivisk
niveau opstille en række forskelle, som indirekte er blevet
omtalt i det ovenstående. Mens opus 133-139 synes at
tematisere et fragmenteret, abstrakt, kaotisk og perspek-
tivforvrængende rum, er opus 155-158 domineret af et
panoramisk, figurativt, rationelt og centralperspektivisk
rum. Der er dog også træk, der binder serien sammen.
For det første er der forladthedstemaet, som vi bliver
introduceret til via den seriekonstituerende titel. Som
Gammelgaard har observeret, tematiserer serien dog
to forskellige former for forladthed: Opus 133-139
omhandler forladte ting, og opus 155-158 omhandler
forladte rum. 19 I begge tilfælde synes forladtheden at
henvise til, at de urbane og industrielle rum har mistet
deres funktion. Tingene, som portrætteres i seriens
første del, kan vidne om et industriområde, der er blevet
forladt og dermed er blevet dysfunktionelt. Forladtheden
manifesterer sig også i seriens anden halvdel, hvor de
91 kaspar thormod
unaturligt sorte vinduer synes at afsløre, at bygningerne
er tomme og ubeboede. Forladtheden viser sig også i
opus 158, hvor pladsen foran den monumentale kirke i
stedet for at være et centralt mødested for mennesker er
dækket af papir, sten og murbrokker. Selv om ingen af
bygningerne lader til at være beskadiget, har de mistet
deres vitale funktion – at huse liv.
Et andet forhold, der binder serien sammen, er dens
tematisering af forskellige former for grænseløse, destabiliserende
rum. Som vi har set, er seriens første del en
tour de force af landskaber, hvis grænser bliver gradvist
mere usikre. I seriens anden del opnås den destabiliserende
effekt i kraft af raderingernes perspektiviske forløb
mod horisontens forsvindingspunkt, der i alle fire raderinger
er placeret samme sted, således at der næsten er
tale om fire variationer over det samme perspektiviske
kig. Den stærke accentuering af forsvindingspunktet
viser, at disse urbane rum har en uendelig dybde, der i
en vis forstand bryder rummenes grænser. Det er denne
(Fig 5) Palle Nielsen:
Den forladte by,
opus 158, 1976
the abandoned City
radering
180 x 270 mm
Clausens Kunsthandel,
København

(Fig 6) Giovanni Battista
Piranesi ( 1720-76):
„Campidoglio antico“,
Prima Parte /Opere Varie
ca. 1743
radering, 241 x 350 mm
Statens Museum
for Kunst
grænseløshed, der ligger bag Romares beskrivelse af,
hvordan ”jernbanesporenes sammenløbende perspektiv
[kaster] os langt ind i det ukendte”. 20 Det grænseløse
rum er således et grundvilkår i hele Den forladte by, hvad
enten det bliver skabt af det centralperspektiviske rums
uendelige dybde eller de formløse rum, som bryder rum-
mets logiske grænser.
Nielsen og Piranesi
Trods ovenstående argumentation er det stadig muligt at
indvende, at der er så stor forskel på Den forladte bys to
dele, at der ikke kan være tale om én serie. Gammelgaard
mener da også, at serien er en retrospektiv konstruktion,
som Nielsen kan have sammensat så sent som i 1996. 21
Imidlertid er sammenstillingen af seriens to dele ikke blot
udtryk for Nielsens idiosynkratiske kategorisering sent
i karrieren. For det første tager Gammelgaard fejl i sin
påstand, da serien allerede optræder samlet i Romares
værkfortegnelse fra slutningen af 1980’erne, og der er
intet til hinder for, at denne kategorisering går helt tilbage
til 1970’erne. 22 For det andet er seriens tilsyneladende
tilfældige modstilling af opskalerede nærbilleder og ur-
bane vues mere betydningsladet end som så. Dette bliver
klart, hvis man forsøger at forstå Den forladte by i forhold
til to serier af Giovanni Battista Piranesi, der optræder i
et samlet bind, han udgav i 1750 under titlen Opere Varie
di Architettura, Prospettive, Grotteschi, Antichita.
I det følgende vil det blive vist, hvordan der kan
etableres en forbindelse mellem Den forladte by og
Opere Varie – en forbindelse, der bygger på en række
strukturelle, motiviske og betydningsmæssige ligheder
mellem disse to værker. Det er dog vigtigt at slå fast, at
disse ligheder ikke nødvendigvis bygger på en fra Palle
Nielsens side intenderet reference til Piranesi, selv om
Nielsen sandsynligvis har haft kendskab til Opere Varie;
et centralt uddrag af værket – en suite på fire såkaldte
”grotesker” – findes i den Kongelige Kobberstikssamling,
hvor Nielsen var en hyppig gæst. Derudover findes Opere
kaspar thormod 92

Varie i en førsteudgave på Danmarks Kunstbibliotek ved
Det Kongelige Kunstakademi, hvor Nielsen var professor
i perioden 1967-72.
Lad os først se nærmere på Piranesis værk. I titlen
Opere Varie bestemmes seriens indhold som ”forskel-
lige værker”, og de 27 fortløbende nummererede blade
omfatter da også en omarbejdet udgave af serien Prima
Parte Di Architetture, E Prospettive Inventate (1743), 23
den såkaldte Grotteschi-suite (1747-49) og et par blade,
der kan ses som forløber for de imaginære fængselsbil-
leder kaldet Carceri d’invenzione fra 1761. 24 Selv om
Opere Varie har et titelblad, der signalerer, at de indivi-
duelle værker her er tænkt som en samlet serie, er de i
Piranesi-litteraturen oftest blevet behandlet hver for sig.
I følgende analyse er det dog en grundlæggende præmis,
at Opere Varie bliver set som et samlet værk, hvor især
sammenstillingen af Prima Parte og Grotteschi-suiten
er af stor betydning, da disse to dele af Opere Varie er
karakteriseret ved en modstilling af imaginære vues og
perspektivforvrængende nærbilleder lignende den, man
finder i Den forladte by.
Prima Parte er domineret af perspektiviske vues gen-
nem urbane rum – monumentale søjlehaller, atriumgårde,
broer og pladser – hvis arkitektoniske udtryk kan beteg-
nes som en blanding af antik romersk arkitektur og barok,
en stil Piranesi selv skaber, jævnfør ordet “Inventate” i
titlen. 25 Et eksempel på et prospekt fra Prima Parte kan
illustrere Piranesis særegne iscenesættelse af byen. I
”Campidoglio antico” ser vi en af Roms syv høje, Capitol,
som i Piranesis fremstilling tager form som en imaginær
plads i forskellige niveauer med trapper, templer, obeli-
sker og en triumfbue. I 1743-udgaven af Prima Parte var
raderingens fulde titel ”Forma ideale del Campidoglio
antico”, hvilket, som Richard Wendorf har bemærket,
illustrerer, hvordan disse prospekter kan forstås som ”en
ideal form inspireret af fortiden.” Han uddyber:
”De bygninger, som Piranesi præsenterede for sit
publikum, var ikke i streng forstand kopier eller præcise
rekonstruktioner af andre strukturer […] Det, han
præsenterede, var derimod moderne fortolkninger, der,
selv om de måske var inspireret af – og harmonisk faldt
i ét med – andre bygningsværker, på deres egen måde
markerede deres krav på monumentaliteten i 1740’ernes
Rom.” 26
For at forstå Piranesis iscenesættelse af byen i Prima
Parte er det vigtigt at være opmærksom på, hvordan han
tager udgangspunkt i Roms antikke arkitektur, der for
ham er lig et civilisatorisk højdepunkt, som langt overgår
den antikke græske arkitektur. 27 Ved at bruge elementer
93 kaspar thormod
fra virkelighedens by, som han sætter sammen på nye
måder og transformerer til ukendelighed, ender Piranesi
med ikke kun at portrættere Rom, men også at gøre den
romerske arv til et ideal eller vision for den evige stads
nutid og fremtid. 28
Her kan den første forbindelse til de fire vues eller prospekter
fra anden halvdel af Den forladte by (opus 155-
158) foreslås, idet iscenesættelserne på mange måder er
sammenlignelige med Piranesis værk. Kendetegnende for
både Piranesis og Nielsens prospekter er, at de udnytter
raderteknikken til minutiøst at skildre en række ekstremt
geometriske byrum. De arbejder begge med perspektiviske
kig gennem byen, som ofte kan spejles på midten, og
som samler sig omkring et eller flere forsvindingspunkter.
Ydermere er byen hos Piranesi og Nielsen ikke et sted,
hvis funktion er at huse liv. Selv om der hos Piranesi
optræder menneskeskikkelser, er disse ikke integreret
i byen – de bebor den ikke. I stedet har de karakter
af staffage, der angiver og etablerer arkitekturens monumentale
skala og medierer oplevelsen af arkitekturen
til beskueren af raderingen. 29 Dermed kan man sige, at
hos både Piranesi og Nielsen iscenesættes prospekterne
på en måde, således at det urbane landskabs arkitektur
transformeres fra et sted, hvor man bor og lever, til et
sted, hvor arkitekturen er det primære.
Den vigtigste parallel mellem Nielsens og Piranesis
værker er imidlertid, at ligesom prospekterne i Den
forladte by stilles op imod industrilandskabets forfald,
modstilles prospekterne i Prima Parte også med en række
forfaldsmotiver i Opere Varie, nemlig Grotteschi-suiten.
Denne suite består af fire store raderinger, som henholdsvis
har undertitlerne ”Skeletterne”, ”Triumfbuen”,
”Neros grav” og ”Den monumentale tavle”.
Fælles for dem er, at de fremstiller ruinøse scener,
hvor natur- og kulturobjekter i form af gravsten, væltede
søjler, antikke statuer, knogler, skeletter, vedbend, slanger
og så videre er opstillet i ét billede. I deres kaotiske
udtryk adskiller groteskerne sig kraftigt fra Prima Partes
geometriske rum. Dette viser sig også i det grafiske
udtryk, som i suiten er langt mere eksperimenterende
end i Prima Parte. 30 Også det strengt geometriske rum,
som kendetegner Prima Parte-prospekterne, erstattes i
suiten af et rum, hvori centralperspektivet opløses. Det
er ikke alene de portrætterede objekter, der er ved at gå
i forbindelse med hinanden, men også forskellige rum i
raderingerne, der ophæves og glider sammen i en sløret
enhed. Dette kan for eksempel ses i ”Neros grav”, hvor
baggrundens forfaldne bygninger, klipper og træer ikke
er en del af det samme rum som forgrundens hovedmo-

tiv, en åben sarkofag, men er adskilt herfra af en tåge.
Overordnet modstilles det geometriske og monumentale
udtryk i Prima Parte altså med et fokus på forfald og en
opløsning af rummet i Grotteschi-suiten.
Her kan der igen etableres en forbindelse til Den
forladte by, denne gang til seriens første del (opus
131-139). Denne del er netop karakteriseret ved en
ekspressiv raderteknik, et fokus på forfaldne landskaber
og en opløsning af perspektivet, der – ligesom det er
tilfældet i Grotteschi-suiten – står i kontrast til prospek-
terne. Dette tankevækkende strukturelle sammenfald vil
i det følgende danne udgangspunkt for en undersøgelse
af, hvilke betydninger der ligger gemt i modstillingen af
prospekter og grotesker hos Nielsen og Piranesi.
samtidskritik og ideal
For at komme tættere på forholdet mellem prospekter
og grotesker må det først gøres klart, hvad disse be-
greber dækker over. Prospekt kommer af det latinske
prospectus, som betyder udsigt og i kunsten betegner et
perspektivisk billede af landskab – i denne sammenhæng
et urbant landskab. Ifølge Corinna Höper er betegnelsen
”Grotteschi” i Piranesis værk sammenlignelig med capric-
cioen, dvs. fantastiske afbildninger af arkitektoniske
og ofte ruinøse elementer, der sættes sammen på måder,
som destabiliserer beskuerens blik. 31 Dette er netop
det, der også sker hos Nielsen, hvor destabiliserings-
effekten opstår i Den forladte bys kollageagtige og
grænseløse rum.
Man kan dog også tale om en betydningsmæssig
destabilisering hos både Piranesi og Nielsen. I Den
forladte by og Opere Varie konfronteres beskueren med
forskellige genkendelige fragmenter – grave og søjler eller
kloakrør og maskindele. Men selv om disse fragmenter
præsenteres under seriens overordnede titel, som synes
at signalere, at de relaterer sig til seriens betydning,
forbliver det imidlertid en gåde, hvori denne betydning
helt præcist består. Det kan således siges at være en del
af groteskernes lukkede væsen, at de undergraver be-
skuerens fortolkningsforsøg. I forbindelse med Piranesis
Grotteschi-suite har dette forhold gennem tiden affødt en
række forskelligartede og ofte modstridende tolkninger,
der spænder fra betoninger af vanitassymbolikken til
kosmologiske og mystiske læsninger. 32
Suitens ikonografi peger umiddelbart i retning af en
forgængelighedstematik, men det har imidlertid vist sig
vanskeligt at konstruere en konsistent vanitastolkning.
Derfor er det netop blevet fremhævet, at Grotteschi-suite
qua dens enigmatiske karakter henviser lige så meget til
fortolkningens forgængelighed som til livets. 33 I denne
optik henviser Piranesis værk ikke alene til en melankolsk
selvrefleksion, når vi konfronteres med forgængelig-
hedssymbolikken, men også til en fortolknings- eller
forståelsesmæssig melankoli over ikke at være i stand
til at afkode billederne. 34 Lidt forsigtigt kan denne for-
tolkningsmelankoli også forbindes med Den forladte by.
De smuldrende, ituslåede vragdele i seriens første del
vidner måske ikke kun om et forladt industriområde, hvis
fragmenter kunne symbolisere alle tings forgængelighed,
men også om det futile i vores forsøg på at forstå disse
scenerier som en del af en større sammenhæng.
Det er dog vigtigt at slå fast, at denne pessimistiske
tolkning af groteskerne ikke er den eneste mulige. I
forbindelse med Piranesis værk har Francesco Nevola
for nylig påvist, at ikonografien i Grotteschi-suiten kan
forbindes til den græske digter Hesiods (ca. 700-650
f.Kr.) langdigt Værker og dage. 35 Uden at gå i detaljer
med Nevolas argumentation er konsekvensen af koblingen
mellem Piranesi og Hesiod, at Grotteschi-suiten
kan ses som en nyfortolkning af Hesiods såkaldte
”Verdensaldermyte” – en mytisk fortælling om menneskets
fald fra en civilisatorisk guldalder til stadigt lavere og
mere moralsk fordærvede stadier:
”Ligesom Hesiod bestemmer Piranesi menneskehedens
største epoke som en æra, der er gået tabt i
den fjerne antikke fortid, og i stedet for at acceptere sin
egen tid som æraen for kristendommens triumf – sådan
som Vico hævder i sin Scienza Nuova – kritiserer Piranesi
med dette billede inderligt samtiden som en tid styret af
misundelse, vold og uretfærdighed.” 36
For Piranesi er guldalderen noget, der hører fortiden
til, mens nutiden er korrumperet. Der ligger altså et
kritisk aspekt gemt i Grotteschi-suiten, idet Piranesi
ifølge Nevola bruger vanitassymbolikken som en slags
kulturkritisk meditation over samtidens Rom. Det er ikke
blot menneskelivets eller fortolkningens forgængelighed,
der tematiseres her, men også samtidens civilisatoriske
forfald. På denne måde er forfaldet i Grotteschi-suiten
både fysisk og moralsk. Også her kan man sammenligne
med Den forladte by. Selv om seriens første del ikke
indeholder så symbolsk ladede elementer som grave og
skeletter, er det muligt at se de industrielle vragdele i
det golde klippelandskab som en form for kulturkritik.
Imidlertid er det interessante ikke primært, at Den
forladte by indeholder en sådan kritik. Det er først i sammenligningen
af kulturkritikkens tvetydige grundstruktur
hos Piranesi med Nielsen, at dens betydning for alvor
træder frem.
kaspar thormod 94

Lad os her vende tilbage til den grundlæggende
spænding mellem grotesker og prospekter, da det igen
er denne særegne struktur, der er på færde i forbindelse
med udfoldelsen af de kulturkritiske perspektiver hos
Nielsen og Piranesi. Mens Grotteschi-suiten står for en
kulturkritik i Opere Varie, kan prospekterne fra Prima
Parte siges at tilbyde et alternativ eller et ideal, som sam-
tiden skal efterstræbe. Hos Piranesi er grundstrukturen
i kulturkritikken følgelig, at samtidens sørgelige tilstand
kritiseres i groteskerne, men at der samtidig tilbydes et
monumentalt alternativ: en fuldendt, ideel vision for en
genrejsning af den evige stad, som henter sin inspiration
i den romerske antik. Piranesi stiller dermed ikke blot en
diagnose, men tilbyder også en kur.
Vender vi os mod Den forladte by, kan man sige, at
der her er sket en forskydning i forholdet mellem grote-
skernes kulturkritik og prospekternes ideal. Hvis seriens
første del repræsenterer en dyster kulturkritik, mødes
denne ikke af en tilsvarende klar forløsning i prospek-
terne fra seriens anden halvdel. Forløsningen er langt
mere tvetydig hos Nielsen.
Som det fremgik af analysen af opus 155-158,
fremstiller disse prospekter forladte rum i en by, der øjen-
synligt har mistet sin funktion som by. Prospekterne er
95 kaspar thormod
karakteriseret ved fravær – af mennesker og miljø. Som
det blev bemærket i næranalysen, er det, som om bygnin-
gerne oprindeligt har været en del af større karreer eller
bygningskomplekser, men nu står mærkeligt afsondret
tilbage. Tomheden og den foruroligende grænseløshed
er allestedsnærværende. Pladsen, som sædvanligvis er
byens centrum og samlingssted, er tom, ligesom banele-
gemet, byens forsyningsåre, er det. Selv husene synes at
være hule og tomme. Disse huse, der er blevet isoleret,
har mistet deres funktion og er blevet placeret på en
overbelyst urban scene, kan kun vanskeligt ses som et
ideelt alternativ til forfaldet i Den forladte bys første del.
I stedet står de tilbage tvetydige, tomme og tavse.
Hos Piranesi i Opere Varie er den romerske antik
referencepunktet for den ideelle by, som fremtidens
Rom skal funderes på. Hos Palle Nielsen er der ikke
den samme identifikation med en glorværdig fortid.
Den arkitektur, der skildres i Den forladte by, kan i ar-
kitekturhistoriske termer karakteriseres som europæisk
historicisme – en kategori, mange af Københavns største
institutioner fx falder ind under. Det samme gør mange
af de boligkarreer, der i kølvandet på urbaniseringen i
anden halvdel af det 19. århundrede blandt andet skulle
huse den nye arbejderklasse. Hovedmotivet i opus 155
(Fig. 7)
Giovanni Battista
Piranesi
„Neros grav“,
Grotteschi-suiten
radering med kobberstik,
koldnål og polering
Statens Museum
for Kunst

kunne netop være en sådan boligkarré, mens det i opus
158 er en kuppelbygning, som har visse træk til fælles
med Marmorkirken.
Disse bygninger kan siges at repræsentere et minde
om industrialiseringen og det moderne Europas opblom-
string før verdenskrigenes ragnarok i det 20. århundrede,
og som sådan kan de ses som alternativ til groteskernes
forfald i første del af Den forladte by. De repræsenterer
måske den fremtidsoptimisme, som led et knæk med
udbruddet af 1. Verdenskrig, og på den måde er de en
nostalgisk kommentar til en desillusioneret samtid. Men
kigger vi nærmere på iscenesættelsen af prospekterne,
kan man argumentere for, at Den forladte by snarere
repræsenterer et minde om en by efter en krigssituation
end før. I opus 155 mangler store dele af boligkarreen
– der er kun et hjørne tilbage – og i opus 158 er kuppelbygningen
isoleret, mens pladsen er dækket af papir og
murbrokker, som om et udsnit af byen, der ikke er synlig
i raderingen, ligger i ruiner. Disse forladte bygninger
kunne fortolkes som en by efter bombernes fald – og
1 tak til Det Danske Institut for Kunst og
Videnskab i rom samt til lektor Henrik reeh,
Københavns Universitet for at have støttet
mit arbejde med denne artikel og Palle
Nielsens værk generelt.
2 Se fx Kristian romare: Den fortryllede by.
En bog om Palle Nielsen, København 1990,
8, eller Michael Wivel (eds.): Palle Nielsen in
memoriam, Kgs. Lyngby 2002, 14f.
3 Sammenlign med romare 1990, 273, Jørgen
Gammelgaard, J.: Palle Nielsen. Temaer in
hans værk, Humlebæk 2006, 245, og Jytte
rex: Palle Nielsen. Timebog, København 2008,
358-60. Der findes desuden otte tegninger
og fire skitser i Clausens Kunsthandel i
København, der med nogen sikkerhed kan
knyttes til Den forladte by som forstudier.
Dette materiale vil dog ikke blive inddraget i
det følgende.
4 romare, 1990, 167f, Gammelgaard, 2006,
126-9, rex, 2008, 125.
5 romare, 1990, 167.
6 Ibid., 168.
7 Gammelgaard, 2006, 127f.
8 Ibid., 127.
9 Ibid., 127.
10 rex, 2008, 125.
11 I teksten ”Sort lys og hvidt mørke” fra 1990
parafraserer Nielsen nogle passager fra
Merleau-Pontys essay ”L’Oeil et l’Esprit”,
men det kan dog diskuteres, om hans
forståelse af dette essay strækker sig
ud over en sympati for Merleau-Pontys
centrale placering af malerkunsten som et
sted, hvor perceptionen af verden træder
særligt tydeligt frem.
12 romare, 1990, 168
13 Gammelgaard, 2006, 127
14 Ibid., 126.
15 romare, 1990, 168, og Gammelgaard, 2006, 127.
16 Opus 139 måler fx 345 x 310 mm. En typisk
Nielsen-radering er ca. halvt så stor.
17 Jf. romare, 1990, 168.
18 Det er vanskeligt at give Gammelgaard ret
i, at Nielsen generelt har fulgt en strategi,
hvor ”[d]et industrielle vraggods har været
meget kort tid i syren og står derfor blegt
og henåndet”. Gammelgaard, 2006, 128.
19 Ibid., 127.
20 romare, 1990, 168
21 Gammelgaard, 2006, 127.
22 Jf. romare, 1990, 273
23 For en gennemgang af serien, se Corinna
Höper et al (eds.): Giovanni Battista Piranesi.
Die poetische Wahrheit. Radierungen,
Ostfildern-ruit 1999, 94-104. Se også
Francesco Nevola: Giovanni Battista Piranesi:
the Grotteschi, rom 2009, 58-138.
24 Se Nevola, 2009, og Höper, 1999, 120-124.
25 richard Wendorf: “Piranesi’s Double ruin”,
Eighteen-Century Studies, vol. 34, 2, 2001,
161-180, 165.
26 Ibid., 163.
27 Jf. Carsten thau: Piranesis – rummets agoni
(arbejdspapir), aarhus 1992, 18.
28 Michel Makarius: Ruins, Paris 2004, 98. Se
også Wendorf, 2001, 163, og Cara Denison
et al (eds.): Exploring Rome: Piranesi and His
efter at de smadrede huse er blevet revet ned og fjernet.
Det er fristende her at inddrage Nielsens egen oplevelse
af Hamburgs ruiner efter 2. Verdenskrig, sådan
som det er blevet gjort flere steder i forskningen. 37 En
sådan parallel vil dog sløre det faktum, at der intet tegn
er på, at byen hos Nielsen er en geografisk specifik by,
som refererer til en personlig oplevelse. Den forladte bys
anonymitet synes snarere at hæve prospekterne ud af en
konkret erfaring og gøre deres forladthed til et alment,
urbant anliggende. Dernæst er det vigtigt at slå fast, at
serien ikke med sikkerhed viser, at der er tale om en
krigsmærket by. Årsagen til forladtheden og husenes
isolation forbliver et åbent spørgsmål. Dog er det klart,
at flertydigheden gør, at prospekterne ikke kan inkarnere
et monumentalt ideal, der modsvarer groteskernes
kulturkritik, sådan som det er tilfældet i Piranesis Opere
Varie. Tværtimod forbliver spændingen mellem grotesker
og prospekter uforløst i Den forladte by – og samtidig
vedbliver serien med at fascinere og udfordre beskuerens
fortolkende blik.
Contemporaries, New York 1994, xxxvi.
29 Wendorf, 2001, 176, thau, 1992, 2.
30 Se Höper, 1999, 120, og Myra
Nan rosenfeld: “Picturesque to Sublime:
Piranesi’s Stylistic and technical
Development from 1740 to 1761”, in M.
Bevilacqua et al. (eds.): The Serpent and the
Stylus. Essays on G.B. Piranesi, London 2006,
84.
31 Höper, 1999, 120. Da nærværende artikel
er tænkt som en komparativ næranalyse
af Nielsen og Piranesi, tillader pladsen
desværre ikke, at der perspektiveres til
ruinmotivets oprindelse og historiske
udvikling. For en god dansk introduktion
til dette henvises der til Maria Fabricius
Hansen: Ruinbilleder (København 1999). Se
endvidere også Chris Fischer: Ruinmani
(København 1995); Michael S. roth et al
(red.): Irresistible Decay: Ruins Reclaimed
(Los angeles 1997); Michel Makarius: Ruins
(Paris 2004); robert Ginsberg:
The Aesthetics of Ruins (amsterdam 2004);
Julia Hell og andreas Schönle (red.): Ruins of
Modernity (Durham 2010).
32 Ibid., 121, og rosenfeld, 2006, 86ff.
33 Se Höper, 1999, 121.
34 Sammenlign med thau, 1992, 15.
35 Se Nevola, 2009, 185ff.
36 Ibid., 196. Nevola uddyber konsekvenserne
af denne tolkning s. 201ff.
37 Se fx Gammelgaard, 2006, 126f, eller Nina
Damsgaard: Ruin - Vision. Ruinmotivet i sidste
halvdel af det 20. årh., Vejle 2008, 20.
kaspar thormod 96

97 kaspar thormod
English version

Jacob Jordaens’ The Ferry Boat to Antwerp
Concerning its acquisition and reception
e va de l a fuente pedersen
”Oh, if only Jordaens had waited to marry until he had been to Italy.”
Francis Beckett in Illustreret Tidende, 1913
Fig. 1
english version 98

99 english version
In the autumn of 2008 the National Gallery
of Denmark staged an exhibition focusing on
the Flemish Baroque painter Jacob Jordaens’
(1593-1678) monumental painting The
Tribute Money. Peter finding the Silver Coin
in the Mouth of the Fish, also called The
Ferry Boat to Antwerp [fig. 1]. The exhibition,
which was staged in co-operation with
the Bonnefanten Museum in Maastricht,
celebrated the completion of a restoration
project that began on 18 September 2007
in an open workshop installed in one of
the Gallery’s exhibition rooms. 1 Now, that
exhibition constitutes yet another branch on
the gnarly tree that is the colourful history
of the painting’s reception. 2 The Ferry Boat
to Antwerp was first exhibited in 1905 at a
monographic exhibition in Antwerp. 3 It was
lent for this purpose by the then-owner of
the painting, the Swedish landowner Axel
Ekmann, travelling all the way to Antwerp
from Stockholm where it had originally
arrived in the spring of 1758 after being
shipped from Amsterdam. 4 The second time
that The Ferry Boat to Antwerp was on loan
was in 1930; on that occasion the picture
enjoyed the status of being a major work
from the National Gallery of Denmark’s
collections, and it was featured in a major
exhibition in Brussels on the occasion of the
100 th anniversary of Belgium’s declaration
of independence. 5 In his review of the 1930
exhibition the critic A.H. Cohen compares
Jordaens with Van Dyck: ”Against such a
neighbour Jacob Jordaens appears brutal,
even violent, but also impressive in the
broad, bold unfolding of his palette.“
Max Rooses made his contribution towards
rehabilitating Jordaens within art history’s
canon with his biography (1906 French,
1908 German versions). Max Rooses, who
was the director of the Plantin Moretus
Museum in Antwerp, offered the following
description of Jordaens a few lines into the
preface: ”Jordaens, painter of the people
and the middle classes; he who, excellently,
powerfully, celebrates sensuous delight.”
Rooses compares Jordaens to the two other
major figures within Flemish Baroque art:
Peter Paul Rubens and Anton Van Dyck.
The former is described as a heroic painter
whose ability enabled him to do everything;
the latter as a painter of the poetic, the
ennobling, and the seductive.
The present text focuses on the
acquisition and the Danish reception
of Jordaens’ painting The Ferry Boat to
Antwerp: Through what optics has the
painting been viewed over the ages? What
concepts of beauty have affected the eyes
that beheld it? What normative judgments
of taste have been applied and held sway?
How was it possible to acquire a major work
from the Flemish Baroque at such a late
date as 1912? Much of the history of the
painting’s reception outside of Denmark has
already been treated. 6 In order to view the
Danish reception within a wider perspective,
the first part of this text will concern itself
with Jordaens’ first biographer, Joachim von
Sandrart, on whose work all subsequent
biographies are based.
The German painter and critic Joachim
von Sandrart (1606-88) [fig. 2] wrote
the only source material about Jordaens’
oeuvre dating from Jordaens’ own time. It
might be relevant to place Sandrart within
his own contemporary context in order to
better understand his reception of Jordaens’
painting. For Sandrart was no advocate
of the academic concept of beauty that
would later become the norm. Even in his
own day Sandrart’s aesthetics stood in

Fig. 2
opposition to the classicising movement
found south of the Alps; movements
whose proponents included Giovanni-Paolo
Lomazzo (1538-1600) and the brothers
Taddeo Zuccaro (1529-66) and Federico
Zuccari (1540/42-1609). 7 As was the case
with Jordaens himself, Sandrart’s formative
years took place within a Northern European
setting where classical antiquity and the
High Renaissance were certainly present
as indispensable parts of a visual image
bank, but they did not constitute the only or
dominant yardstick for aesthetic norms.
Sandrart was born in Frankfurt am Main,
where the family had arrived as Calvinist
refugees from Wallonia. 8 As a young man
he studied in Prague and subsequently
in Utrecht, where, in 1627, he joined
Rubens, who was conducting a tour of The
Netherlands at the time. He then travelled
to England with Gerrit van Honthorst, under
whom he studied in Utrecht. Having spent
a number of years in Italy he and his family
settled in Amsterdam in 1637-45; here, he
became part of the humanist literary scene
that also included Jordaens.
Sandrart’s treaty Teutsche Academie
der Edlen Bau- Bild- und Malerei-Künste
includes a brief description of The Ferry
Boat to Antwerp. 9 The first volume was
published in 1675 and addresses theoretical
matters such as the proportions of the
human body, the emotions, rules for history
painting, rules on proper lighting in the
studio, on how to paint draperies, on colour,
on the art of perspective, etc. The second
volume was published in 1679 and contains
a wealth of biographies of artists from all
of Europe; Jordaens’ biography is quite a
bit longer than those of many other artists.
Sandrart had met and spoken with many of
the artists during the course of his extensive
travelling.
Sandrart’s aesthetic yardstick is coloured
by the Northern European Baroque art of
his own day. 10 Thus, his concept of beauty
favours the study of nature and verisimilitude
over the study of antiquity; colour
over line and composition. By Sandrart’s
standards for the perfect painting, the
pinnacle of an artist’s achievement is to
successfully present colours that are true to
nature, that create an atmospheric space by
graduating the colour saturation, and that
create the illusion of spatial form in figures
(relief) by having light and shadow painted
by means of colour (rather than by darkening
a given colour with black and lightening it
with white). This Mannerist colour theory is
celebrated in Sandrart’s theoretical writings
as well as in his artist biographies. Also, all
compositions are founded on preliminary
drawings and studies. Compositional
studies and sketches will ensure harmonious
groupings of the figures and rational
transitions between the groups. With our
new knowledge about Jordaens’ creative
development of The Ferry Boat’s composition
– which is associated with a painted
compositional sketch as well as with painted
oil sketches of heads – we see that Sandrart
based his directions on practices that were
current in his day. 11
Judging by the wording of Teutsche
Academie one can only presume that
Sandrart met Jordaens in Antwerp in 1671:
”He still lives in great prosperity in Antorf at
the age of 78.” Sandrart describes the old
Jordaens as a much-revered man who had
gathered great wealth, always happy, kind,
full of love and warmly welcoming. It is quite
clear that Sandrart’s concept of beauty is in
keeping Jordaens’ painting: ”With his great,
english version 100

masterly brush he painted stories both
sacred and mundane, poesies (Poësien)
and all sorts of everyday scenes, life-sized,
mostly after the life, with very strongly
enhanced and elevated natural colour and
a manner of painting so excellent that he
is on a par with even the most famous of
painters.” Sandrart describes The Ferry Boat
in direct continuation of a life-sized scene
featuring a cornucopia; the work in question
is in all likelihood Pomona: 12 “In a life-sized
scene he also painted satyrs holding and
carrying the cornucopia which the Three
Graces fills with an abundance of fruit,
vegetables, grapes and much else besides.
His well-made pictures are more wonderful
that one is wont to see in their drawing,
colour and brushwork; for example, he has
painted, with unmatched skill, a canvas as
long as the length of a large hall, showing
the great ferry boat to Antwerp in which
appears all kinds of animals and all kinds of
people, each labouring in accordance with
their calling”. 13
Sandrart’s statement to the effect that
Jordaens painted very quickly may well be a
result of Sandrart spicing up his biography
with a favourite topos that the art criticism
of the Renaissance and the Baroque
inherited from Antiquity. An anecdote
in Pliny tells us that the painter Pausias
needed to paint a picture of a boy in a single
day and called it an ”hemerésios” (one-day
picture). 14
Sandrart’s admiration for his Flemish colleague,
who was 15 years his senior, is not
a hollow panegyric. One can find tangible
evidence of his high regard for Jordaens in
Sandart’s own painting February, in which
the fat chef personifying the month was
obviously inspired by a Jordaens painting of
a gentleman; the painting is now housed at
the Louvre. 15
Georg Brandes (1842-1927) [fig. 3] must
be the first Danish critic to have concerned
himself with Jordaens’ work. In his
travelogue from 1868 he writes: ”To Rubens,
too, life is force and strength […] Life is in
the flesh, is the flowering strength of flesh,
and the health and voluptuousness of flesh
is the joy of living. However, this animalistic
delight in life is not restful, not savoured in
luxurious serenity; the blood flows swiftly
through the veins, all organs are pulsing and
moving without stop; the entire, colossal
101 english version
Fig. 3
human machine is engaged in mighty action
[…] His pupils have transformed it (the
style) partly in the direction of the beautiful
and partly in the direction of the rusticjovial;
Van Dyck takes Rubens in under
the auspices of the laws of beauty and the
restrictions that elegance requires; Jordaens
is Rubens subjected to the exaggerations
of the voluptuous and the rustic.” 16 When
Cohen wrote about the 1930 exhibition,
criticism had not progressed much beyond
such simple value judgments. The myth
about Jordaens’ sensuous and unadorned
realism was to prove long-lived.
The Danish reception continued with the
acquisition of The Ferry Boat when Karl
Madsen (1855-1938) [fig. 4], who was then
the newly appointed director of Statens
Museum for Kunst, bought Jordaens’ painting
from a Swedish collector. In an article
in the journal Tilskueren Karl Madsen said:
”He did not, like the highly sophisticated
Rubens, suffer from pangs of conscience
about having moved away from Antiquity’s
directions as to the proper measurements.” 17
Speaking in the same breath, Karl Madsen
describes Jordaens in the following terms:
”He loved the healthy, the sanguine, the
blood-filled and the juicy, the rich and the
voluptuous; loved it with a warmth, a fury,
a glowing fervour that turned the coarse
realist, who preferred the plumply natural,
into a lyricist, a true poet. He wrote hymns
to joy.”
In Illustreret Tidende (1913) Francis
Beckett (1868-1943) [fig. 5] writes an
article about the new acquisition, opening it
by lamenting the fact that Jordaens got married
at such a young age: ”Oh, if Jordaens
had only waited to marry until after he had
been to Italy. 18 Then he would presumably
have acquired the sense of coherence in a
figure, in movement, in form that is lacking
in this painting. But then he might also
have surrendered his healthy, rustic ways,
his lusty humour and the sheer, fleshy force
of his art […].” Unlike Sandrart’s statements,
Fig. 5
the critical judgments by Beckett, Madsen,
and Brandes are tinted by the 19 th century’s
normative canonisation of the Italian High
Renaissance, a canon that continued to be
upheld up through much of the criticism
written in the 20 th century. The critique that
points to Jordaens’ painting as anti-classical
and as brutal realism is calibrated according
to this aesthetic barometer.
Fig. 4

Georg Brandes uses the concept of “the
beautiful” about Van Dyck’s style as a
contrast to Jordaens’ vein of painting. Georg
Brandes’ close friend, the art historian Julius
Lange (1838-96) [fig. 6], would not dream
of concerning himself with a painter
Fig. 6
so far removed from classical ideals as this
Flemish Baroque artist. 19 In his writings
Lange focused on Danish Neoclassicism,
on antiquity (Phidias), and the Italian
Renaissance. Like Brandes he wrote a
monograph about Michelangelo. In their
judgments and general approach to art
Julius Lange, Karl Madsen, and the Danish
critics were all influenced by a German tradition
that has its roots in the work of Johann
Joachim Winckelmann (1717-68). The new
standards were set down in Winckelmann’s
major work Geschichte der Kunst des
Alterthums, which was published in Dresden
in 1764 and in a revised, posthumous
version in Vienna in 1776. Winckelmann
took a new approach by focusing on art
history from a cultural/historical rather than
a biographical point of view. Brandes’ use
of the concept “the beautiful” may have
been inspired by this. Drawing on Pliny’s
natural history, Winckelmann placed the
art of antiquity within a linear development
metaphor that comprised four phases: the
archaic, the high (the sublime), the beautiful,
and the imitative (Roman copies). 20 To a
connoisseur such as Bernard Berenson
(1865-1959) Baroque art was not worthy of
attention. 21 Within international art history,
17 th century painting was not included in the
art-historical canon until the Austrian writer
Alois Riegl (1858-1905) published his work
about the Dutch group portrait. 22 After this,
the Swiss art historian Heinrich Wölfflin
(1864-1945) presented his theory that art is
bound to a cyclical oscillation between the
classical and the baroque. Like that of Riegl,
Wölfflin’s approach presented no aesthetic
value judgments.
The acquisition of The Ferry Boat to
Antwerp was the cause of much enthusiasm
in the Copenhagen media when the painting
was finally, after a much-needed cleaning,
placed within the so-called Rembrandt room
at the Gallery. 23 In Sweden, the news was
received rather more coolly. The Swedes’
annoyance and regret was not eased by
the fact that shortly before this, Titian’s
juvenile portrait of his father-in-law Giovanni
Bellini had been acquired by Glyptoteket in
Copenhagen from the Swedish count Gustaf
Trolle-Bonde. Titian’s painting had been
part of the collections at the manor house
Säfstaholm since 1828. Through the art
dealer M. Marcus in Copenhagen it was sold
to Glyptoteket, which subsequently loaned it
to Statens Museum for Kunst.
On 11 December 1912 and in the days
that followed the Swedish newspapers
ran articles with headlines that clearly
expressed the general sentiments. Svenska
Dagbladet: ”Yet another classic art treasure
leaves the country” (11/12 1912), Dagens
Nyheter: ”Another major work of art leaves
Sweden”, Søderkøpings Posten: ”Precious
Swedish work of art sold to Denmark”,
and in Göteborgs Handels Tidning an
outraged article by Axel L. Romdahl under
the headline ”Art Exodus” was opened by
the following volley: ”Säfstaholm’s Titian,
Finspong’s Jordaens – two of the most
famous and precious masterpieces in private
Swedish ownership – have, within the space
of six months, passed across our borders
bound for Copenhagen galleries.” Romdahl
chastises the private owners for transferring
ownership of the masterpieces to the highest
bidder with no regard for social position and
obligation (sic!). The newspaper Nya Dagligt
Allehanda ran the headline: ”Art Export to
Denmark”. In the article a curator at the
Swedish national museum, Dr. Looström,
is taken to task. The journalist wants his
opinion. The curator deftly passes on the
parcel to the association of friends of the
museum, who had taken it upon themselves
to negotiate with Axel Ekman about a
possible acquisition of Jordaens’ painting. In
the interview Dr. Looström regrets that the
work is sent abroad, but also states that the
Danish museum pays dearly for the privilege.
In an article in Dagens Nyheter on 12
December 1912 the headline reads: ”The
Finspong panel sold to Denmark: Mr. Axel
Ekman’s defends its sale.” Here, the
landowner is allowed to speak, responding
to the media storm of the preceding days.
In the article Ekman relates how he, several
years prior to these events, moved from
the manor house of Finspong to the nearby,
and smaller, Mogård, where there was no
room for the large painting. The painting
was then lent to a major Jordaens exhibition
in Antwerp in 1905; Karl Madsen knew it
from this context. After this Ekman lent
the work to the Fria Konsternas Akademi
in Stockholm, where it was still hanging
in 1912. The article concludes that given
the circumstances it was only natural that
Ekman should wish to sell the painting.
That same day Stockholms Dagblad also
printed an interview with Axel Ekman. His
account of events certainly differs somewhat
from that of Dr. Looström. Ekman explains
that two years before he offered The Ferry
Boat to the curator at the Swedish museum,
who informed him that the painting was of
no interest to the museum. In the summer
of 1912 Axel Ekman began negotiations with
the Swedish museum’s friends association,
as forces within that organisation were of a
different opinion than the curator. Ekman
informed the association that they could acquire
the painting for 45,000 kroner. As the
association could not stretch to more than
35,000 Ekman found himself compelled
to search for a buyer abroad. To his great
surprise the association came back to him
on 7 November to let him know that they
had now collected 43,000 kroner towards
the acquisition of his painting. Ekman
explained that he was under new obligations
as he had entered into negotiations with the
Danish Gallery in the meantime; the Danes
had been offered the painting a price which
was a third higher than the 45,000.
The media storm related only half the
truth. Axel Ekman would have preferred the
painting to end up at the National Museum
in Stockholm. Instead, three potential
buyers came into play all at once. This was
exactly the situation that Ekman feared. In
addition to the two national galleries the
range of interested parties included another
foreign collector whose bid Ekman felt
obligated to await before he could announce
english version 102

a final decision to the two museums.
In his letters to Karl Madsen he requested
full confidentiality until the deal was settled
entirely. He realised that sending the
painting out of Sweden would cause a media
frenzy. Shortly after the friends the Swedish
museum announced that they would only
be able to pay 35,000 kroner for The
Ferry Boat, Ekman offered “a Continental
collector” the painting for 60,000 kroner.
Later letters to Karl Madsen tell us that the
collector in question was Max J. Friedländer,
the great connoisseur of Flemish art. At the
time Friedländer worked at the art museum
in Berlin.
The letters still housed at the National
Gallery of Denmark allow us to follow events
day by day. Axel Ekman’s first written
communiqué to Karl Madsen is dated 31
October 1912. Two months later, on the last
day of the year, the second and final rate of
29,000 kroner had entered Ekman’s account
at the Skandinaviska Kredit Aktiebolaget in
Norrköping.
Right up until 17 November 1912 Max
J. Friedländer had the right of first refusal.
Only when Friedländer opted out was the
path cleared for Karl Madsen. On 27
November Ekman writes to Karl Madsen,
stating that by 1 December he wants a
definite answer as to whether the young
museum director would be able to come up
with the money. Ekman had to inform the
friends of the Swedish museum whether he
would part with the painting for the 43,000
that they had been able to collect. In a
telegram to Ekman of 29 November Karl
Madsen says: “Favourable result expected.
Hope to arrive in a week.” In a letter dated
7 December he confirms that the necessary
funds are now available.
On the Danish side of the Sound, of
course, all journalists were enthusiastic. The
new acquisition was not introduced to the
general public until around 11 February
when the conservator Rønne had restored
the painting. The critic Chr. A. Been wrote
that “all the brown gravy poured upon it in
order to conjure up the right gallery hue”
had been removed. Been also states that “a
foot disappeared here and a pair of hands
appeared there,” and that “the painting
has been restored to the brilliant sheen of
its youthful glory.” Been laments how the
museum’s “bureaucratic traditions” did
103 english version
not allow the general public to follow the
restoration process (!).
On 11 February 1913 the Danish
newspaper Politiken printed the essay The
Gallery’s New Jordaens and the Gallery’s
new Director, in which the painter and critic
Nicolaus Lützhøft (1864-1928) [fig. 7]
made some interesting observations on
Karl Madsen’s endeavours. Lützhøft begins
his essay by pointing to the significant
expansions of the collection that Karl
Madsen’s new style of management had
brought in its wake. In 1911 he ushered in
his directorship by discovering Rembrandt’s
painting The Crusader, which had been
lost and forgotten in a storage room at
Fredensborg Castle. 24 He then went on to
acquire Joakim Skovgaard’s large painting
Christ in the Realm of the Dead, swiftly
followed by Jordaens’ almost equally vast
painting. Lützhøft states: ”Each of these
works points to a field that demands
attention from the Director of the collection
of paintings; he must keep an eye on the
nation’s art, including the works in storage
or on loan, he must stay in touch with
the contemporary art scene, and he must
occasionally add a classic work of art from
abroad to the collection.” Indeed, those
indicators still hold true.
Fig. 7
Another critic going by the name Bro
outlines a sympathetic portrait of the man
behind the new acquisition: ”Karl Madsen
not only feels the joy of art. He feels, even
more strongly, the joy of letting as many
people as possible be enriched by art.” With
this statement Bro expresses the essence of
that general spirit of the age that made the
acquisition possible. A spirit that permeated
the entire Arts and Crafts movement: the
belief that good design and good art can
improve and elevate the general populace.
The Arts and Crafts movement, as it was
known in Britain, was an international
movement known as Skønvirke in Denmark
and as Jugendstil in Germany and Austria.
All these variants shared the basic tenet that
the spirit and the hand should be united in
art, design, and industry. The new aesthetic
saw art as an element that was to flow
through all aspects of everyday life, imbuing
it with a spiritual quality to the improvement
of all. The circle of moneyed art aficionados
that made the acquisition of The Ferry Boat
possible included many of the greatest
patrons and collectors of the Skønvirke era.
The brewer Carl Jacobsen was the greatest
contributor by far, offering up 10,000 kroner
towards the acquisition . The engineer J.
Rump, the tobacco manufacturer Holger
Hirschsprung and other private collectors
such as the bank manager Herman Heilbuth
were also among the main contributors.
The circle of benefactors included keen
patrons of Skønvirke artists, among these
Etatsråd Bestle and the widow Kühle. The
landowner Johannes Hage, whose own
collection remains intact under a single roof
at the Nivaagaards Malerisamling north of
Copenhagen, also made a contribution.
Perhaps Jordaens’ anti-classic style was the
reason behind the Swedish curator’s lack
of interest and Max J. Friedländer’s opt-out.
Karl Madsen, however, saw a different set
of qualities in the painting. He viewed The
Ferry Boat from Antwerp as a crucial addition
that completed the Gallery’s collection of
paintings by the Flemish artist; a collection
that dates back all the way to Christian IV
and Frederik III. With the acquisition of The
Ferry Boat to Antwerp Karl Madsen marked
a turning point in the history of the Gallery.
Up until this point the collection of older art
from abroad had been regarded as a closed
chapter. 25 It was a remnant left over from the
days of absolute monarchy, a heritage that
was in many respects quantitative rather
than qualitative in nature, and one that most
had regarded as finished. The new acquisition,
however, prompted the formation of
Dansk Kunstmuseumsforening (The Danish
Art Museum Association). The association’s
first board of directors had Johannes Hage
as chairman, ushering in a period full of
many important new acquisitions, right up to
the present day.

1 the restoration project was carried out under the
management of Jørgen Wadum and with the support
of the Getty Foundation. the exhibition Jordaens.
The Creation of a Masterpiece was accompanied by a
book bearing the same title (hereinafter Wadum &
Pedersen 2008), which contains essays by troels
Filtenborg, Lars Hendrikman, Badeloch Noldus,
Eva de la Fuente Pedersen, anneflor Schlotter,
Johanneke Verhave, and Jørgen Wadum, SMK 2008.
2 Here, the terms reception history and reception
aesthetics are understood and defined as in
Wolfgang Kemp, ”Kunstwerk und Betrachter: Der
rezeptionsästetische ansatz”, in Kunstgeschichte.
Eine Einführung, (ed. Hans Belting et al.) Berlin 1996,
241-258, particularly pp 242f.
3 Henri Huymans: ”L’exposition Jordaens á anvers”,
Gazette des Beaux-Arts, 1905, 247-255; The Ferry Boat
was claimed to have been painted for Sweden (255).
4 In the spring of 1758 the painting had been shipped
from amsterdam to the residence of the De Geer
family in Sweden, Finspong Castle. the first
mention of the painting in our surviving sources
appears in his descendant Maria Christina de Geer’s
(1678-1746) last will and testament of 23 June
1741, in which it is described as ”the large piece by
Jordaens in the hall” (het grote stuk van Jordaens in
het voorhuis), Isabella van Eeghen: ”Het Huis met de
Hoofden”, Maandblad amstelodamum 38, 1951, 137;
Badeloch Noldus in Wadum & Pedersen 2008, p. 97ff.
5 a.H.Cohen: „Die ausstellung altflämischer Kunst“,
Pantheon 1930, p. XXXVIII, pp. 429-431 and 478.
6 Badeloch Noldus in Wadum & Pedersen 2008, pp.
97-119.
7 annette Nicopoulos: Die Stellung Joachim von
Sandrarts in der europäischen Kunsttheorie.
Disertation. Kiel 1976, p. 97.
8 Christian Klemm: Joachim von Sandrart. Kunstwerke
und Lebenslauf, Berlin 1986, p. 726.
9 Joachim von Sandrart: Teutsche Academie der
Edlen Bau- Bild- und Malerei-Künste’. I-II, 1575-79.
Facsimile edition 1994, part 2, 336. We do not know
for certain where Sandrart saw The Ferry Boat. It
may have been on an undocumented journey to
antwerp, during a stay in amsterdam in 1628, or
during the period 1637 to 1645.
10 Nicopoulos 1978, p. 101ff.
11 regarding the oil sketch: Eva de la Fuente Pedersen,
”Jordaens’ tribute Money: an unknown oil sketch”, i
Jordaens – Genius of Grand Scale, CISa Cultural and
Interdisciplinary Studies in art X, (eds. Birgit Ulrike
Münch, Zita Ágota Pataki), Stuttgart 2012, 95-111.
12 Statens Museum for Kunst KMSsp233, Olaf Koester:
Flemish Paintings. Statens Museum for Kunst 2000,
p. 145. Olaf Koester suggests that Sandrart refers
to ”Pomona” at the Musées royaux des Beaux-arts
de Belgique. there is, however, also a slight
possibility that Sandrart is describing the painting
that was commissioned from Jordaens by the Danish
king and delivered in 1652 or in early 1653. the
Kunstkammer inventory of 1690 describes it as ”a
large artificial piece executed by Jordaens about
Nymphs and Cornu-copia”.
13 ”In Lebens-Grösse mahlte er auch, wie die Satyren
die Cornucopien aufhalten und tragen, indem die
drey Gratien selbige mit allerley schönen Früchten,
Obst, trauben, und andern, erfüllen, dern holdselige
nakende wolverstandene Bilder, in Zeichnung,
Colorit und geistreicher Manier der Farben mehr
verwunderlich als gemein zu sehen, so hat er auch
in eines langen Saals Länge, das grosse Uberfahrt-
Schiff zu antorf ausgebildet, darinnen allerley thire
und Leute, dern jeder nach seinem Beruf arbeitet,
unvergleichlich wol vorstellet.” Sandrart 1994, p. 336.
14 Eva-Bettina Krems: Der Fleck auf der Venus. 500 Künstler-
anekdoten von Apelles bis Picasso. Munich 2003, p. 36.
15 Klemm 1986, p. 106.
16 Georg Brandes: Samlede Skrifter, vol. 11, 1902, p. 206.
17 reprinted in: Karl Madsen: ”Museets forøgelser med
flamske malerier fra det 17. aarhundrede” (“the
Gallery’s acquisitions of Flemish 17 th century
paintings”), Kunstmuseets Aarsskrift XI-XII, 1924-25,
pp. 53-74.
18 Collection of newspaper cuttings, the National
Gallery of Denmark, Danmarks Kunstbibliotek.
19 regarding Julius Lange’s view of art, see: Birger
Wamberg in Hvorfor kunst? (“Why art”)/ Lisbeth
Bonde and Maria Fabricius Hansen (ed.).
Copenhagen 2007; Marianne Marcussen: “the reception
of antiquity and Danish art history : Julius
Lange and the representation of the human figure
in the visual arts”, in Acta Hyperborea : Danish
studies in classical archaeology. Copenhagen 1990,
pp. 229-240; Viljen til det menneskelige: tekster
omkring Julius Lange (“the Will to Humanity: texts
about Julius Lange”)/ ed. Hanne Kolind Poulsen,
Hans Dam Christensen, Peter Nørgaard Larsen,
Copenhagen 1999.
20 alex Potts: Flesh and the Ideal. Winckelmann and the
origins of art history. Yale University 2000, p. 67.
21 Eric Fernie: Art History and its methods. A Critical
Anthology. London 2000, p. 330.
22 alois riegl: Das holländische Gruppenporträt, Prag,
Wien, Leipzig 1902; regarding riegl and Heinrich
Wölfflin, see: Michael Podro: The Critical Historians of
art. 1982.
23 Collection of newspaper cuttings, the National
Gallery of Denmark.
24 Karl Madsen’s attribution was only recently
subjected to scientific testing that combined
cutting-edge technical studies and expert scrutiny
by rembrandt experts (see the National Gallery of
Denmark’s exhibition catalogue Rembrandt?
The Master and his Workshop, 2006).
25 regarding the significance of the acquisition and the
subsequent set-up of Dansk Kunstmuseumsforening
as the Friends association of the Gallery – an
association that came to be of great importance for
fundraising for new acquisitions for many years to
come – please see: Kunstmuseets Aarsskrift XLIII-L
1956-63, 9ff. regarding Karl Madsen’s endeavours
to not only acquire Danish contemporary art, but
also older European art of high quality, please see:
Villads Villadsen: Statens Museum for Kunst 1827-1952,
1998, pp. 172f.
english version 104

105 english version

Fig. 2
english version 106

Plaster Bodies as Performance
The Royal Collection of Casts viewed from a performative perspective
h e n r i k holm
”Pure performativity implies the presence of a living being […] speaking in a manner that
is at once spontaneous, intentional, free, and irreplaceable.” Jacques Derrida 1
What does performativity do?
Some of the basic premises for the study
of performativity will be described in
this article and applied to the Royal Cast
Collection. The objective is not simply to
consider theory for theory’s sake, but to
contribute to a new understanding of the
collection’s history and significance. What is
more, this perspective makes it possible to
outline a future scenario for cast collections
in general.
If you were to ask what performativity is
you would get no answer. Performativity is
an action that leads to a change in mood, a
new understanding, or a response that may
be different from – or exactly as – what you
would expect. Thus, performativity is not
about being something, but about something
happening. Regardless of whether
you are propelled on by the unexpected or
by the expected, a movement occurs. As is
indicated by the quote above, performativity
is about people being affected by what they
experience and, more specifically, about
how it governs their actions. You perform
in relation to a set of expectations that
you have not set yourself, but which are
nevertheless given. If you stop to watch
a work of art at a museum, the work has
already governed your actions. Even if you
cannot be bothered to stop the work has
determined what you do. If you are emotionally
affected by the work it will affect your
interaction with other people and the way
you perceive yourself. If, for example, the
work belongs to a cultural canon or is
placed in a museum, then it helps build a
sense of national identity;
the work is an active co-creator of identity
and you must relate to the work and to
the ideas behind the work and its position
107 english version
within the general, public consciousness.
The field of performativity was first
explored in the Anglophone countries
where performativity studies took roots
during the 1990s. Now, the concept of
performativity is gaining a firm foothold
within Danish academia, 2 and the 14 th
international congress for the members
of ”Performance Studies International” was
held in Copenhagen in August of 2008. The
present text is a version of a talk given at
the subsequent 15 th international congress
held in Zagreb in June of 2009.
Artwork as Communication
Performativity studies do not focus on the
work’s own context or on exploring the artist’s
intentions. In this context performativity
is about how works and their history engage
the spectator in some kind of movement. A
basic premise for performativity studies is
that art is not perceived as something that
passively reflects the artist’s intentions
or the world and time in which they were
created. Rather, works of art are regarded as
autonomous, actively acting and intervening
objects that create the world around them.
Here, works of art are utterances that make
a difference in the world, that change it
and create its framework. At all times, and
across time and space, art engages in active
communication. Granted, such communication
may not effect fundamental changes to
the world or save lives the way a new type
of medicine can. However, some works may
in fact change the world for individuals,
or for many people, either for a while or
forever. It is a common occurrence to be
emotionally moved by reading a book, and
it is also commonplace for certain events to
become iconic for a while, causing them
to have effects that reach far beyond their
original intentions; one example would
be the images from Abu Ghraib that now
stand as symbols of USA’s mission in Iraq,
or the Mohammad drawings that have, in
certain contexts, become synonymous
with Denmark’s relationship with Muslims.
For generations the paintings of the
Danish Golden Age have acted as creators
determining what Danishness is and to what
you should relate if you wish to signal your
Danishness. Within performativity studies,
the way works of art act is compared to the
ways in which language acts, and indeed
the first theories about performativity arose
out of the long tradition for analysing the
semiotics of language.
The ”inventor” of the concept ”performatives”,
John Langshaw Austin (1911-60) – a
concept that would later be developed into
the concept of performativity – notes that
his understanding of language, of how
words do something, goes against the
grain of the dominant understanding of
language in his own day, the 1950s, which
regarded language – and art – as simply
being statements. Austin calls this approach
“the descriptive fallacy”, thereby making a
direct connection with the term “Intentional
Fallacy”, which attacked a widespread
tendency within the assessment of art, i.e.
the practice of linking the meaning of a
given work to the artist’s own intentions. 3
In performativity theory, neither the artists’
intentions nor a description of the work
rooted in logical positivism are considered
adequate analyses. To utter a sentence or to
create a work of art is to initiate an action; it
is ”doing”. Within the field of performativity
studies, this prompts a shift between the
terms ”performance” as it is used in a

theatre context and ”performativity” as a
theoretical concept. For example, audiences
at exhibitions or the works of art themselves
can be analysed as if they were actors
in a play.
Performativity studies often take place
within areas where several disciplines meet
and merge, e.g. theatre, film, literature,
philosophy, and art. When we consider casts
after the antiques one might note that such
trans-boundary activity is in no way alien to
antiquity, for during that period no distinction
was made between acting as an artist,
philosopher, or scientist. All such activities
were done in the service of the human spirit,
of enlightenment, consciousness, empathy,
morality; and the objective of addressing
such subjects was to achieve a cleansing, a
renewal, in the encounter with the extraordinary,
the exalted, or the beautiful.
The work as failed utterance
If art can act just as language can, works
of art are also subject to the same dangers
and pitfalls that can befall utterances
made through language. Thus, the study of
how communication is successful in some
contexts and completely fails in others is a
central element of a performativity-oriented
analysis.
The changeable history of the Royal
Collection of Casts – which runs the gamut
from first being established because it is
regarded as necessary and as a successful
piece of communication to becoming carted
off to storage in the 1960s and, later, to
being re-installed outside the Gallery in the
West India Warehouse – is an ideal candidate
for such an analysis. Ideal because
it allows us to trace the transformation of
an utterance that was successful upon its
first emergence in the late 19th century, but
came to constitute a rather failed utterance
over the course of the 20th century.
One can also say something about the
future of the collection by building on an
analysis of its more or less successful
performance over the course of history;
the collection’s turbulent history could
potentially be made the lynchpin of
communication and education efforts,
inviting performers to act in relation to the
statues and to the collection’s history and
new meanings. To perform the collection’s
failure to act meaningfully may be the most
positive way of relating to the collection’s
misperformance.
The Royal Collection of Cast’s
Performance
“Our sympathy proclaims our innocence as
well as our impotence.”
Susan Sontag 4
What does the Laocoön group “perform?
[Fig. 1] Quite a bit, really. Regardless of
the spectator’s own epoch, you are, when
positioned in front of this work, viewing the
suffering of others.
You witness a horrific scene where
Laocoön and his two sons are strangled
by giant snakes. Any spectator confronted
with this scene must relate to their own
experience of suffering and death and
may be emotionally moved; this sensation
is sparked by their encounter with the
sculpture. The intention behind the work is
to evoke empathy, and if you are capable of
feeling compassion for the victims the work
will have an impact on the spectator, an
effect that is not entirely unambiguous – as
described by Susan Sontag in the quote
above. Our sympathy ensures a kind of innocence,
for if we feel for others we cannot
cause pain and death, but at the same time
we cannot do anything to alleviate Laocoön’s
suffering.
The sculpture group performs Laocoön’s
death the way actors might, for it is not
Laocoön himself we see, but an artistic staging
carried forth by a group of figures. The
group also “performs” in relation to all the
artists that have been affected by the sight
of it; their numbers include Michelangelo,
who witnessed its excavation in 1506 and
let that experience greatly influence how
many of his figures act. In the Royal Cast
Collection the group is placed near casts
after Michelangelo, thereby providing visual
cues that sweep spectators along and show
them how the figures around it writhe and
squirm, acting out an emotionally charged
piece of “theatre” about human suffering
that very clearly points to how the figures
act out – and act in relation to each other
across time and space. Given the fact that
the work in question is a cast rather than
an original, the group can be moved around
relatively easily, forming part of new
constellations with much greater ease than
the original, which is firmly lodged in the
Vatican.
Laocoön plays a crucial part for the
father of art history and archaeology, J. J.
Winckelmann (1717-68), so one might say
that Laocoön also enacts the history of
these two subjects. Of course, this kind of
performance requires knowledge beyond
that which is communicated via the purely
visual. From Winckelmann onwards there
has been a discussion on whether Laocoön
– and hence all of antiquity – is heaving a
stoic sigh, retaining his composure to the
last, or whether he is crying out in blind
pain, thereby marking that the wellspring
of Western civilisation is not harmony, but
chaos; and awareness of this discussion
requires a certain amount of background
knowledge, a context presented via language
that helps give the otherwise silent figure
sound, thereby imbuing it with an even
greater sense of being an actively engaged
main performer in the play that creates the
basis for our understanding of ourselves.
Cast Collections as the matrix of
the masses
”The mass is a matrix from which all
traditional behaviour toward works of art
issues today in a new form.”
Walter Benjamin 5
The plaster Laocoön also performs as a copy,
not as an original work, which paves the way
for several different potential ”performative”
consequences. It shows that all art can
be reproduced, as Walter Benjamin notes
in his article ”The Work of Art in the Age
of Mechanical Reproduction” (1936). The
original work of art played a part in rituals
and in religious contexts, but a copy – which
may, in this modern era, be the result of
mechanical reproduction – becomes, for
the first time in world history, emancipated
“from its parasitical dependence on ritual,”
as Benjamin says. 6 The ritual was for an elite
coterie only, whereas reproductions are, in
principle, for everyone. Back when the plaster
copies were purchased for presentation
at the National Gallery of Denmark in 1896
it was believed that plaster reproductions
were for everybody, for they made it possible
for the masses to view the shapes
and forms of antiquity even though they
could not travel to see the originals, which
english version 108

Fig. 1
were scattered all across Southern Europe.
Benjamin employs an interesting turn of
phrase that points ahead to where we need
to go when we are to speak of the casts’
performative potential, their ability to shape
the spectator’s view of themselves and their
foundations in relation to classical European
civilisation. As is quoted above, he states
that the mass is a matrix from which all traditional
behaviour, all habitual approaches
to works of art emerges as if born anew. The
focused spectator delves into the history
behind a work, immersing themselves in it,
whereas the distracted masses let the work
of art sink in after a prolonged and uneven
process of acclimatisation. To Benjamin
film is the medium best suited to utilise the
potential for shaping the masses, but as
109 english version
the casts were placed chronologically they
actually created a filmic sequence: as you
walked through the entire presentation from
start to finish you took in the full history of
artistic development up to contemporary
times. So the casts were to form the masses,
this open and malleable “matrix”, so that
they would, at least sporadically, take on
the forms of antiquity just as the casts
themselves had been moulded after original
works. Here the seeds of a serious paradox
have been sown, for casts after ancient
works may point directly back to the ritual
binding that the originals were created to effect;
certainly if they can in fact prompt new
audiences to perform a new era’s rituals of
catharsis and education at the museum, one
of the cultic spaces of our modern age. But
the originals have long ago been removed
from the temples where they were originally
erected, taken into museums and thus been
torn away from their original rituals. Plaster
casts that make no attempts at hiding their
true nature as casts may be even more
liberated from such ties to an original ritual.
They are entirely free from any expectations
of evoking the same admiration and awe
as the originals, allowing them to be more
freely appreciated by the masses and even
to be enjoyed in the here and now without
requiring any thought for the originals and
their historical contexts. Yet this makes
them all the more suited to segue into a
new ritual: the educational tour through
the museum where one inspects time and
history as it progresses towards ever greater
freedom and ever-more brilliant ideas. But it
is only when you do not need to run around
naked and inebriated, brandishing a thyrsus,
that the act of viewing a statue of Dionysus
can lead to the enactment of another ritual
with the figures – a successful, modern
performance of education and sophistication.
The concept of viewing the masses as a
giant matrix or mould points to the works a
performative, not just as passive containers
of information and knowledge about
antiquity. The works create the matrix of the
educated individual who is aware of his or
her cultural background and of the political,
aesthetic, and ethical imperatives inherent
in the legacy of antiquity.
If casts are to impose form on the masses
this presupposes that at the time of their
purchase and presentation the “performance”
supplied by the casts was believed
to be successful. But Benjamin makes the
point that from now on it’s the masses that
do the shaping, not vice versa.
The Royal Cast Collection as a
”Whites Only” Performance
In order for a performance to be successful
a number of requirements must be met. For
each of these requirements deviations may
occur that may cause the performance to
fail. But let us begin with the requirements
applying to the good performance; the
requirements that the casts are expected to
successfully meet:
Prior to the purchase and display of the
figures a widely accepted, conventional
process must be completed; a process

that has an entirely predictable and in no
way surprising impact on the audience.
The institution itself sees to this, for the
institutions demand a special choreography
from the audience; the museum makes its
audience perform the way one is supposed
to perform at a museum. The display and
presentation of the works are arranged
in accordance with the wish to achieve a
certain effect in the spectator.
The works’ presentation of Western
civilisation as an unmatched and in every
way successful story of development – one
that showcases this civilisation’s natural
superiority to the more primitive and
static histories of all other cultures – was
as widespread and seemingly natural in the
1890s as would only be possible in the era
of the modern empires (from around 1800
onwards) and prior to the end of World War
I, when Europe’s great colonial powers and
principalities collapsed or were forced to
yield their sovereignty. Up until that point,
however, having and presenting a collection
of entirely white, idealised, and naked male
bodies, a range of more or less disrobed
female figures, and a series of equestrian
statues was not just acceptable, but necessary.
When the museum first opened its
doors nothing could be more natural than
for the nation to have a national gallery
that demonstrated its respect towards
non-national world art by presenting a range
of plaster copies. Such respect could neither
be challenged nor become too overwhelming
when the figures on display were copies
after ancient originals – often, such originals
were themselves Roman copies after Greek
originals that had already been lost at the time.
In our day and age the whiteness and the
ideals behind the collection seem glaring
to our eyes, particularly given the fact that
the collection is, quite by coincidence, now
housed at the West India Warehouse, a
building erected in the “Florissant age” of
the 1790s in order to contain the spoils won
by exploiting slaves as cheap labour in the
Danish plantations on the West Indies; here,
the concept familiar from e.g. Apartheid-era
South Africa of something being ”for Whites
Only” takes on new and special significance.
According to my terminology the Royal Cast
Collection is very much a ”Whites Only”
collection in which coloured copies are
delegated to playing inferior parts
and where figures such as Michelangelo’s
”slaves” [Fig. 2] not only provide an occasion
for speaking about Michelangelo, but also
about this almost surreal chance meeting
on the dissecting table of history between a
white plaster figure of a slave and a rustic
warehouse; a meeting which, despite its
arbitrary and coincidental nature, serves
to emphasise the collection’s ethos, its
special disposition, its unique character and
fundamental values. Such a collection’s
reference to the superiority of the white man
could at any time threaten its very existence
if it were to be judged too politically incorrect,
or perhaps politically incorrectness may
imbue it with new meaning as nationalistic
sentiments grow in strength. Its reference
to a European community is equally
problematic, and the collection can only find
its strength by living out these dilemmas
opening, not by ignoring them.
The Cast Collection as misperformance
At the point in history where the plaster
casts were first put on display, the general
belief must have been that specialists and
laymen alike were ready to adopt and
perform the ritual acts that a chronological
presentation of the figures at the nation’s
new main museum of art would entail.
Undoubtedly, everyone played out their
expected parts correctly and completely,
creating the impression in each spectator
that they were willing participants; everyone
performed to the best of their ability for the
greater good of themselves and of society
as a whole. The figures performed, shaping
and moulding the citizens who went on a
journey with them, so that for a while the
casts could be regarded as successful
performances in Austin’s sense of the term. 7
As is true of any performative statement,
all works of art will find that their successful
performance eventually begins to move in
wrong directions. If for whatever reason
the works no longer fit into a conventional,
modern, ritual, and widely accepted context,
their attempts at shaping the masses
will begin to look like ”misfires”. 8 The
figures and the sequence in which they are
presented may well murmur ceaselessly of
the superiority of white, Western man, but if
the spectators do not accept that this is
the story to be narrated, the figures may find
that they speak in vain.
Fig. 3
If you no longer harbour any positive
feelings for antiquity or for the claim that
figurative art should be the foundations
of new art, and if you also no longer find
that the museum – with its deliberate
choreographing of the spectator’s movement
and learning – is the best way for you to
assert your right to act and think freely, your
visit to the Cast Collection (or indeed to
museums in general) becomes depleted of
value and positive potential. It quite simply
loses its impact on its audience, which may
be increasingly propelled by duty rather than
delight. The collection remains, stubbornly
demanding its right and its rituals, but fewer
people accept the gift. Eventually you will
lose the sense that cast and ancient art play
english version 110

Fig. 4 and 5
any significant part in your experience of the
real thing, and so what was once regarded a
natural and happy performance becomes a
negative and destructive performance.
This happens over the course of the
1960s. We can see that a number of works
in the collection are described in inventories
as damaged even though no note is made
of how the damage occurred. Up until this
point it was standard practice to record
all cases of damage; for example, it would
be noted in a quite unsentimental manner
if a work had tumbled from its place and
become smashed. Gradually, however, a
large number of works come to be entered
as “damaged” with an arrow-shaped sign in
the inventories without any additional
111 english version
explanation. This means that the figure has
been scrapped and supposedly smashed
in order to prevent its parts from being put
to other uses outside the museum walls.
When the collection was once again put on
display in the West India Warehouse it was
discovered that an additional 206 works
were lost without this being noted anywhere
in the inventories.
Such things can only take place when
someone no longer shares the feelings
towards the works that prompted their
acquisition. All those things that constituted
elements of the Royal Cast Collection’s
positive, performative validity grew into
being elements that subjected the collection
to increasing pressure until we came to a
complete breakdown in the plaster cast’s
ability to communicate; the old sense of
intimacy and of being prompted by the
figures to enter into conversations grew into
something that produced an ever-greater
sense of distance until it could no longer
facilitate any dialogue.
Antiquity: Cast and Rejected
There are several reasons why reproduction
casts of ancient monuments become
depleted in value as the 20th century
progresses, and in what follows I will point
to what I believe are the chief reasons. In
the collection audiences could follow the
outlines of the Western world’s own staging
of history as a steady progression towards

Fig. 6
increasingly greater freedom and sovereignty
– a progression that was traced back to the
wellspring of civilisation within Greek
art from around 400 BCE. Spectators
witnessed this narrative unfold in full 3D
and with the illusion of having reached
beyond all boundaries of time as they
walked through the collection, witnessing
the human body spring forth from stone
through the ages from the Archaic to the
Classical eras, right past the birth of Christ
onwards through the rise and fall of the
Roman Empire and towards the Renaissance
with its rediscovery of mankind; the time
when modern man was reborn. [Fig. 3, 4, 5, 6]
The narrative was somewhat unpalatable
and troublesome to artists with a critical
sense; tradition lay as a heavy yoke on their
shoulders, and some sought to throw it off
even as they embraced it; one example
would be the ever-struggling Abildgaard,
whose The Wounded Philoctetes showed the
true face of tradition as he saw it: a tortured,
screaming body that cannot break free of its
fate without also breaking out of its (picture)
frame. [Fig. 7]
Abildgaard’s attempts at revolt were
soundly quelled by the conservative champions
of the national collection during the
period following in the wake of the European
revolutions in the mid-19 th century; after a
veritable patricide on Abildgaard and the
hailing of C.W. Eckersberg as “Father of
Danish Painting” he was forced to adopt
somewhat more subdued formulations
in relation to the yoke of Antiquity and
tradition. Where Abildgaard’s friend Johann
Heinrich Füssli (AKA Fuseli) depicts an
artist in a state of despair, almost crushed
under the weight of the ancient colossal
statue’s foot [Fig. 8], Christen Købke – a
student of Eckersberg – paints a small-scale
painting of an artist studying after the
antique at the Royal Danish Academy of
Fine Arts; here, the artist may bend down
a little, but this could simply be in order to
inspect the figure in detail. [Fig. 9]
The attitude conveyed via this academic
study of ancient proportions and ideals
is not entirely unambiguous. What is he
looking for? The figure’s lack of manhood
or potency? Is he even looking at the figure,
or is he caught up in his own thoughts,
lowering his gaze? And what is he doing
with that cloth? Is he dusting off antiquity?
Is antiquity simply dusty? Is it not striking
how little Eckersberg’s students work after
the ancients? They would rather be out in
the open air painting the trees swaying
in the wind, and their portraits are full of
colour, life, and a not-very-classical attitude
to body and posture, as is evident in e.g.
the same artist’s portrait of the landscape
painter Frederik Sødring (The Hirschsprung
Collection).
We have to say that the attitude towards
the repetition of antiquity represented by
the plaster casts gives rise to some slightly
peculiar ”performances” as far back as
around 1830. Yet tradition is safeguarded by
those who disregarded all querying ambigui-
ties, and the official position is still to lay
claim to Western man’s superiority and the
undiminished importance of antiquity for
all artists, including the Danish ones, right
up to the turn of the century; a time when
art truly begins to break away from ancient
ideals. Exactly which version of antiquity
should be incorporated into modern life
is not entirely clear. Some artists have
breakthroughs with modes of expression
that are decidedly anti-classical, such as the
Impressionists, to say nothing of Gauguin’s
and van Gogh’s entirely unpredictable
grappling with tradition. [Fig. 10]
On Danish soil, conventional education
based on the study of Latin begins to lose
ground as far back as in 1903, making
way for other subjects. 9 Perhaps this is the
reason behind the strong need to establish
such a massive collection of casts after
ancient sculptures around the 1890s. A
strong need emerges for retaining a grip
on an antiquity which is even at that point
slipping out of focus for the avant-garde
while the institutions and the general public
have come to wish to uphold the ideals and
traditions from antiquity. Such distance
between the two parties constitutes an
abyss that can provide a reason for the
cast display as an earnest, well-intentioned
rescue attempt, even if it is also a less-
than-perfect consolation prize. The casts
are, after all, only mass-produced copies
– and yet precisely because they are
mass-produced casts with no special aura,
set free from the original, ritual coercion,
they become perfect as performances
that the mass of individuals can shape
themselves after.
As was mentioned in the above, the
underlying notion of the unassailable
sovereignty of the Western empires suffers
a breakdown after World War I, and as
World War II drew near antiquity as an
ideal becomes sorely tested; it has not
yet emerged from that trial. The Nazis
celebrated antiquity as the ideal example of
the kind of art they wished to see, and they
used it to point out how degenerate modern
art had become. Hitler’s filmmaker Leni
Riefensthal used the Discobolus of Myron
(circa 450 BCE) as the point of departure
for the opening sequence of and as stopping
points in the first of her two films about the
Olympic Games in Berlin in 1936, Olympia,
english version 112

Fig. 7
Fest der Völker and Olympia, Fest der
Schönheit, which premiered in 1938, the
same year in which Hitler succeeded in
acquiring the sculpture from Italy.
The performance of Nazism (and other
totalitarian regimes) based on antiquity as
an ideal – something which is evident in
every aspect of their self-representation,
in their art and architecture – meant that
after 1945 it has been difficult to cultivate
interest in or appreciation of antiquity as
a positive ideal. The most recent reform of
the Gymnasium school (Denmark’s largest
upper-secondary education programme)
from 2005 follows the overall line evident
after 1903, which has seen Latin and Greek
gradually being phased out as main subjects
to an all-time low where Latin and the
creative (and classic) subjects Music and
Arts are all greatly reduced in scope. Parts
of the Danish Parliament were concerned
about this development, including Louise
Frevert from the Danish People’s Party, who
inquired about the fate of these subjects;
the party felt that they constituted “the
wellsprings of the entire Western cultural
community, and as such they should be
incorporated as independent subjects in
their own right within any conservative
educational policy.” In her reasoning for
preserving the subjects in the form
preceding the 2005 reform Frevert added
that, ”any talk of abolishing or combining
113 english version
these subjects simply expresses a typical
Generation 68-attitude that accepts no
responsibility for the foundations of our
own culture. It would, then, seem absurd if
these fundamental pillars of education were
abolished by a conservative government.” 10
Facebook allows you to join groups such
as ”Abolish Classics in Gymnasiet”, ”the
group for those who also think that learning
about Greek culture 2,500 years ago is a
waste of time.” The recently appointed
professor of Classical Philology at Aarhus
University, Marianne Pade, was compelled
to express cautious optimism on behalf of
her subject when accepting her position
in 2009, her optimism chastened by the
gymnasium reform, etc. 11
The “classic”, as it were, avant-garde
movements made a point out of mocking
antiquity. The Futurist Manifesto of 1909
states that museums and libraries (and
feminism) should be destroyed, that the
ideals of antiquity have already been
conquered, and that we would see the (re)
birth of the centaur, rising again after it
lost the mythical battle against the Greek
ur-people known as the Lapiths. 12 In 1939
Clement Greenberg published an article
in which he spoke out against Nazism and
Communism’s use of antiquity’s ideals,
Avant-Garde and Kitsch; the article became
the manifesto of the vein of Modernism that
would gain ground in the 1960s with Colour
Field Painting and figures such Mark Rothko,
Jackson Pollock and Barnett Newman as
its main proponents. Greenberg spoke of
”Alexandrianism” as something that should
be left behind, a static academism that
evades all forms of critical analysis. Civil
society had nurtured a new, superior historic
awareness in the form of avant-garde culture,
which had been made possible by a critical
stance towards society and history as such.
The essay is also about how modern artists
relate to the media, paints, and surfaces
with which they work. 13
The notion of medium specificity as an
ideal for the avant-garde is also expressed in
the article ”Towards a Newer Laocoön”
(1940), in which Greenberg follows up on
Gotthold Ephraim Lessing’s (1729 – 1781)
Laokoon oder Über die Grenzen der Malerei
und Poesie (1766) as he arrives at the posi-
Fig. 8
Fig. 9

tion that abstract painting now constitutes
a frame of reference for art just as the
Laocoön group used to determine
the boundaries for painting, sculpture, and
poetry. Greenberg’s position on the work’s
self-referentiality is downright ruinous for
the plaster casts’ status as works because
plaster figures do not pretend to be stone
or bronze. The “originals” used as models
for the casts are often in themselves Roman
copies after lost Greek originals. The plaster
casts are not modern, they point away from
the materials used in the original works, and
so they are even further removed from the
ideal than the Laocoön group itself.
On the other hand it could be claimed
that plaster copies point back to the
abstract qualities behind the sculpture as
they exist to show that the form in itself is
the main point of interest. However, that
particular attitude to plaster casts only
arrives when Post-Modernism softens
the hard ideals of Modernism; from the
1980s onwards we find a range of artists,
such as Bjørn Nørgaard, who once again
embrace plaster and can use it as a point
of departure for their work, and indeed it
during this period that the Cast Collection is
rescued from oblivion.
But it was at the time when Greenberg’s
thinking – and, with him, abstract art – had
reached its pinnacle as the leading art form
internationally; a time when what is
known today as the 1968 rebellion against
authority was underway, that the Royal
Cast Collection was given the kiss of death
and evicted from the National Gallery of
Denmark, officially due to a shortage of
space; more space was required for the
original works.
Today, the assumed superiority of the
original remains undiminished despite
Post-modern movements, and neither copies
nor figurative sculpture are of any great
significance. Major changes occurred within
the field of sculpture, whereas the plaster
casts were carted off to storage. In 1979
Rosalind Krauss, writing in her famous
essay Sculpture in the Expanded Field,
stated that ”over the last ten years rather
surprising things have come to be called
Sculpture: narrow corridors with TV monitors
at the ends; large photographs documenting
country hikes; mirrors placed at strange
angles in ordinary rooms…,” and that
Fig.10
sculpture is no longer a positive category,
but has become its own negation as a result
of ”the addition of the not-landscape to the
not-architecture.” 14
From the 1960s onwards the expanded
space in which sculpture must act left little
room for classical sculpture’s “performance”
of the virtues of antiquity, and even less
for what had come to be regarded as a
dishonest, kitschy version of the original –
i.e. plaster casts after the antiques. This
remains the fundamental approach today;
at the Collection you can see visitors enter
the place, take a look around and leave after
having assured themselves that the collection
holds only copies, no originals. What
used to be such a successful performance
– one that merited the acquisition of a
collection of casts – had reached its final
nadir; all the things that formerly formed the
foundations of its excellent ability to communicate
had become the very things that
now make its performance unsuccessful.
Modernity meant that a love for antiquity
became almost impossible; in many circles
it was unacceptable and inappropriate. A
figure such as the Apollo Belvedere, who
for 400 years had been regarded as an
obligatory reference point for artists, came
to be of no interest whatsoever within the
modern, and it became increasingly difficult
to persuade anyone to see the marvellous
qualities of Neo-Classicist art that engaged
antiquity, such as Thorvaldsen’s sculptures,
or of classicising buildings such as Vilhelm
Dahlerup’s Statens Museum for Kunst (i.e.
the National Gallery of Denmark), which
was to be rescued from its own mode of
expression and be revamped with a new
wing in a contemporary style.
Performance in the Postmodern Era
The Royal Cast Collection found its
current location in the 1980s, the age of
Postmodernism, and – very fittingly for
Postmodernism’s mixing of styles and
goodbye to the grand narratives about
history as a steady progression towards
ever greater freedom and happiness – its
new home was an old warehouse originally
built to store goods before they were sent
on to retailers. The re-establishing of the
collection coincided with Postmodernism’s
reassessment of the gap between high
and low culture that was so crucial to
Greenberg’s distinction between avant-garde
and kitsch. Such distinctions are eliminated
in the postmodern. Historic links and ties
are not so important anymore. An old house
and an old collection can match each
other perfectly, and the same house can
also house costumes for The Royal Danish
Theatre and a collection of newspapers
belonging to The Royal Danish Library.
The plaster casts themselves no longer
perform highbrow culture for anyone – at
this point that particular audience had
shrunk to consist of very few besides than
the small group of classical archaeologists
and scholars who arranged the display – and
so the plaster casts and their ancient forebears
were free to sink down into popular
culture and live quiet lives there; i.e. in a
realm where plaster casts appear in ordinary
homes; where references to antiquity are
liberally sprinkled around by the advertising
business, frequently on behalf of cosmetics
and clothes manufacturer; and where the
Wild painting movement of the 1980s
regarded all sources of inspiration as equal
while Postmodern architecture gorged itself
english version 114

on ancient and contemporary sources alike
with the same voracious appetite.
The grand narrative once related by the
plaster casts is no longer the main story;
that torch has been passed on to the small
story of a neglected collection that was
saved from oblivion and destruction at the
very last minute. But the meta-narrative, the
grand narrative about white, Western man’s
superiority and journey through world history
towards ever greater freedom, knowledge,
and control of their surroundings can no
longer be told, for the collection’s own story
contradicts that narrative.
Repetitions
How, then, is the collection’s story told
here and now, in our present time? Where
is the hook that the collection can sink into
our era to demonstrate its own relevance
and historical importance? If something
is living, vibrant, relevant, and important,
then it gets talked about; and what gets
talked about can be written about. But it is
easy to discern when a collection loses its
importance, for then the talk ends. It is not
”hot” on Facebook, and the area attracts few
visitors and little study.
Performativity theory is aware of the
power of the written word, of the fact that
messages can reach far and wide, but the
written word is far less reliable than the
spoken word carried forward in a particular
situation by a particular person. The written
word suffers from the drawback that it has
to struggle to achieve immediacy and a
sense of presence, and from the fact that
the writer’s intention behind the missive
can easily be misunderstood, and they
will not be at hand to rectify matters.
However, no form of communication can
wholly avoid misinterpretation. On the
other hand it would neither be language nor
communication if you did not imagine that
your ideas and opinions can be transferred
into language, communicated, and be
understood, even within a different context.
And so repeatability or iterability is a key
concept within performativity theory.
This can tell us something about the
unique traits of plaster casts, which are
deliberate repetitions of other works. They
work on the premises of language rather
than on the premises of the purely aesthetic
and visual. An original work cannot be
115 english version
repeated and asks to be received as an
aesthetic phenomenon; in Immanuel Kant’s
famous definition as something that evokes
”disinterested pleasure”, something whose
intention and meaning cannot be absolutely
defined and which has something unique in
its character.
By contrast, a plaster cast asks to be
received as a reproduction of an original as
if it had already been translated into another
language, as if it were only a cue for a reenactment
on a stage, a performance of an
already familiar sequence of events. It is, in
a manner of speaking, the story of Laocoön
that shouts out to be told when you stand
before the plaster cast, whereas before the
original you are supposed to experience
a sublime, stunning encounter with an
exceptional moment; perhaps a moment
that even robs you of speech. That moment
is not necessarily the moment of Laocoön’s
struggle, which is merely a story, but rather
the moment in which the beauty, eeriness,
and power of the work of art hits you. That
moment has long passed for the plaster cast,
but this only creates an even stronger need
to tell the story – orally and vibrantly – in
front of the dead plaster surface.
The plaster cast is the writing that settles
like palimpsest over the original presence
of, yes, the original. The plaster cast is a
repetition that remains entirely open to
interpretation or to a lack of interest in
the original. It is free, independent of the
original, and as such it can be worked with
in a completely different manner than the
untouchable original. The plaster casts’
pale white re-invocation of stories from the
dark recesses of history appear before us
like revenants. They are ghosts repeating
something that was once familiar and
immediately relevant, but which now seems
like voices from beyond the grave. The Royal
Cast Collection is an epitaph to antiquity
and a worldview out of keeping with our
current time, and the plaster casts are like
the living dead, frozen and captured at their
moment of death there in the warehouse.
Laocöon is simply one of the few figures
that are aware of their death struggle; most
of them never noticed the arrival of death
before they had grown cold and dry.
The positive aspect of being a product
of the logic of repetition and, thereby,
closely related to language is the fact that
everything that has gone wrong in relation to
the casts, all the historical issues that have
caused them to perform so unsuccessfully,
can be turned to the casts’ advantage. As
reproductions they are free of the aura of
ritual; they can be set free from ties to
traditions and inhibitions in many more ways
than is possible for any original. Their story
may be tragic, may be gripping, but it is
the story of the entire Western world from
the time the casts were originally moulded
to the present day. The plaster casts are
part of the present day to a much greater
extent than many originals can be. The
originals fight a much harder struggle to
set themselves free of their original context,
but what is the original context of the casts
other than the story of their unsuccessful
performance in the modern era? The plaster
casts are pure products of a changing
context, and they demonstrate more clearly
than original works that contexts are crucial,
yet cannot be retained or neutralised.
The potential of the Royal Cast Collection
now resides in its lack of anchorage in
relation to the past and to the Gallery, for
here things can happen in ways and with
perspectives that are not as obviously necessary
or interesting at the main museum,
where the originals reside. The originals
should ideally be able to manage on their
own, but plaster casts are nothing without
staging, communication, and intervention if
their histories are to be re-performed. One
thing might further destroy our relationship
with the plaster casts: A scenario where all
this takes place in the form of mechanised
repetition of antiquity’s narratives without
any discussion of the special features
and traits of the plaster casts, or without
consideration for their special fate as casts.
Plaster casts are repetitions, and repetitions
must always be reinterpreted in order to
throw off their mechanised or machine-like
qualities. Perhaps this could be done
precisely by pointing to their machine-like
nature, and to the fact that many of them
have been virtually mass-produced during
that period of history where industrialisation
and craftsmanship were engaged in a
constant struggle for dominion over matter
and culture within the Arts and Crafts movement,
known on Danish soil as ”Skønvirke”
(literally “beautiful work”) (1880s -1920s);
a time when the brewer Carl Jacobsen

Fig.11 Fig.12
funded the massive purchase of the plaster
casts featured in the collection.
The plaster casts were originally acquired
because it was believed that they could, in
accordance with established conventions,
repeat a particular desired performance;
however, eventually the mechanical qualities
of this performance and the lack of ability to
produce new meaning within a new historical
context became too glaring. The more that
the plaster casts fell back on solely telling
the story about a particular style-historical
narrative and about a specific technique,
i.e. that of plaster casting, the more their
performative power diminished. The living,
spoken word could find no place by their
side. The casts strangled back the words
before they could be spoken, and this is the
silence to which they are condemned today.
There is no spontaneous, direct, free and
unfettered dialogue with them. And those
are required for a successful performance.
Yet such free dialogue can indeed arise
after all. It arises when someone discovers
the collection, when someone is struck by
wonder and perhaps by enthusiasm. It does
happen. I myself feel it in this way: I am
sometimes struck by pangs of sadness when
I have to leave the collection. For then they
are once again left to silence. And when the
light is switched off their unique, ghost-like
qualities emerge from out of the darkness,
but then I am unable to say any more. At
that moment I am silent as if I were facing
a marvellous, sublime, and entirely original
work; the collection as a whole, with its
unique qualities arising out of repeating an
unsuccessful performance in the silence.
What does it take to make such a
collection spring to life? It should be viewed
in the dark, after all the other visitors have
left, all alone. That is not part of standard
museum practice. The collection can also
be revitalised on more commonplace terms
during standard opening hours and through
communication. In order to more closely
investigate its potential within a contemporary
perspective we must enter one of the
main areas of performativity theory; the area
where mechanical repetition, conventions, and
language meet gender, body, and becoming.
The collection can come to play a
“political” role much like the part it once
played for general educational purposes; this
is not the same as a well-defined political
role associated with particular party politics.
In a performativity context the political is
defined as a form of becoming, a movement;
not a party-political adherence to particular
convictions. When someone or something is
given a space where it is possible to lead a
tolerable life, and where such an opportunity
was not previously available, this constitutes
a political event. 15 At present the collection
is balanced on a knife’s edge between
having and not having a tolerable existence,
english version 116

Fig.13 Fig.14
and perhaps it can reclaim the right to speak
with authority, perhaps not. The possibility
of doing so is not simply a question of
money, but also a question of what story we
wish to tell about our civilisation. What is
more, the Cast Collection can in itself direct
its performance at a particular context, i.e.
at the ways in which our gender identities
are formed. Perhaps this could be the point
of departure from where the collection can
take on new relevance and spontaneous
speech emerge?
Performing the Collection and Gender
”Gender ought not to be construed as a
stable identity or locus of agency from
which various acts follow; rather, gender is
an identity tenuously constituted in time,
instituted in an exterior space through a
stylized repetition of acts. The effect of
gender is produced through the stylization of
the body and, hence, must be understood as
117 english version
the mundane way in which bodily gestures,
movements, and styles of various kinds
constitute the illusion of being an abiding
gendered self.” (Judith Butler) 16
One of the leading figures within
performativity theory, Judith Butler, has
offered an in-depth and groundbreaking
discussion of how identity is formed from a
gender-performative perspective, so we will
begin our investigation here. Butler says that
gender should not be construed as a stable
identity. The illusion of gender as something
unchanging and immutable is constructed,
created, and changed over time, and the
framework for our understanding and
assessment of gender is institutionalised
through ”a stylised repetition of acts.”
Let us consider this statement in smaller
increments and within the context of the
Royal Cast Collection’s performative potential
in the past and present. It consists of
depictions of naked bodies acting in accord-
ance with some quite simple conventions on
e.g. masculine strength, wisdom, bravery,
and honesty, and it addresses feminine
beauty and responsibility according to every
rule in the book, sporting numerous Venuses
and Athenas. The collection points directly
and unashamedly to the body at all times. It
is from there and to there that the formation
of identity should be viewed and practised.
The male and the female is defined
directly and without further ado all the way
through the collection, where the sheer
weight of numbers alone has an impact
on the spectator. So many physically fit,
confident men; so many women displaying
their loveliness, vainly struggling to hide
their splendour with their hands in defence
against the many gazes. The stereotypes
become obvious, jarring. And yet it must
be precisely those conventional gender roles
performed to such great effect that somehow
served as the reason why the collection

was originally established. No other kind
of collection can muster such a massive
performance of a stylised repetition of an
act. Butler states that the effect of gender is
produced through a “stylisation of the body”,
and so physical gestures, movements, poses,
and stylistic variations of varying kinds
help form and retain the illusion of a stable,
uniform – abiding – gendered self.
The collection was, then, allegedly established
because it could act out gendered
selves who lived up to accepted conventions
about the feminine and masculine in
thought, deed, and every other way. The
collection created the notion of gender.
The two sexes saw themselves clearly as
two separate, unmistakably defined genders
and acted as Venuses and Adonises within
a heterosexual order. The collection acted
in the same direct and banal way as when
you pick blue for boys and pink for girls. A
massive repetition of such differentiations
will eventually form a significant part of the
individual’s gendered identity. The Royal Cast
Collection could help anchor the institutionalisation
of gendered identity in an era where
advertising, the media, and social mores in
general had not entirely secured the roles.
Yet as one walks through the Collection,
all the exceptions from the rules gradually
become as striking as the conventions are
massively, insistently present. Antiquity
and the collection both allow considerable
scope for somewhat unclear messages
regarding gender identity. Apollo does not
perform an absolutely clear, unambiguously
heterosexual male ideal. Even the Apollo
Belvedere possesses a certain ambiguity, a
possibly homoerotic posture, a somewhat
feminine hairstyle, and in the guise of Apollo
Musagetes in feminine draperies, holding a
lyre and sporting very ostentatious long curly
hair, he looks more like a drag queen than
like an ordinary male person with an interest
in music. [Fig. 11, 12, 13]
Then there are all the very young boys
who demonstrate antiquity’s tendency
towards intimate relationships between
adult and very young men, and one sees
fully grown men playing with a child on their
arm. So when Butler states that ”gender
ought not to be construed as a stable
identity …” the plaster casts can offer
scope for very liquid identities. What, then,
was the objective behind the collection
back when it was created? To open up the
floodgates for a chaos of unstable gender
performances? Would this, then, not mean
that the collection could potentially be
very much involved in the current debate
on gender identity and rights? Some of the
women even wear something akin to scarves
over their heads. Whatever the case may be,
it turns out – as Butler states, that ”To the
extend that gender is an assignment, it is an
assignment which is never quite carried out
according to expectation […]”. 17 Not even
in a collection of casts. Here, the issue of
repetition re-enters the stage as a necessity
and as a form of coercion. Precisely because
the ideal cannot quite be attained, it is
ceaselessly necessary to make the attempt
at doing so.
In a nation like Denmark, which had no
direct links to antiquity, making plaster casts
after the antiques was simply a necessity.
The openness towards different identities –
whether national or gender-specific – evident
in the collection may simply be necessary in
order to allow the normal to show itself as
strong and desirable? Or might the massive
dominance of repeated attempts at firmly
assigning identity cause a backlash so that
it reveals itself as contrived, as nothing
more than a plaster repetition? Conventions
only become laws by struggling to do so;
they must forever be re-performed. It is
possible to stage a “political” intervention
against this forced repetition, thereby
providing scope and space for a varying and
debatable identity – whether national or
gender-specific. A collection of this kind can
provide a space for such vibrant, ongoing
discussions if it is allowed the means and
conditions to do so.
Conclusion: Performance in the Royal
Cast Collection
If a collection like the Royal Cast Collection
is to have a future at all, it might consist in
foregrounding the points and the historical
narrative that performativity studies bring to
light. The collection must act out its history
and its failed performance, inserting it
directly into a “political” space where classic
disciplines in the widest possible sense are
presented; where history, art, philosophy,
and politics meet, are re-performed and
renegotiated. Performance art as a genre
could be allocated a space where persons or
groups working within this field could unfold
their art in relation to the collection or other
contexts. Then the fact that the building houses
costumes for The Royal Danish Theatre could
take on new significance, even after these
costumes are sent elsewhere for storage so
that the Cast Collection can be modernised,
fireproofed, and ultimately made a worthy
satellite for the Royal Gallery of Denmark.
One might, for example, envisage an
artist such as Yoko Ono performing her ”Cut
Piece” at the Collection. YouTube url ”Cut
Piece” sees Ono sitting on a stage wearing
black clothes, inviting the audience to cut
postcard-sized pieces out of her clothes
while they imagine themselves sending
the piece of fabric as a greeting to their
loved one – a somewhat ambivalent act
of love that would ultimately leave the
performer unclothed as dictated by the
cutters’ courage and desire. Yet if this piece
were performed at the Royal Cast Collection,
a figure such as the Seated Nymph would
take on new and different significance; it
would become a ”Cut Piece” of a woman
who has been partially robbed of her clothes
as dictated by the desire of others. In this
context a figure from antiquity can suddenly
take part in a current discussion on sexual
politics. [Fig. 14 and 15]
Yoko Ono’s performance would have
a perhaps startling and non-intentional
historical dimension if it turned out that
her work can also be related to antiquity’s
tradition for partially disrobed female figures.
What is more, the performance would, if
conducted at the Royal Cast Collection, take
place in front of nothing but copies, so any
offense taken on behalf of tradition should
be negligible insofar as the figures are
not bound to the rituals that surround the
rituals; the copies can at any time become
the objects of new rituals.
The future of cast collections such as
this might reside in acting in relation to its
story, in presenting its failure as a source of
potential and in pointing to how the figures
act in a space; that they are not simply there
to be enjoyed, but also shape and form an
experience of body and identity, nationally,
internationally, politically, and privately.
Perhaps then audiences would once more let
themselves be gripped and shaped, letting
even plaster cast act as if it were a new and
relevant art form?
english version 118

1 Jacques Derrida: Without Alibi, Stanford University
Press, 2002, p. 74 in James Loxley: Performativity,
routledge, London and New York, 2007, p. 92.
2 the first thorough introduction in Danish to the
concept viewed in relation to art history is Camilla
Jalving’s: Værk som handling, Museum tusculanum
Press, 2011.
3 In 1954 Monroe Beardsley and J.K. Wimsatt
published a series of essays that included the
article ”the Intentional Fallacy”. In so doing they
established a new paradigm for analyses of artworks
known as ”New Criticism”, where the object of
analysis the formal structure of the artworks, not
the artist’s intentions. Even though New Criticism
became widespread, it did not eliminate the
tendency towards looking to the artist’s intentions
when interpreting art, so in 1968 roland Barthes
could once again point to the problem of intentional
fallacy in his essay Death of the Author (La mort
de l’auteur), which puts the performative aspect
of experiencing a work of art in a central position.
the tendency towards wanting to explain art on
the basis of the artist’s life is, however, still alive.
Indeed, the subject is one of the areas where the
line dividing traditional and new art history is most
clearly discerned, separating those who still focus
on the artist’s life rather than on the artwork’s
impact on the spectator, society, etc.
4 Susan Sontag: Regarding the Pain of Others, FSG, New
York 2003, p. 91.
5 Walter Benjamin: The Work of Art in the Age of
Mechanical Reproduction: http://www.marxists.org/
reference/subject/philosophy/works/ge/benjamin.htm
Walter Benjamin: Das Kunstwerk im Zeitalter seiner
technischen Reproduzierbarkeit, Suhrkamp Verlag
Frankfurt am Main, 2007: ”Die Masse ist eine matrix,
aus der gegenwärtig alles gewohnte Verhalten
Kunstwerken gegenüber neugeboren hervorgeht.“ p. 45.
6 ibid. p. 137.
Ibid:http://www.marxists.org/reference/subject/
philosophy/works/ge/benjamin.htm
Benjamin, ibid.: “… die technische reproduzierbarkeit
des Kunstwerks emanzipiert dieses zum ersten Mal
der Weltgeschichte von seinem parasitären Dasein
am ritual.“ p. 19.
7 after James Loxley’s work on austin in Performativity,
routledge, London and New York, 2007, p. 10.
8 Ibid., where austin speaks of ”misfire”.
9 For an overview of how Latin diminished in
importance as a subject within the Danish education
system, please see http://www.viborgkatedralskole.
dk/?pageID=592
10 Question no. S 2436. to the Minister for Education
(14/3 03) from: Louise Frevert (DF):
»Can the minister confirm or deny that the
gymnasium (upper secondary education) reform will
abolish the subjects oldtidskundskab (Classics) and/
or religion as autonomous subjects in order to introduce
a watered-down variant of “Cultural Studies”,
and could the Minister in this context please explain
how this ties in with a Conservative view of society
and with the defence of our country’s fundamental
values that the Prime Minister spoke of in his New
Year’s address?«
119 english version
Basis for the question: the subjects Classics and
religion address the wellsprings of the entire
Western cultural community, and as such they
should be incorporated as independent subjects in
their own right within any donservative educational
policy.
this supplicant believes that any talk of abolishing
or combining these subjectw simply expresses a
typical Generation 68-attitude that accepts no
responsibility for the foundations of our own culture.
It would, then, seem absurd if these fundamental
pillars of education were abolished by a conservative
government.
reply (20/3 03) the Minister for Education
(Ulla tørnæs):
»I have not yet taken any decision on the range of
subjects to be taught at Gymnasium schools after
the reform. I cannot, then, elaborate on whether
the subjects religion and Classics will continue
unchanged in the new Gymnasium, or whether
their status will change. I can add that in their
discussion paper on a reform of the Gymnasium
school, the association of Gymnasium Headmeasters
proposes the introduction of a new subject called
Cultural Studies«.
11 Marianne Pade, interview: ”Greek and Latin are not
exactly languages that enjoy political favour. Even
so, Marianne Pade is cautiously optimistic on behalf
of the classical studies she will now spearhead as
newly appointed professor at aarhus University.
“antiquity has not fared very well in Denmark after
the Gymnasium reform cut back on classical studies.
But thanks to our fantastic colleagues out at the
schools we have succeeded in having Latin and even
Greek reintroduced at many schools, meaning that
today many more students read the two subjects
than was the case three years ago. and even though
they only have few hours in which to advertise
their subjects, the teachers nevertheless capture
their students’ interest, partly because greater
emphasis is placed on antiquity’s impact on history,”
says Marianne Pade to explain her optimism, which
she finds corroborated when looking towards e.g.
Denmark’s neighbour south of the border. In Campus,
aarhus University, 09.11.2009.
12 Filippo tommaso Marinetti: The Futurist Manifeso,
English translation at: http://www.italianfuturism.
org/manifestos/foundingmanifesto/
13 Clement Greenberg: Avant-Garde and Kitch: http://
www.sharecom.ca/greenberg/kitsch.html
14 rosalind Krauss: Sculpture in the Expanded Field,
October Vol. 8, 1979, http://www.situations.org.
uk/_uploaded_pdfs/Krauss.pdf
“Over the last ten years rather surprising things
have come to be called Sculpture: narrow corridors
with tV monitors at the ends; large photographs
documenting country hikes; mirrors placed at
strange angles in ordinary rooms; temporary lines
cut into the floor of the desert [… ] Sculpture, it
could be said, had ceased being a positivity, and was
now the category that resulted from the addition of
the not-landscape to the not-architecture.”
15 after Judith Butler: Undoing Gender, routledge,
London and New York, 2004, 224, in Performativity,
p. 112: “What moves me politically, and that for
which a subject – a person, a collective – asserts
a right or entitlement to a liveable life when no
such authorization exists, when no clearly enabling
convention is in place.”
16 Judith Butler: Gender Trouble, Feminism and the
Subversion of Identity, routledge, London and New
York, 1999, p. 179, in Performativity, 119: “Gender
ought not to be construed as a stable identity or
locus of agency from which various acts follow;
rather, gender is an identity tenuously constituted
in time, instituted in an exterior space through a
stylized repetition of acts. the effect of gender is
produced through the stylization of the body and,
hence, must be understood as the mundane way
in which bodily gestures, movements, and styles
of various kinds constitute the illusion of being an
abiding gendered self.”
17 Judith Butler: Bodies that Matter, On the Discursive
Limits of Sex, routledge, London and New York, 1993,
p. 231, in Performativity, p. 124: “to the extend that
gender is an assignment, it is an assignment which
is never quite carried out according to expectation
[…].”

Fig.1
english version 120

Individual and Type?
L.A. Ring’s Harvest and The Sower
m i r i a m hav e wat t s
Laurits Andersen Ring’s (1854-1933)
paintings Harvest from 1885 [fig.1] and
The Sower from 1910 [fig.2] will serve as
the point of departure for the following
examination of a small, focused selection of
Ring’s production. In the text I shall home
in on the two works’ distinctive description
of fundamental issues regarding the human
being as body and as consciousness in
the world. 1
The paintings enter into a long tradition
of depicting workers in the field; in
iconographical terms they reach further back
than the narrative of the expulsion from the
Garden of Eden: ”in pain you shall eat of
it all the days of your life... By the sweat of
your face / you shall eat bread”. 2 Through a
close reading of motif and composition I will
address Ring’s rendition of a familiar genre
and figure which, in this particular case, also
evades or rejects the traditional, the given,
and the approachable. Directing one’s gaze
towards the paintings’ ambiguities regarding
the familiar and the unfamiliar opens up
new opportunities for gaining insight into
how our common cultural origins manifest
themselves and into how and to what extent
Ring expands and reaches beyond this
background.
An ”Existential Realism”
Ring’s life began in provincial Denmark,
where the culture rested primarily on an
oral tradition. Life in that environment did
not have a true autonomous visual language,
and today critics generally regard the genre
paintings of rural life from the mid-19 th
century as examples of middle-class
sentiments projected onto rustic settings. 3
To Ring and the later artists who favoured
realism, such genre paintings primarily
acted as a frame of reference for their own
identification and treatment of their chosen
subject matter: Ring’s paintings should be
understood as having been shaped out of his
own life, experiences, and personal view of
the world.
121 english version
On the basis of this observation my
investigations into Ring’s realism do not
rest on an expectation of encountering or
uncovering a deliberate, stringent objectivity
in the works. Rather, my purpose is to
explore and pinpoint an ideal about truthful
and honest renditions of reality on the basis
of a more existentialist understanding of the
concept of authenticity. 4 As is well known,
Realism not only denotes a period within art
history; the term is also linked to philosophical
issues concerning the relationship with
reality.
A fidelity towards the perception of reality,
coupled with the famous maxim Il faut
être de son temps (One must be of one’s
time, ed.), can be broadly regarded as the
distinguishing features that set Realist painting
apart from the leanings of other –isms,
even though similar characteristics are also
fundamental to Naturalism. The overlaps
between Realism and Naturalism and the
frequently seen usage of the terms as
almost synonymous can be briefly explained
by pointing to the common basis of these
designations in objective precision, although
this manifests itself in different modes of
expression; Naturalism traditionally points
towards Impressionism, whereas the world
view of Realism can encompass a form of
expressionism. The latter is an important
point in my study of Ring’s strongly marked
figures and is in line with my reservations
about applying a true objectivity concept to
his works: I understand “expressive” in the
literal sense of the word, i.e. “full of expression”,
where Ring’s depiction of figures and
settings evinces something forceful as well
as a peculiar sensibility – or a Symbolist
inclination.
Fundamental conditions
As a primordial image of humanity inscribed
within the passing of the seasons, the
depiction of the agricultural labourer
transcends the cultural specifics of changing
times and habits; it belongs to a more
general, universally human narrative that
can be traced back to the first visual
vestiges of prehistory and up to the present
day. Over the course of time the agricultural
worker appears in e.g. fables and Biblical
tales about industrious peasants who fill
out their allotted place in a reality that
reaches beyond them and beyond the mere
labour of securing the basic necessities
of life. 5 For example, the motif of the
agricultural labourer traditionally conveys an
ideal conception of man living and acting in
well-balanced, cyclical patterns. Regardless
of whether the frame of reference is
mythological, religious, or mundane, and
of whether the communication is textual or
visually based, the connection between the
individual and a wider context is typically
illustrated by having personal features and
traits subordinated to an all-encompassing,
absolute whole.
In 1885 Ring painted Harvest, encapsulating
all the labours of harvest time in a
single, striking figure. Working on the basis
of pencil studies he reworked the image
of a real-life agricultural labourer – his
elder brother Ole Peter Ring – concealing
his personal features in the inarticulate
rendition of the half-turned face. 6 The head
is small, the mouth is half open, and the eye
is not clearly visible underneath the brim of
the hat. The figure composition is arranged
in a triangle formed by the large, frontally
positioned body and its stolid scythe-work.
The sense of rhythmic, engrossing labour
helps fuse the otherwise relief-like figure
with the quality of flatness seen in the field.
The background defines as well as opens up
the space towards the horizon so that the
surroundings seem to grow up above the
reaper, bind him to the soil, and indicate
the cycle of the seasons via the traditional
symbolism of harvest work as an ever recurring,
natural activity. Ring has condensed
the motif, transposing his brother from being
an individual to become the reaper as a
general type.

With The Sower from 1910, painted 25 years
later, the artist depicts the activity which
of necessity precedes harvest, and the
repeated scattering of grains refers to the
way such toil has dictated human movement
ever since mankind first began cultivating
the land. From an immediate, personal
perspective the act of sowing ensures that
there will be a crop, and in a much wider
perspective – one that reaches beyond
concerns for the survival of individuals and
families – it also speaks of a fundamental
balance being upheld.
As a counterpart to the reaper’s averted
face and absorbed labour, the figure in The
Sower communicates a similar taciturn feel
that helps underline the repetitious nature
of his labour. The high horizon anchors the
sower to the field and defines the space
around him; a space where a gloomy sky,
laden with rain, casts a distinctive light that
accentuates a range of yellow areas: the
seeds scattered glow golden-hued against
the field and the coarse fabric of his sack of
grain. The reaper and the sower both have
an awkward physiognomy; the reaper’s arms
are strangely overgrown and attached in a
peculiar way to his upper body, which in turn
is too large and wide for the small head. The
sower’s arms, by contrast, are foreshortened
and look ungainly on the narrow, sloping
shoulders drawn up against the small head.
His upper body seems square behind the
sack of grain and underneath the large, worn
jacket. His stiff legs in their clumsy clogs
are oversized. His facial features are clearly
hewn and full of character; a contrast to
the reaper’s less visible and undefined face.
Whereas the latter has one arm crossing the
frontally positioned body, thereby creating
a barrier between him and the spectator,
the figure of the sower is depicted in the
act of taking a step, creating a more open
movement directed out of the painting. His
entire body is free of the field, unlike that
of the harvestman; with his legs together
his pose seems rigid and fixed behind the
scythe and the detailed studies of ears of
corn in the foreground.
Thus the frontal pose and spectatororiented
appearance of the sower supplements
the earlier figure’s closed and more
self-sufficient form. 7 In contrast to the
absorbed and introvert feel of Harvest, the
totality created in The Sower evokes a
Fig.2
tension in the relationship between figure
and surroundings. Whereas the narration of
Harvest emerges out of the rapt focus on the
work being done, the more confrontational
qualities of The Sower can pave the way for
a different narrative about the conditions of
life it depicts – and for a different awareness
of such conditions.
In Front and Behind?
Harvest does, however, hold far more within
itself than a single story arising from a
standard presentation of such toil elevated
to a grander and more noble (yet no less
wearisome) act: the reaper’s peculiar, yet
physically powerful body resists being
unambiguously inscribed into the routine of
work, for the strain is insistently conveyed
in his movement, which also seems
inhibited by his coarse and awkward figure.
A divide between man and his surroundings
materialises out of this strained forcefulness
he puts into his work, and it is borne out by
the above-mentioned relationship between
the figure and the plane-like background.
Critics have often explained the stylisation
english version 122

and flatness in several of Ring’s works – and
indeed the obvious Symbolist traits in
certain paintings – on the basic of the fact
that he would typically paint the setting
first and then insert one or more figures
in prepared places. 8 The resultant “gap”
between figure and setting is frequently
read as a consequence of his lack of ability
as regards motivic integration, or of his
use of photography as source material. 9
In such criticism, deliberations on form
dominate the readings of how the figures are
arranged in relation to pictorial space; only
rarely does it aim for a true investigation
of the potential of this relationship to
create meaning. Having said that, Thomas
Lederballe’s At Last, The Primacy of Drawing
does touch upon interpretation with a
precise characterisation of Ring’s difficulties
with the formal requirements of academic
figure drawing; Lederballe describes how
the artist’s struggles gave rise to ”illogically
heavily outlined shapes and shadows in the
background which almost seem to suspend
the motivic hierarchy between front and
back. The outlines and shading used for
the figures make them seem flat, and one
notes how Ring’s depiction emphasises
the figure’s plump appearance and coarse
physiognomies[sic], almost as if the artist
was distancing himself from academic figure
drawing [..].” 10
As far as Ring’s treatment of figures is
concerned, we can also point to the often
quoted passage in which the artist himself
describes how he ”photographed numerous
things, that is to say people”. 11 This is a
central statement if it is not passed over
as a casual utterance, but rather read as
a kind of ”declaration” from which we can
infer something about the artist’s view of
people and the world. In my interpretation
of Ring’s depiction of the figure/background
relationship the statement can – with some
caution – prompt ponderings on the artist’s
deliberate accentuation of what is in front
and what is at the back – what comes first,
what takes precedence?
In search of the sympathetic
When identifying the choices Ring made
regarding the rendition of his seemingly
traditional harvest scene, a comparison
to the thematically and motivically similar
Harvest Scene from 1910 [fig.3] by the
123 english version
Funen painter Peter Hansen (1868-1928)
may prove illustrative. 12
Like Ring, Peter Hansen lets the high
horizon signal the rural labourers’ community
with nature, but by way of his
repetition of pictorial elements within the
softly undulating movement of the composition
he also presents such work as a calm,
harmonious pursuit founded in a shared
life and sense of community. Mankind and
nature mutually emphasise each other by
means of a range of compositional devices
that accentuate the overall rhythm of the
harvest work, which sees the farm-girls and
men collecting the sheaves after the reaper.
The earthbound qualities of the common folk
constitute a thematic that was also hailed by
the writer Johannes V. Jensen (1873-1950)
Fig.3
as the hallmark of the provincial Funen
Painters in contrast to the degeneration of
the cultural life of Copenhagen; a position
he took a few years previously in connection
with the so-called peasant-painter rivalry. 13
In Ring’s scene there are no helpers at
hand to assist the reaper tie up the sheaves.
And whereas the figure in the foreground of
Peter Hansen’s painting has been depicted
while drawing back the scythe to make the
sweeping cut, which requires balance rather
than strength, Ring’s reaper is shown
holding the heavy scythe at exactly the point
where the greatest strength is required for
the blade to cut the stalks. The two paintings
share a sense of vitality arising from the
foundation of rural life in nature, but while
Peter Hansen’s depiction evokes the festivity
associated with harvest time, Ring’s scene
eclipses such celebration with the sense of
effort and strain evident in the reaper’s body.
Similarly, Hansen’s depiction of communal
work is transposed to a representation of
lonely toil and isolation in Ring.
A forced vitality carries Harvest from
1885 when compared to Peter Hansen’s
rather more pure-bred Vitalism from after
the turn of the century: Ring promulgates
and subverts the traditional harvest scene’s
rendition of man harmoniously inscribed
within the rhythm of nature. Indeed, a critic
Fig.4

Fig.5
from the newspaper Morgenbladet, a paper
associated with the liberal party much
favoured by farmers, expressed his regret
and disappointment as regards Ring’s mode
of depiction: ”There are sympathetic figures
aplenty to be found amongst the ranks of
peasants and rural labourers, so why choose
such a dim, sluggish-looking fellow who is in
no way conducive to sympathy?” 14
All sympathetic features and vitality have
long drained away from Jean-François
Millet’s (1814-75) Man with a Hoe from ca.
1863 [fig.4]; a painting that inscribes itself
within the French Realist painter’s primary
circle of motifs in the 1850s and 1860s. As
a precursor of Ring’s reaper, Millet shows
how the physical activity – the work to be
done – almost blanks out individual identity,
and in the words of Michael Fried the
painting illustrates a downright brutalisation
of man caused by repeated, immense
physical hardship. 15
The man with the hoe is depicted in an
ungenerous manner, his face and hands dark
and coarsened, his mouth half-open and his
eyes staring blindly out of their dark sockets.
The body is gangly and bony underneath
the tattered clothes and seems to grow out
of the large, heavy wooden clogs. Like the
clogs, the hoe links the man with the lumpy
soil; the tool completes the figure and offers
him a solid point of support that stabilises
his body while also keeping him shackled to
his work. The sense of individuality seems to
have been worn down so thinly that only the
man’s human frame and physical activity are
left as markers of identity, and in this empty
and desolate landscape one is reminded of
the words of the Biblical tale of expulsion:
”Thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you”.
A Notion of Immutability
Inscribing human existence within a wider
context – for better or worse – creates
parallels to phenomenological thinking,
where analysis is fundamentally based
on experience and the conditions
governing awareness and insight. In Martin
Heidegger’s (1889-1976) The Origin of
the Work of Art his description of a pair of
peasant shoes in Vincent van Gogh’s (1853-
1890) painting from 1886 [fig.5] 16 is rooted
in the peasant woman who is assumed to
have worn the shoes:
”From the dark opening of the worn
insides of the shoes the toilsome tread
of the worker stares forth. In the stiffly
rugged heaviness of the shoes there is the
accumulated tenacity of her slow trudge
through the far-spreading and ever-uniform
furrows of the field swept by a raw wind. On
the leather lie the moistness and richness of
the soil. Under the soles slides the loneliness
of the field-path as evening falls. In the shoes
vibrates the silent call of the earth, its quiet
gift of the ripening corn and its unexplained
refusal to produce anything in the fallow
desolation of the wintry field. This article
of clothing is pervaded by uncomplaining
anxiety as to the certainty of bread, the
wordless joy of having once more withstood
want, the trembling before the impending
childbed and quaking at the all-pervading
menace of death. These shoes belong to the
earth, and they are preserved in the world
of the peasant woman. From out of this
preserved belonging the shoes themselves
rise to their ‘resting-within-itself’.” 17
The text speaks of the toil of existence
and of its dependence on nature on the
basis of Heidegger’s phenomenologically
perceived connection between man and
world. Mankind exists within a totality where
shoe leather and the desolate fallow fields of
winter, uncomplaining anxiety and trembling
can all be traced back to fundamental
connections – of which the ultimate and
greatest totality is the world.
The interpretation of the peasant’s
shoes accentuates the general opposition
of phenomenology to metaphysical
essentialism and preference for retaining its
focus on existentiality. A similar interest in
uncovering the appearance of what is and in
understanding the singular vitality of a given
object can be identified in a related way to
be a central endeavour in the painting of
van Gogh, although this does not imply that
he should be placed in the same bracket
as Heidegger. Van Gogh’s depictions of
field work point to the simple, yet universal
observation that regardless of whether you
lay down the groundwork or reap the fruits of
your labour, the physical labour required is
equally hard and wearisome. Several of his
series of paintings present a single-stringed
narrative that accentuates the unchanging
conditions of life, quite in keeping with
his role model Millet – just as the reaper’s
absorption in Ring can be immediately
related to the description of a fundamental,
simple lifestyle. The objective of visualising
the factual in painting and the sense of the
actual labour with its recurring, repetitive
nature also link Ring’s endeavours to those
of van Gogh, of which the latter’s also gave
rise to several harvest scenes, of which
english version 124

many were repetitions after Millet.
Ring’s choice of motif and stylistic approach
in Harvest convey a materiality, partly
in the detailed studies in the foreground and
partly in the harvest work encapsulated in
the single, characteristic figure. The flatness
of the figure and background do not weaken
this tactility, but instead give access to
layers of meaning that carry Harvest beyond
straightforward realism and beyond being
a depiction that is solely motivated by e.g.
political convictions or specific religious
views on the world.
Determinism Held at a Distance
A Romantic-pastoral gaze – among many
other aspects not discussed here – is
inherent in Heidegger’s text about existence
incorporated into a greater whole, a gaze
that denotes rural life as a simple, balanced,
and self-fulfilling form of being where the
barrenness of the soil is balanced out by the
bounty of harvest time. Anxiety is described
as uncomplaining, and it is resolved by a joy
that is wordless. A corresponding taciturnity
can also be found in Ring’s reaper, who
appears to be fully absorbed and seemingly
at home in his work.
For Millet, conveying a sense of the
relationship between man and his surroundings
was a deliberate strategy, and his
endeavours with motifs such as Man with a
Hoe aimed at a deterministic depiction of
his figures. In a letter from 1862 he made
an account of his efforts in which he stated
that he not only aimed at creating cohesive
compositions governed by a sense of
inherent necessity; he also strove to depict
figures whose appearance was consistent
with their position in life: it should be
impossible for the spectator to imagine that
the staffage could be anything other than
what you see in the painting. 18
Yet, as I have emphasised in the above,
Ring’s reaper’s awkward body and laboured
movement do not unambiguously inscribe
him within such a context. Rather, it reveals
a disparity between the labourer and his
surroundings. Ring’s depiction of harvest
is at a remove from the peasant woman’s
“preserved belonging” and from Heidegger’s
academic and calculated rhetoric, whose
evocative juxtaposing maintains a lyrical distance
to its subject matter. The depiction of
a fundamental phenomenological cohesion
125 english version
is contradicted by the inner tension of Ring’s
composition and figure drawing. Harvest
inscribes itself within the tradition and also
challenges the notion of an unreflective,
natural rural lifestyle that is borne with quiet
determination and whose joys and sorrows
follow each other in an eternal cycle.
Likewise, Ring distances his sower
from his setting, withholding a traditional
union of man and world. The sower’s
physical appearance is reminiscent of Jules
Bastien-Lepage’s (1848-84) figure from the
correspondingly monumental painting The
Beggar from 1880 [fig.6], from which Ring
in all likelihood drew inspiration: like the
beggar, the sower has been depicted with
convincing spatiality around the face and
hands, while the less differentiated, dark
clothes covering the coarse body have a twodimensional
quality that corresponds to the
plane-oriented structure of the background. 19
An earlier parallel to Ring’s figure and
two-dimensionality of depiction can be
found in Gustave Courbet’s (1819-77)
The Stone Breakers from 1849 [fig.7], which
Ring may have known from reproductions. 20
While Ring’s sower is characterised with
more singularity than the beggar, his depiction
is less direct and radical than Courbet’s
Stone Breakers: Courbet purged the work of
classical references and religious analogies;
only the actual toil remains. Ring’s sower
figure, too, is stiff and angular in keeping
with his work and surroundings, yet is also
borne up by a certain powerfulness and by
the vitality associated with the act of sowing
itself. Courbet, however, elected to show
the most degrading form of labour of all; in
a Danish context such work is most familiar
in a rather more pathos-swollen formulation
in Jeppe Aakjær’s (1866-1930) textual
pendant from 1905 about the itinerant
worker Jens Vejmand,”der af sin sure Nød
/ med Ham’ren maa forvandle / de haarde
Sten til Brød” (“who out of bitter need / his
hammer wields to turn all / the heavy rocks
to bread.”) 21
Fig.6

Courbet’s stone breakers stand in relief
against the closed plane of the background,
which rises up like an almost claustrophobic
wall and keeps them bound to the routine
of their work. A friend of the artist, the
socialist Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (1809-65),
described the old man in the following
terms: ”His stiff arms rise and fall with
the regularity of a lever. Here indeed is the
mechanical or mechanized man, in the
state of ruin to which our splendid civilization
and our incomparable industry have
reduced him.” 22
In the course of a few years, such
fundamental consequences of the ongoing
technological development gave rise to new
industrial areas and to a shift in demographics;
for example, industrial mass production
transformed an entirely new class – the
factory workers – into a single, anonymous
mass. T. J. Clark, politically aware of and
interested in these conditions, observes
in his Image of the People how the stone
breakers’ clothing confirms their physical
presence, but does not articulate their
spatiality or movement. 23
Ring’s reaper and sower share the
same physical appearance as the stone
breakers, and the backgrounds the same
set-like qualities, but the frontal position
and characteristic appearance of Ring’s
figures do, however, seem to convey a more
pointedly nuanced picture of the nature
of work. These layers of meaning lie just
underneath the surface of Ring’s paintings;
they keep several different dimensions of
interpretation open as counterweights to
the impulse towards reducing the figures to
mere unthinking labour.
The significance of Habit and a
Potential Change in Existence
As my reading of the body and its actions
serves as the fundamental premise for my
exploration of labour in Harvest and The
Sower, it is relevant to briefly point to the
fact that Heidegger’s philosophical system
strangely omits to treat concrete physicality
– despite the fact that his terminology
presupposes a bodily subject. Instead a
phenomenological treatment of the body
can be sought in Maurice Merleau-Ponty
(1908-61), who is far more specific on the
subject of physical anchoring in the world. 24
Fig.7
In connection with his account of pathological
cases in Phenomenology of Perception
from 1945, Merleau-Ponty addresses the
significance of habits, using the example
of a blind man becoming accustomed to
using a cane. Here, habit ensures that the
cane is transferred to the blind person’s
sensory apparatus and as such is no
longer perceived as an object, for its tip
has expanded the scope and reach of the
sense of touch, analogous to the sense of
sight. Having become familiar with a cane
or any other object such as a hat or a chair,
man inhabits the object and lets it become
part of his body. Rooted within a far more
complex system of thought, such relationships
can be briefly summed up in the
following statement: “Habit expresses our
power of expanding our being-in-the-world,
or changing our existence by appropriating
fresh instruments.” 25
To Merleau-Ponty the body takes primacy
and can, as and when needed, produce
objects that expand its scope of action and
the possibility of generating meaning. The
object or tool is incorporated via habit,
which is a mode belonging to the body’s
fundament and independent existence. The
body is not, then, a thing among things; it
determines the subject’s perspective on the
world, which means that it stands outside
the objects to which its perspective applies.
The subject can move way from other spatial
and material objects, but the body is always
present.
Just as the blind person senses via a
cane, the reaper’s work with the scythe can
be regarded as an expression of the tool’s
incorporation into his body as he, as subject,
directs himself towards the world via the
body: the harvesting has become a special
modulation of his motor coordination. The
movement describes a knowledge inherent
in the reaper’s hands, manifesting itself, in
Merleau-Ponty’s words, through bodily effort. 26
Seen from this angle one might say that
the reaper expands and changes his
existence through the incorporation of the
tool. The body is the world, as it were, and
when the body’s own natural assets are
insufficient to perform a wished-for action
or achieve a certain meaning, a cultural
world – e.g. tools such as the scythe – can
be built up around the body, changing its
fundamental existence.
I have already touched upon a form of
modulation of being in connection with the
seeming shift from individual to type on
english version 126

the basis of Ring’s rendition of how labour
affects the reaper’s appearance. As has
been suggested, additional dimensions
can be added to the view of labour as
an absorbed, repetitive, and seemingly
automatic act if interpretation is broadened
within the scope of various approaches
inspired by phenomenology. For example,
Merleau-Ponty’s concept regarding the
acquisition of habits can expand my study
with its description of the subject and the
way it acts; here, the subject is an individual
with its own independent will, understood as
a concrete expression of physicality engaged
in an exchange with the world, not a body
that has been reduced to a state of mere
existence.
Fig. 8
127 english version
Body-Labour-Tool
Concurrently with my deliberations on
the acquisition of habits I also maintain
that Ring’s depiction of being bound to
work points to a form of existential change
prompted by a reduction in the sense of
individuality – a change that strengthens
the dominance of the worker type over the
individual. This relationship is in Millet’s
Man with a Hoe where the figure almost
merges with its tool, just as the transition
between Ring’s reaper and his scythe is
rendered in a gradual manner. By referring
to the acquisition of habit, this incorporation
into one’s labour via one’s tool can
be shifted by asking the question where
dominance asserts itself in the relationship
between body and tool. This is a question
of primacy that also applies to formalistic
uncertainties about what is in front and what
is at the back.
Opening up the analysis even further, one
could reverse the expansion of existence effected
via habit: for if familiarity with a tool
and the extension of the body are switched
around in the sense that the tool comes to
absolutely define the body’s movement and
scope for action, then this would amputate
the body’s relationship with its surroundings.
This reduction of one’s perspective on the
world narrows the body’s freedom of action –
ultimately transforming it into a form similar
to that of the tool.
This sort of reversal can also be described
on the basis of the theories of Hannah
Arendt (1906-75). In The Human Condition
from 1958 she describes how the best
results while working are achieved when
individual movements are co-ordinated in a
single rhythm:
“In this motion, the tools lose their instrumental
character, and the clear distinction
between man and his implements, as well
as his ends, becomes blurred. [..] Labor
implements are drawn into this rhythm until
body and tool swing in the same repetitive
movement, that is, [..] it is no longer the
body’s movement that determines and
implement’s movement but the machine’s
movement which enforces the movements
of the body.” 27
As an offshoot of my point stating that
labour can overwrite individuality so that
the type materialises with greater clarity
than the individual, the tool itself can, in
repetitive work, transcend its status as
an aid and come to determine the body’s
movements and its relationship to the world.
The body then takes on the appurtenances
of a tool – a ‘toolness’ – it becomes yet
another thing among the other things in
the world. Obviously, this reversal subverts
the Merleau-Pontyesque acquisition of
habit I have also detected in the depiction
of the reaper’s work with the scythe; a
depiction that expresses mastery of the
tool and an expansion of the body’s scope
for action. Thus, my appropriation of the
concept of habit should not be regarded as
being transferred directly to the painting,
but rather as a source of inspiration for my
specific interpretational work directed at

the dual meanings inherent in the reaper’s
absorption and in my description of different
value-laden transformations of the body.
As regards the notion of objectification, of
the body becoming a thing, Finn Terman
Frederiksen makes a similar point in an
analysis of Ring’s painting Road near
Næstved from 1890. The excerpt can also
be related to the aforementioned quotation
by Ring about photographing things – ”that
is to say people”:
”According to Ring, life’s most fundamental
and painful schism is the one dividing
man and the world, the one that makes the
world alien to man; the one that makes man
homeless on Earth. To Ring this alienation
is also an objectification – causing man to
become a thing. This impression is strengthened
when Ring employs uniform brownish,
earth-like tones and forces his “pasted-in”
figure to enter into a tonal community with
its surroundings, thus objectifying this
human figure and increasing the sense of
alienation by depicting man as if he were
just a thing in a world of things.” 28
In Harvest I read several levels of
potential interpretations, and among these
a double shift in existence is of primary
importance. On the one hand individual
markers of identity seem erased, but on the
other hand they also come across expanded
in their exchange with the surroundings.
These shifts manifest themselves as
modulations and reversals in the relationship
between body-labour-tool.
A split perspective
In The Sower I identify the same mediation
between body-labour-tool, but here the tool
consists solely of the body and is defined by
the figure’s general appearance, marked by
toil as it is. Here, we see the same obvious
discrepancy concerning the figure’s spatial
qualities as a whole and in relation to its
surroundings, and in this painting that
discrepancy is accompanied by an indication
of an outward movement, also suggested in
Bastien-Lepage’s beggar. In his ambivalent
gestalt, the sower is frozen in mid-step,
seemingly stranded on the surface of the
painting, the dynamics in tension within the
constrained, set-like space.
The sower’s ambiguous expression of
stasis and outward direction contribute to
the general formal expression becoming
more radical than in the otherwise similar
planes and stylisations of Harvest. This
duality means that the later painting is
more overtly pointed in its rendition of
the concrete relationships between figure
and setting, between the subject and the
objective. Here man is exposed in a state
of a much more insistent distance to his
surroundings, which can be transposed
to a greater degree than in Harvest to a
reading of a distancing from the notion of a
grand structure of meaning into which man
should insert himself undemandingly. As if
commenting on traditional depictions of sowers
as an innate part of agricultural life, Ring
places his sower adjacent to rather than
within the setting. In a more unambiguous
way he is thus characterised as a subject
faced with the objective – as an individual
with the potential to form his own existence
in the world.
At the same time Ring consciously
challenges this sort of tentative approach
to a precise formulation of the subject by
employing divisions, and, via his relational
approach, through the figure’s apparent
distance from the world.
The accentuation of a fundamental gap
points to – as well as away from – phenomenology’s
primary union of man and world.
In this sense The Sower can be viewed
as a proponent of an understanding of an
exchange between the subject and the
objective – as touched upon here, deriving
from Merleau-Ponty – insofar as the figure’s
alleged affiliation with its setting presents
a potential and predictable link. However,
this link is negated by the more insistent
formulation of gaps and broken perspectives
within the pictorial space itself.
The issue of distance depicted in
individual works can be clearly exemplified
by Ring’s later painting Has the Rain
Stopped? from 1922 [fig.8], in which a large,
expressive figure stands in a wide doorway,
hesitating on the threshold. Like the sower,
the figure can be said to parallel Bastien-
Lepage’s The Beggar. Ring’s depiction of this
man in relation to the interior tells us that
he is at home here, whereas the rendition of
the world outside conveys a different reality,
alien to the house in which he stands. Ring’s
painstaking depiction of detail of the exterior
evokes a strange sense of independence
in relation to the rest of the motif, just as
he ignored the illusion of distance and
diminution of objects in his depiction of the
background in The Sower. The precision
and the sharply defined contours cause the
pictorial space of these two works to appear
elastic in the sense that the smaller-scale
content of the background is accorded
almost the same status as the enlarged
figurations of the foreground. Technique and
composition illustrate a concrete difference
between “here” and “there”, between man
and world. The question of hierarchy within
the work’s own space, the issue of what
is in front and at the back is again under
discussion.
The sense of distance previously
addressed in The Sower is borne out by
the clear definition of the background that
causes already indeterminable indications
of distance to be even more difficult to
grasp. Moreover, it impedes the onlooker’s
attempts at retaining perspective and
narration. The sower’s outwardly-oriented
appearance and his position near the edge
of the frame are not the only insistent
aspects; the farm and the trees in the
background delineated in such detail also
demand attention. In The Sower clarity and
simplicity never find rest, and by way of
paradox, the uniformity of the depiction is
maintained in a divided state.
The Uncanny
The negation of coherence evident in
Harvest and even more in The Sower can be
elucidated further by looking to elements
of Sigmund Freud’s (1856-1939) Das
Unheimliche from 1919. The main thesis
of this work takes its point of departure in
an etymological study of the contradictory
meanings inherent in the uncanny as a
concept. 29 My incorporation of the uncanny
does not focus on psychoanalytical matters;
it will exclusively serve to expand my
interpretative perspective as regards a
familiar image of the world that suggests
and opens up the possibility of experiencing
something different and broken.
The image of the world created by
Ring within the ambivalent space of his
paintings is neither straightforward nor
easily accessible, for the iconography allows
the spectator to feel well acquainted with
the meaning conveyed, yet at the same
time introduces something else compared
english version 128

Fig. 9
129 english version

to what one would expect. One might say
that something unknown and something
disturbing intrudes upon what is usually
considered the familiar and the secure,
particularly in the embodiment of the sower.
Henrik Wivel transposes this instability and
eeriness into a fundamental morbidity that
allegedly fuelled Ring’s work, right from the
artist’s concrete depictions of the triumph of
death to his figure painting, which plumbs
“something sick and unpleasant in the mind,
in mankind.” Wivel’s phrases about the
paintings’ “coarsened brutality and latent
aggression” are first and foremost of interest
by virtue of his contextualisation, particularly
the comparisons with the writer Johannes
V. Jensen’s reading of human nature. In the
early story Oktobernat (“October Night”)
for example, Jensen provides a direct and
uninhibited access to mankind’s most
primitive instincts in the depiction of the
un-homeliness of the setting of a country
inn and the fates that revolve around it
– all of it framed by the evocative sentence:
”The door opened out on the darkness.” 30
A veritable darkness also characterises
Millet’s 1850 image of a sower, in which an
aggressive figure traverses the field at a halfrun
[fig.9]. The body is bent backwards and
the shoulders raised and tense, the arms
clearly defined and foreshortened; the fist by
the bag of corn is firmly clenched. His figure
is outlined against the gloomy sky where
flocks of crows seem to spread out with
the grains scattered by the backward-flung
hand. Strong effects of light and shadow
add drama to his appearance and darken the
face, whose coarse features and open mouth
link up with the same artist’s depiction of
a man supporting himself on a hoe ca. 13
years later. Ring’s reaper, too, relates to
this sower’s lack of facial articulation, and
elements of violence can be observed in
the reaper as such and this figure’s direct
reference to the Grim Reaper. In addition to
the close kinship as regards motif, Ring’s
own sower’s distinctive and ambiguously
introvert/confrontational appearance is also
reminiscent of Millet’s figure in spite of
the clear stylistic differences between the
works. The coarse bodies and the potential,
yet strangely restrained, strength in both
Ring’s reaper and sower also tie in with the
ominous appearance of Millet’s characters.
An awareness of the eerie and
doom-laden aspects of the paintings can
contribute to a more nuanced reading of
the tension surrounding Ring’s figures, with
a brief foray into Freud’s tracking of Das
Unheimliche’s self-contradictory etymology.
In my view this approach could be fruitful
as regards the artist’s confrontational sower
while also remaining mindful of the reading
of Millet’s corresponding figure.
In keeping with this, I find it interesting
to relate the latent aggression in Ring’s
sower to ”Das Heimliche” (“the homelike”),
which Freud uses as a point of departure
for considering ”Das Unheimliche”. While
the home-like is familiar and safe, it also
encompasses something private or secret –
something hidden or unknown, something
that is veiled from the outsider’s gaze. From
here the meaning of the term becomes its
own opposite and coincides with the eerie
and the frightening. Referring to Schelling,
Freud states that ”Unheimlich is the name
for everything that ought to have remained ...
secret and hidden but has come to light.” 31
Transposing this “Heimliche” to my readings,
I see the familiar in Ring’s reaper and sower
alike, evoked through the inscription of the
motif into a tradition that establishes the
figures as recognisable types. At the same
time, however, the fact that the figures
are rooted and fixed in the pictorial space
means that immediate accessibility is
impeded, leaving the spectator with the
sense that something in the works remains
withheld or even hidden. More nuances
are added to this by the sower’s outwardly
directed, confrontational nature that carries
him further than the reaper, allowing a
more intricate and also dramatic double
bind between the familiar and the unknown
to emerge. Thus, yet a dimension of the
uncanny as a concept can come into play
in the form of uncertainty as to what kind
of figure Ring is actually depicting in The
Sower.
On Animation and Doubts
Freud’s article addresses the issue of a lack
of clear-cut boundaries on the basis of E.T.A.
Hoffmann’s (1776-1822) short story The
Sandman from 1815, in which the wooden
automaton Olympia is the source of doubts
regarding the question of being animate/
inanimate; she gives rise to ”an intellectual
uncertainty as to whether something is alive
or lifeless” where “the lifeless takes the
similarity to the living too far.” 32
Such uncertainty can also arise out of
Ring’s dual depiction of the reaper and
the sower as both individuals and types,
absorbed by the routine and automatic
actions of their work, further nuanced by
the concurrent sense of ambivalence and
negation. The figures seem both natural and
forced, unveiling both the familiar and the
alien, and because the sense of absorption
is more ambiguously conveyed in the
sower compared to the reaper, I regard the
relationship between the two as particularly
unresolved as regards the sower. His facial
features and outward orientation accentuate
a greater potential presence that allows the
spectator to read a sense of animation into
his restrained, rigid figure.
The projection of life and of the seemingly
familiar onto an inanimate object that Freud
describes in relation to the doll or automaton
is not just unsettling because the inanimate
object can seem perfect on the surface, but
possesses no inner life. The projection is
particularly unpleasant because it points to
the mechanical qualities that human beings
can also experience within themselves when
a part of their self seems to live its own life
independently of the control exercised by
the consciousness. 33
I detect such unaware, non-conscious –
mechanical – actions in the repetitive work
conducted by the harvestman and sower
alike. This is, among other things, associated
with my application of the concept
of absorption and of the automatism that
Proudhon saw in Courbet’s Stone Breakers.
The description of the breaking down of
individuals, which may be prompted by
the technological development of the
time, points to an experience of alienation.
Hannah Arendt describes it in the following
terms: “For a society of laborers, the world
of machines has become a substitute for the
real world, even though this pseudo world
cannot fulfil the most important task of the
human artifice, which is to offer mortals a
dwelling place more permanent and more
stable than themselves.” 34
With Harvest and The Sower, Ring frames
a similar doubt about the Heimliche, even
though he does not depict the industrial
society of his time; indeed he rarely does
english version 130

so in his overall oeuvre. The sense of
instability can grow exponentially with the
sense of separation, not least in The Sower.
In a move corresponding to the unsettling
gradual shift between man, labour, and tool
that I have particularly identified in Harvest,
the overall appearance of The Sower evokes
a sense of something disturbing, something
uncanny. The figure advances towards
the spectator, and yet it is closed-up and
guarded; it expresses the duality and
ambiguity of the familiar and the unfamiliar,
of the accessible, as well as an underlying
aggression of that which is repressed.
My thesis suggests that Ring’s practice
regarding the rendition of the figures
in Harvest and The Sower indicates a
fundamental experience of alienation which,
in light of the automaton’s traits, has a state
of objectivity, of ‘thingness’, as sounding
board. Against this basis, the statements
of the painting fluctuate between presence
and absence, between the conscious and
the subconscious, the animated and the
inanimate – interactions that I postulate
arise out of the fundamental modulations in
the relationship between man-tool-work.
Individual and type
Standing 25 years apart, Harvest and The
Sower more than provide the framework
for a wider understanding of Ring’s artistic
practice when depicting rural labour and
related subject matter: The two paintings
serve as monuments to this motif.
The ambiguities I see encapsulating the
statement of both works transcend
a traditional pastoral, nostalgic approach,
a counterpoint to a-historical imagery that
points back to something that belongs to
yesteryear. Rather, the expressivity of these
paintings captures and retains something
that is unfinished, broken up, and the depiction
of reality is not a stylistic construct next
to experience, but is in fact communicated
as something inside of and within this
personal horizon. The paintings are rooted
in the present reality, in materiality, and
they firmly establish an opening onto a
concrete and historical contemporaneity,
and uncertainty regarding a broader stability
is thematised.
As the cardinal issue in Harvest resides
in the encounter between the vitalistic
expression of an independent identity and
131 english version
an altogether different expression of a
vitalism linked to how labour superimposes
itself on individuality, an existential shift
is conveyed. The shift takes place first and
foremost within the reaper himself. This
perspective is expanded in The Sower,
where the vitalistic statement may seem
similar at first, yet takes on a far more
insistent and aggressive quality through the
appearance of the figure, which can be said
to activate its surroundings. Thus shifts and
modulations in meaning take place mainly
between the figure and pictorial space. The
world-oriented and the objective aspects
bring the formulation of the subject and the
impediments to such formulation into play,
and a certain otherness materialises in the
gap between the familiar and the unfamiliar.
The works address the concurrent
presence of the individual and the typical in
each figure, and thus a broadly embracing
state of both-and settles on the different
and ambivalent narratives I have identified
in the two paintings. In the analysis of
Harvest the sense of belonging reveals itself
to be modulated and contradicted, and in
The Sower the same issue takes on a more
acute form centred on fragmentation and
negation. Whereas the reaper can point to
a potential harmony with his surroundings
if rest is to be found in a nuanced and
multi-facetted perception of the body as the
carrier of existence, The Sower introduces
a far greater sense of distance and pause
with its insistent, detailed realism. Here, the
interconnected appears in fragments that
insert themselves behind and around the
figure of the sower so that the ambiguities
surrounding the motif become difficult to
grasp; various shades of meaning are formed
that will, unavoidably, also come to point
back to and affect the reading of Harvest.
There is no overall perspective or any real
calm within the pictorial space of the two
paintings – only as regards the sense of
cohesion the message is unambiguous:
cohesion has been broken.

1 the article is based on my magister thesis L.A. Ring,
Figur og billedrum – menneske og verden from January
2008.
2 Excerpt from the Bible, Genesis 3,17-19: ”Because
you have listened to the voice of your wife /and have
eaten of the tree /of which I commanded you, / ‘You
shall not eat of it’, /cursed is the ground because of
you; / in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your
life;/ thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you;
/and you shall eat the plants of the field. / By the
sweat of your face / you shall eat bread, /till you
return to the ground, / for out of it you were taken;
for you are dust, /and to dust you shall return.”
English Standard Version.
3 Compared to the visual arts, literary communication
fared better insofar as the writers could incorporate
aspects of the farmers’ and farmworkers’ mindset
and modes of expression, for example by featuring
specific traits from the oral storytelling tradition.
this is pointed out by Lis Barnkop in ”Bøndernes
billeder – billedernes bønder”, in Drift og socialitet,
Analyser af fortællinger og malerier om hverdagslivet
på landet i det 19. århundredes slutning samt
kulturhistorik bibliografi (Dansk kulturhistorie og
bevidsthedsdannelse 1880-1920, volume 15),
Odense Universitetsforlag 1983, p. 111.
4 In connection with realist painting the concept
of authenticity is addressed in an older, but quite
serviceable introduction to the period by Linda
Nochlin in Realismen, Stil og samfund (Realism,
Style and Civilization) from 1971, in Danish by Else
Mogensen, 1978, p. 31. Originally Nochlin: Realism
and Tradition in Art, 1848-1900, Sources and Documents,
New Jersey 1966.
5 See, for example, Matthew 13:24-43, which recounts
the parable of the bad seeds sown by the devil. the
good seed stands for the people who belong in the
kingdom of Heaven; come harvest time (i.e. the end
of the world) they will be sorted out from the weeds,
and the weeds will end up in the fiery furnace.
6 the preliminary studies mentioned, which focus on
the upper body’s posture and movement, can be
found in the royal Collection of Graphic arts, the
National Gallery of Denmark: A Harvestman, 1885.
Pencil, 186 x 109 mm., and verso: Part of study for
same painting as recto, 1885. Pencil, 186 x 109 mm.
7 For this article I am compelled to leave out the
significant starting point that Michael Fried’s
concept of absorption and definition of theatricality
formed for the fundamental and more form-oriented
studies of my thesis regarding how ring composed
his motifs and employed stylistic devices. Fried’s
expounding of his theory through a selection of
Jean-François Millet’s depictions of farmworkers
has been central to my analysis of Harvest, whereas
my work on The Sower harks back to one of Fried’s
other illustrative examples in the form of a painting
by Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin. the theoretical
foundations for my use of Fried are provided in
Absorption and Theatricality: Painting and Beholder in
the Age of Diderot, California 1980.
8 this practice is, for example, very overtly evident
in ring’s By the Old House, Sankt Jørgensbjerg, which
bears the date 1919, denoting the time when the
setting was completed, while the full completion
of the painting after the addition of a winter-clad,
pipe-smoking man is dated 1922. Oil on canvas, 81 x
102 cm, Nationalmuseum Stockholm.
9 Gertrud With is among those who link the figure’s
two-dimensional appearance with ring’s predilection
for singular motivic choices and abrupt croppings
inspired by photography. With: ”Fotografiets betydning
for modernitetens billeddannelse”, in Fischer
Jonge and With (eds.): Verden set på ny, Fotografi og
Malerkunst i Danmark 1840-1900, Copenhagen 2002,
pp. 47-51.
10 thomas Lederballe adds greater nuance to our
understanding of ring’s stylistic idiosyncrasies
with his study of the role played by drawings in
the artist’s work and his seeming acceptance of
imperfection. Lederballe: “at last, the Primacy of
Drawing” in Nørgaard Larsen (ed.) L.a. ring, On the
Edge of the World, Copenhagen 2006, pp. 188-205;
quotation p. 193.
11 ring, undated letter to Johanne Wilde, written in
Næstved in the early summer of 1891. the royal
Danish Library, NKS 4437, VII,3,4°.
12 For a comparison of these two paintings, also see
Barnkop, Odense 1983, pp. 113-114.
13 the peasant-painter rivalry of 1907 primarily
took place in the pages of the national newspaper
Politiken, where the opposing parties favoured
either a Naturalist or Symbolist vein of painting.
For a more in-depth analysis of the conflict, see
Laursen and thestrup andersen: Naturen og kunsten:
Bondemalerstriden 1907, Faaborg Museum 1986. Peter
Nørgaard Larsen also addresses the link between
Fynboerne (the Funen Painters) and Johannes V.
Jensen in his article ”Solbilleder, Vitalismen i dansk
billedkunst 1890-1910”, Stjernfelt & Winkel Holm
(eds.), Kritik, no. 171, vol. 37 2004, pp. 19-28.
14 Exhibition feature, no byline, Morgenbladet,
11.04.1889.
15 Fried: Courbet’s Realism, Chicago 1990, pp. 41-44.
For additional nuances to this reading of Man with
a Hoe see, for example, the exhibition catalogue
Drawn into the Light, Rediscovering Jean-François
Millet: the main article, which shares the exhibition
title, describes the figure as an individual engaged
in cultivating his own little plot of land rather than
as a symbol of work as inhuman hardship – whereas
the text explicitly accompanying the work in the
same publication takes a position very close to
Fried’s reading. See Murphy: ”Drawn into the Light,
rediscovering Jean-François Millet”, in Murphy et al.
(eds.): Drawn into the Light, Rediscovering Jean-François
Millet, Williamstown, Massachusetts 1999, pp. 22-24,
92-93.
16 Van Gogh repeatedly used one or several pairs of
shoes as subject matter in the mid-1880s. the
painting referred to by Heidegger is in all probability
the familiar version reproduced here [fig.5], which
is also reproduced in Bjørn Holgernes’ article ”Kult
og livsverden”, in Kunst og filosofi i det 20. århundrede,
Copenhagen 2002, p. 119. My reference to “peasant
shoes” hails from the translation of Heidegger’s
shoes; I am, however, aware of the significant
differences between peasants and farmworkers in
terms of class and social standing.
17 Heidegger: The Origin of the Work of Art. Originally
Heidegger: Der Ursprung des Kunstwerks, a lecture
first held in 1935, printed by Vittorio Klostermann
1950. For a treatment of Heidegger’s view of art and
a bibliography of other publications on the matter,
see Joseph J. Knockelmans: Heidegger on Art and Art
Works (Phenomenologica 99), Dordrecht 1985, which
specifically addresses Heidegger’s use of van Gogh’s
painting, pp. 125-137.
18 Millet explains his endeavours in a letter dated
Barbizon 18.02.1862 to the critic théophile thoré
(1807-69). the letter is mentioned and translated
into English in Nochlin: Realism and Tradition in Art,
1848-1900, Sources and Documents, pp. 56-57. One
should note that Nochlin comments on the dating
of the letter. the letter is also mentioned and
excerpts from it translated in Fried, Chicago 1990,
p. 237. Nochlin and Fried both quote after Etienne
Moreau-Nélaton: Millet raconté par lui-même, Paris,
Henri Laurens 1921, II, pp. 106-107. What follows is
the excerpt that Fried includes, in the original French
in note 20, p. 348: ”[Je] désire, dans ce que je fais,
que les choses n’aient point l’air d’être amalgamées
au hasard et par l’occasion, mais qu’elles aient entre
elles une liaison indispensable et forcée; que les êtres
que je représente aient l’air voués à leur position, et
qu’il soit impossible d’imaginer qu’ils pourraient être
autre chose; somme toute, que gens ou choses sont
toujours là pour une fine. Je désire mettre pleinement
et fortement ce qui est nécessaire [...]”.
19 The Beggar was acquired by Carl Jacobsen at the
French Exhibition held in Copenhagen in 1888, and
ring may also have drawn inspiration from Bastien-
Lepage’s The Ripened Wheat (Les Blés Murs), 1880,
oil on canvas, 79 x 104 cm, Santa Barbara Museum
of art, California: While working on Harvest it is very
likely that he also looked to the same artist when
working on his sowing scene. the 1888 exhibition
was groundbreaking, not least for the Danish artists
with realist leanings who, like ring, had not yet
been abroad to gain firsthand acquaintance of the
movement in an international context.
20 Given that The Beggar received such attention at
the 1888 exhibition and was subsequently housed
in a prominent collection in Copenhagen, it cannot
possibly have escape the Danish realist painters’
notice; it is less certain whether ring was familiar
with Courbet’s painting. Within the context of
my work, however, confirming or disproving such
familiarity is less interesting than the interpretative
potential that this perspective offers. the painting,
which has acquired the status of an icon of realism,
was destroyed in Dresden during World War II, but
a study hangs in Die Sammlung Oskar reinhart ”am
römerholz” in Winterthur, Switzerland. this is the
painting depicted as [fig.7].
21 Jeppe aakjær: Jens Vejmand, dated Jebjerg 19.06.1905,
first printed in the newspaper Politiken 26.06.1905.
Cf. also ring’s friend and colleague H.a. Brendekilde’s
(1857-1942) monumental painting A Road, 1893, oil
on canvas, 200 x 263 cm, the National Gallery of
Denmark.
22 Quote: Pierre-Joseph Proudhon: Du Principe de l’art
english version 132

et de sa destination sociale, Paris 1865. Quoted here
from Nochlin: Realism and Tradition in Art, 1848-1900,
Sources and Documents, p. 52, after Oeuvres complètes
de P.-J. Proudhon, eds. C. Bouglé and H. Moysset, Paris
1939.
23 Clark: Image of the People, London 1973, 80. Clark’s
formal observations could equally well be applied to
The Beggar’s lack of spatial articulation.
24 as was pointed out by Dan Zahavi in ”Heidegger og
rummet”, in Rum og fænomenologi, filosofi, æstetik,
arkitektur, historie, Hellerup 2000, pp. 75-76, the body
is the precondition for Heidegger’s identification of
objects as present-at-hand or ready-to-hand, for the
distinction between these concepts constantly plays
on a physically present subject – with hands.
25 Merleau-Ponty: ”Le Corps”, Phénoménologie de la
perception, volume 1, pp. 81-232, Paris 1945. the
various examples that Merleau-Ponty uses to
describe habit and how objects are incorporated into
the body appear in the chapter ”Vanen som motorisk
tilegnelse af ny betydning”, Kroppens fænomenologi,
pp. 97-103. as Zahavi describes in the chapter
”rummet og kroppen”, Fænomenologi, roskilde 2003.
Husserl, Sartre and Merleau-Ponty emphasise
that the body is not simply one object among many.
Zahavi uses their exploration of this fact to accentuate
the problematic aspect of Heidegger’s lack of
an account of bodily existence. My incorporation of
the phenomenological perception of the body as a
physical presence is limited to a few references to
Merleau-Ponty’s perspective, even though Husserl
and Sartre employ similar formulations. Cf. thomas
Schwarz Wentzer’s postscript for Heidegger: Væren
og tid, in Danish by Christian rud Skovgaard, aarhus
2007, p. 559.
26 Merleau-Ponty: Frederiksberg 1994, p. 99.
27 Hannah arendt: The Human Condition, the University
of Chicago 1958, p. 145-146.
28 Finn terman Frederiksen: Den bevingede knokkelmand,
L.A. Ring imellem realisme og symbolisme, randers
2007, quote pp. 104-105. “Efter rings opfattelse
er tilværelsens mest fundamentale og smertefulde
tvedelthed den, der skiller menneske og verden,
den, der gør verden fremmed for mennesket, den,
der gør mennesket hjemløst på jorden. For ring er
fremmedgørelsen samtidig en tingsliggørelse, et
indtryk, der forstærkes, når ring som her skaber
en brunligt jordagtig enhedstone og tvinger sin
”påklistrede” figur ind i et tonefællesskab med
omgivelserne, der tingsliggør denne menneskeskikkelse
og forstærker fremmedfølelsen ved at se
mennesket fremstillet, som var det blot en ting i en
verden af ting”.
29 Freud’s approach differs from the conception
prevalent at the time of writing, which states that
the uncanny arises as one encounters the unknown.
rather, Freud claims that the source of a sense of
the uncanny frequently resides in the re-emergence
of the repressed. Freud: ”Das Unheimliche”,
article printed in 1919. Subsequently published in
Gesammelte Werke, volume XII, and Studienausgabe,
volume IV, Psychologische Schriften, London 1947;
this edition served for the Danish translation used as
the basis for the original Danish version of this article.
133 english version
30 Wivel: ”Den realistiske uhygge. Vilh. Hammershøis
og L.a. rings motivverden”, Kritik, no. 59, København
1982, quotes on p. 45 and p. 48, and Johannes
V. Jensen: ”Oktobernat”, Himmerlandshistorier,
Copenhagen 2005, p. 22. First printed in Illustreret
Tidende, 04.04.1897, reprinted in Himmerlandsfolk,
November 1898.
31 Freud, Copenhagen 1998, p. 23. ”Das Unheimliche”
is that which is public, openly and freely accessible,
which means that it also encompasses the alien and
the uncanny that lacks a home. In his postscript, p.
84, Visholm comments that Schelling’s understanding
of the uncanny is relational or interpersonal – he
who hides something knows the secret himself
and keeps it hidden from others – whereas Freud
directs this interpersonal approach towards the
intra-psychic where the uncanny is established as
the re-emergence of the repressed.
32 Hoffmann: ”Sandmanden”, in Danish by Johannes
Wulff, 10 fantastiske fortællinger, selection and
postscript by Bo Hakon Jørgensen, Odense 1990, 25.
Originally Hoffmann: Der Sandmann, 1815, printed
in Nachtstücke. Herausgegeben von dem Verfasser
der Fantasiestücke in Callots Manier, Erster Teil, Berlin
1817. also see Freud, Copenhagen 1998, p. 33.
Freud does not dwell much on The Sandman’s far
stronger examples of the uncanny as regards the
uncertainties regarding animation. However, dolls are
linked to the infantile and to the re-emergence of an
old childhood fear that arises out of the child’s desire
for the doll to come alive. this fear can return in the
adult as a sense of the uncanny in connection with
the indeterminable animation of a figure.
33 as Steen and Visholm point out on p. 10 in the
preface to the Danish edition, The Unheimliche was
written by Freud before he had completed developing
his structural model of the psyche that comprises
the Id, Ego, and Super-Ego, and so he does not address
the role of the super-ego in the experience of the
uncanny.
34 arendt, op.cit., p. 152.

english version 134

The style in Itself
The classical, the modern, and modern Classicism in three breakthrough sculptures
by svend Rathsack, Johannes C. Bjerg, and Einar Utzon-Frank
r a s m u s k j æ r b o e
The years 1914 to 1915 brought remarkable
simultaneous breakthroughs for three Danish
sculptors and their take on a contemporary
sculpture intended to show a new way of
engaging artistically with tradition. Svend
Rathsack’s Adam, Newly Created (1913-14),
Johannes C. Bjerg’s Abyssinian (1914), and
Einar Utzon-Franks Aphrodite (1914) [fig.
1-3] are life-sized statues; simply by virtue
of the resources committed to their execution
they can be described as deliberately
ambitious ventures into forming the earliest
Danish example of what was once a both
popular and widespread international
classicism. 1
In the years that followed the three artists
created a number of works in the new style;
works that were regarded as being amongst
the finest and most important endeavours
Danish art had to offer during the artists’
own lifetimes, 2 but which are now virtually
unknown by art historians and laymen alike.
Something about the sculptures’ expressionless
stiffness and their lack of drama and
recognisable narratives seems to prevent
present-day spectators from experiencing
these works as engaging and meaningful.
It was not always thus. A considerable
number of sculptures by Utzon-Frank, Bjerg,
and Rathsack can be found in public spaces,
squares, and museums all across Denmark.
As artists they were regarded as significant;
two of them acted as professors at the Royal
Danish Academy of Fine Arts, while the third
created the largest memorial of the interwar
years, Søfartsmonumentet (The Naval
Monument) on the Copenhagen waterfront,
and all three made a considerable number of
public monuments and artworks. 3 The present
article seeks to interpret and present
their three breakthrough sculptures at the
135 english version
National Gallery of Denmark in Copenhagen
and ARoS in Århus while also explaining
and offering a perspective on the beginning
of a minor epoch in the history of Danish
sculpture; an epoch where classicism and
modernism engaged in mutual, tension-filled
interaction. 4
The act of describing and defining artistic
modes of expression always involves the risk
of appearing needlessly reductive as regards
explanations, and attempts at linking various
works of arts on the basis of purely formal
features have repeatedly been subjected to
justified criticism. 5 The following account
will strive to evade some of the common
pitfalls by abstaining from establishing
a rigid catalogue of significant forms or
providing overly broad explanations based on
social or societal causes. Rather, attention
will be focused on studying of a range of
ideas about the classical and the modern
and how these concepts have influenced the
more traditional sculptural production over
the course of an entire period – and how the
same ideas have been an important factor
in its subsequent obscurity. To include a
somewhat lengthy, introductory examination
of concepts relating to the classical and the
modern may seen almost pedantic, yet the
exercise is crucial in providing an interpretational
framework for the sculptures studied
here. After this, the article will analyse how
the three works primarily create their meaning
through a range of associations with
and references to the past and the classical,
and finally I shall present a brief discussion
about the significance of conventional
body image, where in conclusion Modern
Classicism will be summed up as an artistic
strategy in Danish sculpture.
The objective of the article is, then, to
define Modern Classicism and to show how
it can be seen as a deliberate re-formulation
of the classical project on a new premise.
Here, the artistic strategy is identified in
just three works that – by virtue of their time
of conception, their scale, and the level of
ambition – can be regarded as object lessons,
but in a wider perspective I hope that
this can pave the way for a new understanding
and appreciation of a much wider and
richer field of almost forgotten sculptures;
internationally as well as domestically.
Art historical oblivion
Except for a few, minor mentions6 the
oeuvres of these three artists, which used
to be so highly acclaimed, has not been the
object of any major interpretation or analysis
over the course of the last five decades. 7 The
question of how such marginalisation could
occur can only be answered by recognising
that history is a manufactured product, not
a given; it is always created and written
retrospectively and with specific, possibly
unacknowledged, objectives in mind. 8
The process of selection, inclusion, and
exclusion is a fundamental problem for
all descriptive history writing, and Danish
art history is no exception. 9 Choices and
omissions make the past make sense.
Sculpture – especially the traditional and
partially naturalistic sculpture that completely
dominated the first half of the 20th century – has largely been left out of recent
Danish art history writing. Granted, most of
the works still stand in their allotted spaces
around Denmark, but they are no longer
part of any master narrative that can place
them within a common frame of reference. 10
Except for works by particular ”heroes” such
as J.F. Willumsen and Kai Nielsen, early and

Fig. 1
mid-20 th century sculpture is almost entirely
absent from academic studies and more
general history books alike. 11 To borrow a
concept from literature, an entire generation
of sculptors can be described as having
been “written out” of art history.
A likely explanation for such a writing-out
through forgetting can be found in a specific,
value-laden and fundamental narrative that
has dominated Western art history since
the post-war era. The notion about art’s
unidirectional development, carried forth on
a wave of progress created by modernism
and the avant-garde, has pushed aside
everything that did not fit in with a notion
of radical experimentation, breaks with
tradition, and a steady journey towards
abstraction. 12 Today, modernism has been
elevated to an ideology that is not necessarily
accompanied by explicit knowledge about
its origin; 13 rather, it has penetrated right
into the very core definition of what good
art is: art should be in a state of constant
development, characterised by ongoing
critique, rebellion, and anti-representation.
Today’s spectators who are embedded
in a modernist perception of art – whether
they are aware or unaware of this fact – a
mythological subject such as Aphrodite
by Utzon-Frank or an athletic nude such
as Rathsack’s Adam, Newly Created must
seem strangely out of keeping with their
time. Roughly coinciding with when these
sculptures were first put on display, international
avant-garde art could be viewed at a
few select exhibitions in Copenhagen, 14 and
in Paris Cubism and Futurism had enjoyed
a minor breakthrough. Today, modernist
values have become institutionalised to the
point where art historians and critics simply
pass by in silence all that which does not
fit into a particular developmental logic.
For this very reason a very large group of
artworks that refer to tradition, particularly
those from the 1910s and 1920s, remains
largely un-interpreted and uncommented today.
International modern Classicism
During the period from just before World
War I and far up into the interwar years,
European art in general and French art in
particular saw a blossoming of a heterogenic
movement one might call ”Modern
Classicism”. 15 It manifested itself as, among
other things, a renewed interest in depicting
the young, idealised human body in a more
or less naturalistic style and presupposed
the ability, now widely lost, to sharply
distinguish between, interpret, and read
almost identical representations of the body
in painting and sculpture. 16
In its own day Modern Classicism was
regarded as a positive return to tradition,
a move opposed to what was viewed as
the worst modernist excesses and formal
experiments, and a source of renewed, contemporary
development towards something
english version 136

more artistically essential. 17 This prompted
a number of leading critics and artists who
had been associated with avant-garde and
modernist art to discuss and work with a
more figurative formal language than they
had employed in the preceding years. The
new movement, which included prominent
former avant-garde artists such as Pablo
Picasso, Georges Braque, and Gino Severini,
combined motivic references to the past
with a return to more traditional, academic,
mimetic, and naturalistic techniques,
something that many critics regarded as
an attempt at reformulating a modern
classicism on the basis of eternal, universal
values. 18
A case in point: In a 1916 essay the writer
and critic Guillaume Apollinaire, who was
an important champion of Cubism, wrote of
the avant-garde artist André Derain that his
genius was marked by his newfound ability
to resist the lure of the new art movements
and to place his art within the Great
Tradition instead. 19 The next year Georges
Braque wrote a number of “reflections”
in which he linked his previous Cubist
experiments with a new classicism, thereby
becoming part of a general ”rappel à l’ordre”
among several pre-war avant-garde artists. 20
Other artists, among these the figurative
French sculptors Charles Despiau, Emile
Bourdelle, and Aristide Maillol, had always
worked with a motivic and artistic invocation
of a classical past and now came to be
increasingly acclaimed throughout Europe
with a mode of expression centred on a
restrained, figurative formal language that
most often eschewed elaborate, expressive
narratives.
Even though it has in recent times been
argued that such classicism was a melancholy
and reactionary movement21 it can also
be regarded as fundamentally many-faceted,
devoid of a uniform ideological or political
focus. 22 The past that was to be presented
as a model for contemporary audiences
carried within it a range of eternal, universal
“classical” values, but soon the classical
and classicism became very wide-ranging
and accommodating concepts that could, in
practice, refer to antiquity, the Middle Ages,
and the Renaissance; to the spirit of Greece,
Italy, or Mediterranean sensibilities. The
concepts had only a vague framework made
up of notions of unity, of a striving and
137 english version
Fig. 2
search for truth, and of the need for naturalistic
representation. One of the concrete
results was that the nude life study came to
acquire renewed poignancy and significance,
and that storytelling, social realism, and the
anecdotal were banished. 23
modern Classicism in Danish Art
Towards the end of 1918 a modern
classicism was already gaining a foothold
within the realm of Danish sculpture when
Adam Fischer, a Danish artist living in Paris,
presented his thoughts on the classical in

Fig. 3
art, much like e.g. Georges Braque had done
the year before. 24 Shortly before this, Fischer
had written about Primitivism and his inspiration
from Cubism in the same experimental
Danish art journal, Klingen, and had himself
exhibited Cubist and avant-garde-oriented
works, 25 but now he followed in the wake of
contemporary French classicism. Back in
Denmark the realm of painting offered up
parallels; previously radical artists such as
William Scharff and Vilhelm Lundstrøm also
began to create artworks that fell within a
classicising framework. 26
To provide a wider context, the Danish
art scene had seen a predominantly
negative public debate about Kunstnernes
Efterårsudstilling (The Artists’ Autumn
Exhibition) in 1917 and 1918, where
a number of works experimented with
Cubism, Futurism, and the dissolution of the
naturalistic, representational work of art. 27
Immediately afterwards, in early 1919, came
the so-called dysmorphism dispute that
posited mental illness as the precondition for
certain modern art movements. 28 Similarly,
the acclaimed art historian Vilhelm Wanscher
repeatedly argued in favour of “Den store
Stil” (The Grand Style) and of ending
experimentation in favour of a return to
classicism in art. 29
Comparisons between the emergence
of a classicising movement in Danish art
during and immediately after World War I
and similar ideas and impulses in the rest of
Europe must, however, be made in the form
of analogies. Source material is sparse, and
in most cases it is difficult to demonstrate
a direct Danish reception of a European art
debate that took place on different terms
than the local discussions. Nor is it possible
to directly apply explanations that describe
classicism’s success as a response to the
meaninglessness of the Great War, 30 since
Denmark stayed out of the conflict and
profited from its neutrality. Nevertheless, one
can certainly claim that the new international
Modern Classicism within painting and,
especially, sculpture formed a positive model
and provided guidelines for how younger
artists could make a mark for themselves by
creating classical art in a Danish setting.
Adam Fischer remained a relatively
marginal figure on the Danish art scene,
whereas Svend Rathsack, Einar Utzon-Frank,
and Johannes C. Bjerg were well on their way
english version 138

to becoming the most high-profile sculptors
of their generation, particularly after the
death of their major rival Kai Nielsen in
1924. In 1914 Svend Rathsack was the first
to present his classicising breakthrough
work, Adam, Newly Created, and the following
year Einar Utzon-Frank and Johannes
C. Bjerg were ready to follow suit with
Aphrodite and Abyssinian. None of the three
artists were graduates from the schools of
sculpture at the Royal Danish Academy of
Fine Arts; Rathsack had studied painting
there, while Bjerg never applied for a place
at the Academy and Utzon-Frank left after a
semester in protest against the conformity
of the teaching. 31 Bjerg and Rathsack spent
time in Paris, moving among the outer
circles of the more experimental artists of
the time, while early on Utzon-Frank had
become associated with the group surrounding
the socially aware journal Gnisten. 32
During World War I the three artists
had their true commercial and critical
breakthrough. Their popularity may have
been spurred on by the excellent economic
conditions prevalent in Denmark at the time,
which helped facilitate considerable sales of
statuettes from e.g. Dansk Kunsthandel. 33
Their positions were consolidated after the
end of the war: Utzon-Frank was appointed
professor at the Royal Danish Academy of
Fine Arts in 1918, Rathsack won the competition
to design one of the biggest monuments
of the time – Søfartsmonumentet – in
1924, and Bjerg embarked on a succession
of commissions that made him the mostused
artist for public decorative art projects
in the interwar years. Over the course of
the 1920s the three men went from being
outside the circle of recognised, officially
educated sculptors to becoming the most
acclaimed artists of the era, supplying a
wealth of works to public spaces and Danish
museums.
Thus, the three sculptors became the preeminent
producers of a range of works that
acted out, explored, and tested a new style:
Modern Classicism. Articles and interviews
with the artists served to emphasise that
these works should be understood and
appreciated in relation to an exemplary
past; mentions of their art were interwoven
with notions of the Greek, the classical
and the ideal. The three sculptures at the
National Gallery of Denmark and ARoS all
139 english version
hail from the early stages of their careers
and demarcate the outlines of the field
within which a new type of Danish sculpture
operated.
The Classical and the modern as
Opposing Concepts 34
In The Oxford Companion to Western Art,
classicism in general is defined as: ”[a]
reference or commitment to a canonical
(‘classic’) art of the past or its values”, 35
and A Dictionary of Twentieth-Century Art
describes the 20th century’s international,
“New Classicism” as: ”[…] a return to
restraint after a period of unprecedented
experimentation”. 36 As is suggested by
the second quote, Modern Classicism was
invariably associated with – and perhaps
strove to conquer – historic Modernism.
To elaborate on this point, there is a
particularly significant opposition between
the idea of the classical and the modern,
between the rebirth of the past and the
poignancy of the present, even when the two
fundamental concepts appear under various
names and in many different contexts. The
specific contents of the concepts will vary
according to their context, but within a
conventional frame of understanding the
classical represents a looking back towards
the past, while the modern denotes an
engagement with the here and now or a
looking ahead to what is to come. Like other
contrasts, this duality has operated as an
archetypal indicator of difference which has,
in a structuralist sense, primarily manifested
itself through negation: The modern is,
unlike the classical, not conservative, not
ancient, not preserving, not static. The
classical, for its part, is – unlike the modern
– not fashion-dictated, not time-bound,
not ephemeral, not distorted. Many more
features and definitions could be added, but
as concepts the classical and the modern
have no core; their real contents are always
defined in relation to their opposite, and
usually in a negative relation. There is
something they are not. The classical and
the modern form part of, to borrow a term
from the semiotics of the linguist Ferdinand
Saussure, a language, langue, where the
mutual relationships between the words
determine the actual contents. 37 As is the
case with other concepts, however, the
relationship between the classical and the
modern – to each other and to other terms
– is often dissipated and made invisible
in actual practice, and so the processual
and changeable qualities of their mutual
relationship get overlooked.
Art history’s descriptions of the classical
have almost consistently taken the form of
long chains of cause and effect linking works
and artists, but literature has not paid much
attention to historicising the framework
for our understanding of what “classical”
is and means as a concept. Rather, the
classical has been regarded as a meaningful
constant that could be identified and
inferred from incredibly diverse aesthetic
spheres. 38 Structurally speaking, the modern
occupies the same role as the classical,
possessing widely different meanings in
different contexts. From an art theoretical
perspective the classical and the modern
are both discursive meta-concepts that do
not in themselves have a stable meaning,
but always refer to new content that is
constantly shifted to become something else
in each individual context.
Considered as words, “classical” and
“modern” have interesting etymological links
going back to late antiquity and Medieval
Latin. 39 As far as aesthetic matters are
concerned, however, the two concepts were
not defined until the late 17 th century when
European scholars posited an opposition
between the relevance of the past and
future to artistic production. Known as ”La
Querelle des Anciens et des Modernes”
(the Quarrel between the Ancients and the
Moderns, ed.) the debate established a
notion, still current today, about the classical
as the modern’s opposite, either as an
ideal or as an impediment, but particularly
as something that was cut off from the
present by an insurmountable diachrony. 40
The notions of the artistically classical
being linked to the past and the artistically
modern being linked to the present were,
quite simply, born together. The publication
of the archaeologist J.J. Winckelmann’s immensely
influential writings in the mid-18 th
century introduced the idea of the classical
past being specifically limited to Greek
antiquity. 41 Greek antiquity was attributed a
crucial and normative role for the production
of new works, and the shortcomings of
the present and the modern became an
oft-repeated theme. 42 Later art history has

subsequently gathered up the era’s various
concepts and artworks inspired by antiquity
under the designation ”Neo-Classicism”. 43
From the mid-19 th century onwards
the dichotomy between the classical
and the modern grew ever more complicated.
Advocates of the classical increasingly
viewed it as a broadly defined font of
knowledge and truth that did not constitute
a perpetually opposite pole to the present;
rather, true modern art should learn from it
in order to be art. On the one hand, the art
critic Charles Baudelaire, who is traditionally
regarded as a definite modernist, wrote his
famous article on The Painter of Modern Life
(1863) in which he argued in favour of art
that is both classical and modern, and which
is based on an equilibrium between art’s
eternal, classical rules and the flux of the
present. 44 On the other hand the aesthetic
veneration for antiquity was filtered through
modern positivism; the sculptures from the
Parthenon were admired for their anatomical
correctness and their study of life, and the
assumed inductive knowledge of the perfect
human body was admired and shored up the
era’s budding racialism. 45
The discursive and practical artistic
exchange between the two meta-concepts
of “modern” and “classical” continued
up through the 19th century into the 20th century. Engaging in complicated interactions
between action and reaction, the
exchange reached its final culmination with
Modern Classicism during the years around
and after World War I.
A New Artistic strategy: Adam, Newly
Created
In 1913 the Danish artist Svend Rathsack
formed his first large sculpture, Adam,
Newly Created [fig. 1]. The work won
immediate acclaim and was awarded a prize
by the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts
even though it was originally rejected for
the Academy’s Charlottenborg exhibition
in 1914. With Adam, Newly Created Svend
Rathsack went from being a painter to
become a sculptor and gained immediate
access to the art scene and subsequent
commissions. 46 The work also heralded the
coming of a modern classicism as a new
artistic strategy within a Danish context. 47
If we consider Adam, Newly Created as an
unproblematic image it constitutes a natural-
istic, life-sized representation of an ideally
formed male body: a traditional statue. The
work fuses a number of references to sculptures
from Greek antiquity as they would
typically be summed up in early 20 th century
general descriptions of the history of art. 48
The modelling of the torso, arms, neck, and
head point toward the Classical period of
Greek sculpture (circa 480-323 BCE) with
its formal mode of expression: naturalistic,
featuring only subtle, local effects of light
and shadow. However, the narrow groin, the
stiff legs, and the distinctive pose all point
to the rather older sculptures of the Greek
Archaic period (circa 700-480 BCE), which
is also evident in the stylised genitals, the
position of the feet, and the total circumference
of the bulging thighs, which is greater
than that of the hips. 49 Signs belonging to
Classical and Archaic art are combined
with newer sculptural signs that mark a
break with Greek antiquity, such as the
outstretched arms and the rather “un-Greek”
face. 50 The work looks like an attempt at
creating a modern kouros statue; a stylistic
melange offering a generalised depiction of
a youth in his physical prime. 51
With its physiognomy and stylistic
references, Adam, Newly Created draws, in
a semiotic sense, on a range of unspoken
connotations to past concepts of the ideal,
linking them with contemporary ideas about
the healthy, muscular body. Thus, the
sculpture also enters into a dialogue with
the fact that fitness was first formulated as
an individual, personal objective in the late
19 th and early 20 th centuries, based directly
on the art of antiquity. 52 Finally, the work
can also be regarded as a subtle reworking
of a modern Symbolist motif that continues
along tracks laid down by Rathsack’s former
tutor, the Danish painter Joakim Skovgaard,
and the Swiss artist Ferdinand Hodler’s
paintings of naked, isolated man.
Viewed in relation to how other art movements
of the time wished to demonstratively
break with tradition, this move of “recycling”
and mixing various styles seems almost
regressive: 53 Adam, Newly Created proudly
maintains a conception of classical, ideal,
Greek role models. Thus, the artistic tradition
is also shown to be a kind of thematic
mixture of distinct periods from Greek
ancient art with a more recent Symbolism.
However, such references are not made via
explicit symbols and attributes, but through
subtle stylistic signs, which makes the work
appear less literary and more immediate
and direct than other, obviously narrative
sculptures. From this follows what the
French cultural thinker Roland Barthes has
called “a myth” or ideology; an attempt at
hiding a rhetorical construction behind a
sheen of something natural: 54 Adam, Newly
Created is simply the universal human body
in its finest incarnation and an image of
modern man resting on a foundation of
historical stability, exemplified here through
art’s most exalted origins in the Greek past.
The connotations of youth, stability, ideality,
and archaic calm lets the work tell a story
about ur-humanity, about a kind of spiritual
beginning and a dwelling in a bodily self. 55
In 1943 the art historian Erik Zahle writes
about Adam, Newly Created that ”[…] the
powerful impact is not created through
defiance, but in deference to old art; and on
the other hand the figure can be regarded
as a testament to a not inconsiderable
independence, not just in its choice of role
models; there is a distinctive, hale and
strong appreciation of nature to be found
in the upright man [...]”. 56 According to
Zahle, then, the statue can be read as both
a celebration of sculptural tradition and as
an original and independent work. Viewed
from a present-day perspective, however, its
originality is primarily linked to the seamless
linking of various references to Archaic and
Classical art and modern Symbolism.
Adam, Newly Created essentially evinces
a stylistically polyvalent formal language
that sees the work discreetly incorporating
fragments of various periods from antiquity
and from its own time. The same applies,
in various permutations, to several of Einar
Utzon-Frank’s and Johannes C. Bjerg’s
works from 1914 to the early 1920s that
contribute to the creation of a modern
classicism in a Danish setting. These works
are distinguished by a kind of stylised
naturalism, a range of historical references,
simplified individual details, and with the
whole, unfragmented, nude human body
as its main motif. With their choice of the
naked body as subject these works do not
differ greatly from earlier Danish sculptures;
rather, the new departure consists in how
the works are presented in a formal idiom
that – implicitly and explicitly – argues
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in favour of a modern continuation of
an idealised past through a removal of
narrative and more pronounced expressive
elements.
A meeting of Contrasts: Abyssinian
Around 1914 Johannes C. Bjerg created
three versions of Abyssinian [fig. 2] in the
form of two statuettes and a statue. The
large statue can, like Rathsack’s Adam,
Newly Created, be regarded as a young
artist’s ambitious application for entry onto
the Danish art scene, and indeed it became
Bjerg’s breakthrough work. 57 However, the
work can also be regarded as a kind of
mediating meeting between the two metadiscourses,
modern and classical, 58 which is
difficult to fit into a modernist-oriented art
history fixated on development. Compared
to the statuettes’ somewhat abstract and
generalising form, the large version of
Abyssinian belongs within a more traditional,
figurative sculptural tradition; the point
of departure is to use the entire classical
vocabulary in the form of an idealised
depiction of the body with a naturalistic,
slightly abstracted anatomy and clearly
defined contours. In this case, however,
the classical framework includes obvious
references to its own opposite number as
various signs of the modern coexist side by
side with those devices that point towards
tradition.
Abyssinian’s subject matter – the
black body – is itself anti-classical, and
modernity itself, in the form of colonialism,
is a fundamental precondition for being
able to experience the image of a black man
in a Western context. 59 What is more, the
African diaspora in Europe and the USA can
be said to have created the first quintessentially
modern people insofar as they
experience a state of violent changes and
breaks in traditions and continuity. 60 The
references to the modern is given concrete
form in the figure’s head; its simplified and
stylised features appear as if they were contained
within an oblong sphere, subjected
to a “modernist” experiment with form. The
shape of the sphere is accentuated further
by the almond-shaped eyes that protrude to
meet the invisible boundary of the orb, but
also – and even more importantly – repeats
yet other modernisms of the time and their
primitivist inspiration from African sculpture.
141 english version
Fig. 4
Besides the modern and modernist signs,
Abyssinian further demonstrates its reference
to tradition and the past with its harmonious
and dynamic contrapposto; its spiralling
movement and curvature is reminiscent of
e.g. early Florentine Renaissance sculpture,
and with its elongated form it echoes
French-German Gothic sculptures. It would
be tempting to see references to French and
Italian Mannerism here, and indeed later

critics find such references in both Bjerg
and Utzon-Frank, 61 but here we can only do
so tentatively; mannerism has not yet been
developed as a definable and positively
regarded style until around 1925 at the
earliest. 62
In Abyssinian, as was the case with
Adam, Newly Created, the classical should
be understood as a font of various devices
from the past rather than as a firmly defined
canon; here, however, they are depicted in a
more direct confrontation with signs that can
be regarded as modern and anti-classical.
The subject matter and the abstract-reductive
forms in Abyssinian signals modernity,
but underneath this the work still depends
on a narrow mimetic-representational space
where the identification of the human form
constitutes the crux of the work’s impact
and the upright naked body acts as a carrier
of the message in itself. As a consequence
we are shown that both the classical and
the modern can be recognised as elements
within a single sculpture.
Bjerg’s work can be regarded as a
synthesis of different references in which
the classical legacy is maintained and
reformulated to become broader and more
accommodating in scope, like a container
for several different distinctive modes of
expression, including the modern. The
work is neither an old-fashioned sculpture
nor pure modernism; rather, it occupies a
position somewhere between the two. The
works’ references to both discourses do
not, however, take the form of downright
quotes; rather, they are analogous in nature,
evoking something “reminiscent of”, thereby
rendering a simple, descriptive identification
of its style problematic. If Abyssinian can
encompass references to several different
styles, then what meaning does style have?
Classical and modern style: Aphrodite
as modern Classicism
Conventional style analysis seems to claim
that the style and form of a work of art
places it conclusively within this or that
period and this or that historical horizon. 63
The third breakthrough piece of the
emerging Danish classicism, Einar Utzon-
Frank’s Aphrodite [fig. 3], can therefore
illustrate how a work of art can grapple with
style in order to complicate that concept.
In 1914 the sculpture was presented at
the Autumn Exhibition at Charlottenborg,
where it marked a decisive break with the
artist’s former production of expressive and
social-realist works 64 that seemed more
than anything to be inspired by Rodin’s
and Constantin Meunier’s works at The Ny
Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen. 65 With
his new idiom he, like Svend Rathsack and
Johannes C. Bjerg around the same time,
became known to a wider public, and he
subsequently sold Aphrodite to museums in
e.g. Norway, Sweden, and Germany. 66
In a brief, illustrated article by the
prominent critic, architect and designer
Poul Henningsen (known as PH) from 1918
Utzon-Frank was described as being
both ”a lover of classicism” and as a ”[…]
connoisseur and lover of classical art.” 67 In
PH’s description, artist and oeuvre were
conflated in the following conclusion: ”He,
too, believes in the Renaissance spoken
of in this age, and he works towards better
times on the basis of his own beliefs and
preconditions. He appears modern because
the best aspects of our age coincide with his
vision.” 68 The article is remarkable insofar as
it calls for a positive development towards
an artistic renaissance that takes its point
of departure in the past, yet is also modern.
The dual demand for the classical and the
modern – a precondition of international
classicism – challenges any stringently
compartmentalised perception of style. On
the one hand a pure repetition of a past,
“classical” style will be neither modern nor
original, and on the other hand too much
modernism or originality would disavow the
formal authority of the classical role models.
A sculpture such as Aphrodite shows how
this issue can be resolved through direct, yet
discreet manipulation of this situation.
At first glance Aphrodite emits signals
that belong to the realms of tradition and
the past: A mimetic, representational
nude female figure depicted in a static
contrapposto pose, her long hair tied up
and her eyes blank and pupil-less; these
are all strong signs that establish a range
of associations to a classical tradition for
depicting the goddess of love, right from
antiquity to the present day. 69 Precursors can
be found in works separated by great gulfs
of time such as antiquity’s Venus Medici and
Thorvaldsen’s Venus with Apple, [fig. 4] both
of which evince a similar smooth and softly
rounded anatomy. Motivic references almost
seem to take over the work; if unopposed
they would render the work almost invisible
as an independent statement, obliterated by
a long line of predecessors.
In the book Tradition and Desire. From
David to Delacroix, British art historian
Norman Bryson has addressed how new
works of art are created in relation to
tradition. 70 In Western art it has been
common practice to build on past efforts,
and nowhere is it more difficult for a work
to appear independent than when “the
classical” is the yardstick: ”Neo-Classicism
is a deadly style: it has a lethal quality […]”,
for a certain kind of petrification sets in
when tradition takes up much space within
the artistic agenda and everything already
seems to have been done to perfection. 71
Within a Danish context, then, Utzon-Frank’s
Aphrodite occupies a position somewhere
between the countless ancient sculptures
of women that could be viewed at the
Royal Cast Collection and Ny Carlsberg
Glyptotek, and the more recent sculptures
by Bertel Thorvaldsen with their references
to antiquity. The lethal, deadening element
in invoking the classical meant that several
generations of Danish sculptors before
Utzon-Frank can be said to have been
working in the shadow of Thorvaldsen and
antiquity. 72
Utzon-Frank’s Aphrodite resists being
mistaken for something that belongs to the
past, Thorvaldsen, and antiquity by subtly
modernising itself. It does so by effecting
a purging compared to the models of the
past: the figure is made slimmer and
desensualised, all suggestions of narrative
are removed, and anatomical details are
reduced, thereby accentuating the contours
of the body and the lines of the limbs
as the key elements. The Venus Medici
and Thorvaldsen’s Venus both have an
anecdotal framework; one is covering itself
against our gaze, the other contemplates
the golden apple without acknowledging
the spectator. These aspects are gone in
the more recent work, as are the dramatic
contrasts between bent-stretched, right-left,
and the spiralling upward movement from
base to top evident in Thorvaldsen’s figure.
Utzon-Frank’s sculpture, like Rathsack’s
Adam, Newly Created, appears more general
in scope, more “modern”, because it seems
english version 142

less rhetorical and devoid of an expressive
psychological space. Herein resides the
work’s new style; within the framework of
tradition, of the mimetic and representative,
Aphrodite delves down to a basic, fundamental
figure that appears more still and
more generalised than its predecessors.
Utzon-Frank’s work can enter into a dialogue
with art’s past rather than be swallowed up
by it because it appears as a distillation of
both antiquity and Thorvaldsen. Aphrodite
reveals itself as better than its tradition
because the work seems to show what is
“most important”. Perhaps it is this reduction
and distillation that prompts PH to write
about Utzon-Frank’s ”clarity”, ”calm” and
”coolness”, 73 i.e. qualities associated with the
specifically modern.
Aphrodite requires an ability to compare
styles in order to work as a sign of past art
as well as of its reformulation and cleansing.
The statue seems to be imbuing a specific
mode of expression with new potency, to
accentuate a range of elements as ”pure
style”. The work tells nothing and offers
no anecdote or story; the title ”Aphrodite”
has in itself been used so frequently that it
becomes empty. ”The observation of nature
has subordinated itself to the demands of
style, and we sense that this – the style in
itself – has been the artist’s true objective,”
74 says Aksel Rode about Aphrodite
in 1948. When narrative and tensions of
composition are absent, the work comes
to be about the style in itself. Style is the
content of the work, it seems to say. 75
The sculpted Body
Adam, Newly Created, Abyssinian, and
Aphrodite are sculptures without explicit
narratives or defining attributes, thereby
entering into a dialogue with a core modernist
tradition for eliminating all suggestions
of storytelling: In spite of their invocation
of the past they are also modern exhibition
pieces, created for the era of the museum.
Like some of the works of the contemporary
avant-garde, these sculptures are engaged
in exploring “the style in itself”, but they
do not mark the same break with tradition;
rather, they take their point of departure
directly in the idea of the relevance of the
classical. One consequence of this dependence
on classical subjects and naturalistic
idioms is that the sculptural body also takes
143 english version
on great significance as carrier of a range of
traditional conceptions about body and soul.
For at least a few centuries, the Western
body has been associated with issues
regarding ethics and essence. The image
of the body has been viewed as an ideal
representation of a whole, unified human
being through a firm and well-defined form
where the outer is read as a reflection of
the inner. 76 As regards art, the American
art historian Rosalind Krauss has described
this as a mode of perception where the
sculpture’s surface is read as a reference
to the body’s inner structure, thoughts, and
inherent spirit. 77 In this way, images of e.g.
the ideal body in a state of balance can
be interpreted “symptomatically” to refer
to a mind and being in a state of balance.
Bodily expressions in visual representations
become a question of right and wrong ways
for the body to be and express itself, 78
thereby providing spectators with role
models and directions for conduct.
Since the Renaissance the notion of
classical art has been associated with
the universal, the conventional, and the
appropriate. 79 Thus, strong emotions and
expressive forms were not suitable subjects
for art because they could, at one and the
same time, be regarded as far too contingent
and too specific. In this context the three
sculptures by Rathsack, Utzon-Frank, and
Bjerg marks a modern acceleration of the
ethical view of the body in a classical sense:
In the absence of narrative, the only clear
message conveyed by the works becomes
calmness, balance, and perfection. If we
apply the logic of Roland Barthes, the
sculptures may well denote bodies, but their
true significance lies in connoting a range of
traditional, pre-existing notions about how
the healthy body reveals the healthy soul. 80
The denotation – the simple display of a
body – always hides how additional meaning
is attributed besides the mere statement
of fact: Here, a roughly life-sized statue
narrates no stories that involve external
action; rather, it lets cultural notions about
the body be the story itself.
The three works by Rathsack, Utzon-Frank,
and Bjerg addressed in this article mobilise
and reinterpret a classical tradition, as an
artistic exploration of style this marks a
truly new departure, but in terms of subject
matter they still draw on traditional notions
of the ideal body as gendered and essential.
Adam, Newly Created shows the ideal,
white man as a fusion of body and spirit,
independent of the demands and impacts of
modernity; Abyssinian does the same to the
ethnic body, thereby paradoxically inscribing
it within a classical tradition, yet also and
in the same move divesting it of any real
historical and modern context. Similarly,
Aphrodite appears as an emblematic image
of the quintessential female body in repose,
thereby lifting the ideal image of woman
out of any contemporary polemics regarding
women’s position in society.
An Artistic strategy
The early sculptures by Rathsack, Bjerg,
and Utzon-Frank addressed in this
article are involved in several simultaneous
manoeuvres that can also be said to govern
the framework for Modern Classicism as an
independent style and as a potential artistic
strategy in its own right.
First of all, the sculpture is simplified
through a stylisation of anatomical detail
and poses and by removing expressive and
narrative features. In contrast to the even
more marked simplifications and the rapid
appropriation of abstraction seen in other
art from the period, these works retain a link
to a naturalistic idiom, and the sculptures
can still be viewed and perceived as ideal
representations of a concrete, physical
reality. The process of simplification takes
place within the framework of traditional
sculptural practice in which conventional
devices – such as the base, the upright
and cohesive body, the mimetic, and the
exemplary – are not transgressed against.
However, compared to previous classicisms
the simplification, stylisation, and lack of
narration seen here can be said to be radical,
thereby ensuring the sculptures’ status as
original and autonomous works, not just
repetitions of tradition.
Secondly, the style in itself becomes an
area of exploration, one where a range of
different signs for Archaic or Classical Greek
art, for Medieval and Renaissance art and
Modernism are all incorporated within a
single work of art. Such awareness of style
can to some extent be viewed as a consequence
of a growing modern awareness of
the many different artistic idioms of the
past and present, and the deliberate mixture

of references marks a crucial difference
compared to earlier sculpture. The many
loans and references to various notions
about the classical ensure the legitimacy
of the works and facilitate a new artistic
departure based on the best from the past
and from modernity.
Thirdly, these traits – the simplification of
naturalistic form, the disappearance of narrative
elements, and the complex awareness
of style – become linked to a conventional
message regarding the essential significance
and meaning of gender and body. Whereas
the sculptures’ naturalistic stylisation and
compound stylistic references to past and
present would have seemed new around
1914-1915, the representation of the naked
body as carrier of a message about essential
values seems quite conventional, a fact
that presumably contributed to the rapid
and widespread recognition of Modern
Classicism.
As was described in the above, our
present-day sharply delineated opposition
between classical and modern art means
that art historians, critics, and general
perceptions of art all find it impossible to
reconcile motivic or formal references to
the past with the progressively modern. 81
Rathsack’s, Bjerg’s, and Utzon-Frank’s
sculptures come from a different time where
the modern and modernism were still being
defined and when there was no single, dominant
conception of what proper art should
be like. In her PhD dissertation Skulptur
i folkhemmet the Swedish art historian
Jessica Sjöholm Skrubbe writes about how a
similar scenario applies in connection with
a slightly later public sculpture in Sweden.
She describes a number of sculptures
as “hybrid forms” occupying a position
somewhere between traditional sculpture
and “self-referential”, modernist art, 82 a
situation which is in certain regards similar
to that of the works of Modern Classicism.
Rathsack’s, Bjerg’s, and Utzon-Frank’s
Modern Classicism, as it was formulated in
their three breakthrough works, represent
an endeavour to strike a balance between
notions of the classical and the modern,
between employing pared-back, abstract
forms while also referring to tradition. The
style in itself comes to carry a message
about the poignancy of the body, but at the
same time the efforts to formulate a new
idiom also constitute an attempt at carving
out a space for themselves, a space that
allows their art to be viewed as innovative,
original, and in keeping with contemporary
requirements. If we accept Norman
Bryson’s notion that all artists must react
against their predecessors, 83 then Modern
Classicism constitutes a revolt against the
type of sculpture that set the artistic agenda
at the time of their own breakthrough:
Willumsen’s expressive and symbolic art, or
the hyper-realistic naturalism advocated by
the Academy professors Carl Aarsleff and
Vilhelm Bissen. In sculpture, Danish Modern
Classicism asserts itself by passing over the
works of slightly older sculptors in order to
reach back in time and uphold the authority
of the classical in support of a new, artistic
strategy that subtly incorporates modernist
elements.
In a wider sense this significant
undertaking of defining and presenting a
new kind of classical and modern style
became an exploration of how to create
a work of art that expresses meaning in
a new, contemporary and relevant way
without following in the wake of radical
modernism. Something about the art of
Rathsack, Bjerg and Utzon-Frank resonated
with audiences; during the years after World
War I a number of their works were used to
adorn new buildings in Copenhagen and as
public monuments and memorials, 84 and
their success came to influence an entire
generation of younger sculptors who would,
even in the years after World War II, seek to
find their own feet through variations and
repetitions of the same motif: 85 the ideal,
well-shaped human body executed in an
abstracted, non-narrative idiom.
This article takes its point of departure in some of the arguments in my MA (research degree) dissertation from 2008, Det klassiske som figur.
Mening og nærvær i skulpturer af Svend Rathsack, Johannes C. Bjerg og Einar Utzon-Frank. (The Classical as Figure. Meaning and Presence in
Sculptures by Svend Rathscak, Johannes C. Bjerg, and Einar Utzon-Frank). I should like to once again thank my knowledgeable tutor, associate
professor Gunhild Ravn Borggreen, PhD. Warm thanks are also due to curator Ernst Jonas Bencard, MA, whose comments and criticism have
helped the points made in the article emerge with greater clarity.
english version 144

1 No published or complete inventories of the artists’
works exist to provide certain dating. Dating is
based on my best estimate of when the original
plaster model was ready; such estimates are based
on the literature available and on studies conducted
in the archives of Danmarks Kunstbibliotek (the
Danish National art Library). Incomplete inventories
can be found in the following: For Svend rathsack,
see: Erik Zahle: “Svend rathsack II: 1920-1941”,
Kunstmuseets Aarsskrift XXXI-XXXII, 1945. For
Johannes C. Bjerg, see: Minna Bjerg: Billedhuggeren
Johannes C. Bjerg, unpublished manuscript, available
at www.johannesbjerg.com/superframe-biografi.
html. For Einar Utzon-Frank, see: Utzon-Frank og hans
elever 1918-1943: Udstilling i Udstillingsbygningen ved
Charlottenborg, the royal Danish academy of Fine
arts, Copenhagen 1943.
2 See, for example, Sigurd Schultz: Nyere dansk
Billedhuggerkunst. Fra Niels Skovgaard til Jais Nielsen,
Copenhagen 1929; the series Vor Tids Kunst, published
from 1931-1976 in a total of 76 volumes, initially
by the publishing house rasmus Naver, later by
Gyldendal; Haavard rostrup: ”Fra Kai Nielsen til de
yngste”, in Viggo thorlacius-Ussing (ed.): Danmarks
billedhuggerkunst. Fra oldtid til nutid, Copenhagen
1950; or aksel rode: ”Billedhuggerkunsten”, in
Frithiof Brandt, Haakon Shetelig & alf Nyman (eds.):
Vor tids kunst og digtning i Skandinavien, Copenhagen
1948.
3 Utzon-Frank was a professor at the royal Danish
academy of Fine arts from 1918 until his death in
1955, Bjerg from 1945 until his death in 1955. During
the period 1943-46 Bjerg also served as Director of
the academy. as no inventories of the artists’ body of
work exist, the dissemination and popularity of their
work can only be estimated by reading a number of
incomplete inventories, media cuttings and criticism,
and articles and pamphlets about the artists; the
latter having mostly been published in the artists’
own lifetime.
4 the relative obscurity that has descended upon the
three artists and their works has also affected their
sculptures at the National Gallery of Denmark. In
the early 2000s, after having stood in front of the
Gallery for decades, a number of sculptures were
rather brutally restored in Italy where no concession
was made to their original patina. Bjerg’s The
Abyssinian suffered particularly hard at the hands
of the restorers to the point where it now appears
with a matt, golden surface that is far removed
from the artist’s original intentions. the version of
The Abyssinian housed at the Fuglsang art Museum
on the island of Lolland was owned by the artist’s
family until 2004 and has kept its original surface;
the sculpture depicted in this article is the Fuglsang
version. See Birger thøgersen, ”Kunsten på helsetur”,
Politiken, 27.8.2003.
5 Style analysis has been regularly challenged and
criticised over the course of the last 30 years, but
continues to constitute a frequently unconsidered,
yet fundamental manoeuvre at the heart of an
art historical practice. See, for example, Willibald
Sauerländer: “From Stilus to Style: reflections on the
145 english version
Fate of a Notion”, Art History 6 no. 3, 1983; Svetlana
alpers: “Style is What You Make It. the Visual arts
Once again”, in Berel Lang (ed.): The Concept of Style,
Ithaca 1987, 2 nd edition; Jas Elsner: ”Style”, in robert
S. Nelson & richard Shiff (eds.): Critical Terms for Art
History, Chicago and London 2003, 2 nd edition.
6 See especially teresa Nielsen: Johannes C. Bjerg. De
tidlige år 1909-21, Kunstmuseet Køge Skitsesamling,
Køge 1990, and briefer mentions in Hanne abildgaard:
”Modernitet og menneske”, in Jens Erik Sørensen
(ed.): Dansk skulptur i 125 år, Copenhagen 1996;
Hanne abildgaard: Tidlig dansk modernisme, Ny
dansk kunsthistorie, vol. 6, Copenhagen 1994, p.
161ff; Gertrud Oelsner & Gertrud Hvidberg-Hansen
(eds.): Livslyst. Sundhed – Skønhed – Styrke i dansk
kunst 1890-1940, Fuglsang Kunstmuseum and Fyns
Kunstmuseum, toreby L. and Odense 2008.
7 abildgaard, 1994, p. 219. My Ma (research
degree) dissertation from 2008, submitted to the
Department of arts and Cultural Studies, University
of Copenhagen, Det klassiske som figur. Mening
og nærvær i skulpturer af Svend Rathsack, Einar
Utzon-Frank og Johannes C. Bjerg, on which this article
is based, is the first theoretically ambitious study
of the three sculptors’ work. an unpublished Ma
thesis from 2002 about Utzon-Frank also exists, but
unfortunately it suffers from certain shortcomings as
regards theory and method.
8 Michel Foucault: ”Nietzsche – genealogien,
historien”, in Søren Gosvig Olesen (ed.): Epistemologi,
Copenhagen 1983, 96.
9 See, for example, Hans Dam Christensen:
Forskydningens kunst. Kritiske bidrag til kunsthistoriens
historie, Copenhagen 2001.
10 there has been only one reasonably integrated
attempt made in recent years at constructing a
proper narrative about early 20 th century Danish art
that includes traditional, figurative sculpture: the
exhibition Livslyst at Fuglsang art Museum and Funen
art Museum in 2008. the exhibition theme – Vitalism
in Danish art – encompasses many different artistic
modes of expression and is, for the purposes of
this article, too broad in scope to elucidate specific
artistic choices in rathsack, Bjerg, and Utzon-Frank.
See Oelsner & Hvidberg-Hansen, 2008.
11 Quite tellingly, rathsack, Bjerg, and Utzon-Frank are
allocated a few pages alongside other sculptors in
Hans Edvard Nørregaard-Nielsen’s 672-page, very
widely sold book about Danish art history under the
heading ”and the others”; rathsack’s last name is
even spelt wrong. Hans Edvard Nørregård-Nielsen:
Dansk kunst. Tusind års kunsthistorie, Copenhagen
2003, 6 th edition, pp. 478ff. the most comprehensive
description of the era’s sculpture – a description
which is nevertheless quite general in scope – can be
found in abildgaard, 1996.
12 to my knowledge the hitherto largest and most
cohesive study of modernism as “master narrative”
can be found in Hans Hayden: Modernismen som
institution.Om etableringen av ett estetisk och
historiografiskt paradigm, Stockholm and Stehag 2006.
13 Ibid., pp. 8ff; James Elkins: Master Narratives and Their
Discontents, New York and London 2005, pp. 30-31,
pp. 73-74.
14 See Dorthe aagesen (ed.): Avantgarde i dansk og
europæisk kunst 1909-19, Statens Museum for Kunst,
Copenhagen 2002.
15 ”Modern classicism”, ”classicising modernism”
or ”new classicism” are different designations
for a phenomenon that remains little studied and
controversial; most discussions of the subject are
embedded in reference works, monographs, and
exhibition catalogues about avant-garde artists. a
number of recent exhibitions and their catalogues
have, however, ventured attempts at grappling
with the issue, including: Elizabeth Cowling and
Jennifer Mundy (eds.): On Classic Ground, exhibition
catalogue, tate Gallery, 6.6.1990 – 2.9.1990, London
1990; Gottfried Boehm, Ulrich Mosch and Katharina
Schmidt (eds.): Canto d’Amore. Classicism in Modern
Art and Music 1914-1935, exhibition catalogue,
Kunstmuseum Basel, 27.4.1996 – 11.8.1996, London
1996; robert Storr: Modern Art despite Modernism,
exhibition catalogue, the Museum of Modern art,
New York, 16.3.2000 – 26.7.2000, New York 2000.
the only recent reference work of sculpture to
consistently include Modern Classicism would appear
to be: Penelope Curtis: Sculpture 1900-1945. After
Rodin, Oxford 1999. an inspiring study of the link
between nationalism, politics, and art in interwar
France can be found in: romy Golan: Modernity
and Nostalgia. Art and politics in France between the
war, New Haven and London 1995. a number of
texts on primarily French (avant-garde) art have
also addressed important aspects of the issue:
David Cottington: Cubism in the Shadow of War. The
Avant-Garde and Politics in Paris 1905-1914, New Haven
and London 1998; Christopher Green: Cubism and its
Enemies. Modern Movements and Reaction in French Art,
1916-1928, New Haven and London 1987; Christopher
Green: Art in France 1900-1940, New Haven and
London 2000; Kenneth E. Silver: Esprit de Corps. The
Art of the Parisian Avant-Garde and the First World War,
1914-1925, London 1989.
16 Curtis, 1999, p. 215.
17 Elizabeth Cowling: ”Introduction”, in Elizabeth
Cowling and Jennifer Mundy (eds.): On Classic Ground,
tate Gallery, London 1990, p. 11.
18 Ibid.
19 Guillaume apollinaire: ”andré Derain”, in Apollinaire
on Art, edited by Leroy C. Breuning, London 1972, pp.
444-445.
20 Green, 2000, pp. 203.
21 See Golan, 1995.
22 See in particular Christopher Green, ”Part Five.
History, tradition and the French Nation”, Art in
France 1900-1940, New Haven and London 2000.
23 Unfettered by anecdote and as a worthy expression
of the eternal and true in a nation’s soul, landscape
became the other major subject matter for the
artists of the period. See Green, 2000; Golan, 1995.
24 adam Fischer: “Moderne klassisk kunst i Paris”,
Klingen vol 2, no. 3, 1918.
25 adam Fischer: “Negersculptur og moderne kunst”,
Klingen vol 1, no. 6, 1918.
26 abildgaard, 1994, p. 153ff.

27 abildgaard, 1994, p. 121ff.
28 abildgaard, 1994, p. 139ff.
29 See, for example, Vilhelm Wanscher: ”Moderne Kunst”,
Politiken 3.2.1919.
30 an explanation employed in e.g. Golan, 1995.
31 Leo Swane: Svend Rathsack. Et Udvalg af Skulpturer
med indledende Tekst, Vor tids Kunst 17, Copenhagen
1934, p. 9; Leo Swane: Johannes C. Bjerg. Et Udvalg
af Skulpturer med indledende Tekst, Vor tids Kunst 9,
Copenhagen 1932, p. 13; Sigurd Schultz: Utzon Frank.
Et Udvalg af Skulpturer med indledende Tekst, Vor tids
Kunst 10, Copenhagen 1932, p. 5.
32 Schultz, 1932, p. 6.
33 Maria Fabricius Hansen: “the Great age of
Statuettes. Danish Decorative Sculpture, 1900-
1925”, Scandinavian Journal of Design History vol. 3,
1993.
34 In this context ”classicism” denotes a reference to or
a desire to operate within a field that is designated
as “classical”, and “modernism” denotes a reference
to or a desire to operate within a field which at the
very least involves some of the concepts relating
to the “modern”. at the risk of being reductive, the
terms “classical” and “classicism” are used partially
as synonyms, as are “modern” and “modernism”,
throughout this text. For a more developed
distinction concerning the classical and classicism,
see Gottfried Boehm: “an alternative Modern. On
the Concept and Basis of the Exhibition”, in Gottfried
Boehm, Ulrich Mosch and Katharina Schmidt (red.):
Canto d’Amore. Classicism in Modern Art and Music
1914-1935, Kunstmuseum Basel, London 1996, 24.
the concept of modernism is an abstraction that
will most frequently be understood as a response
to an “experience of modernity”. More accurate
definitions of what is required in order for something
to be modernist are, however, as hotly debated as
the definition of what the modern is. For some of
the currently widespread definitions of modernism
as an experience, see Marshall Berman: All That is
Solid Melts into Air. The Experience of Modernity [1982],
London and New York, 1995.
35 Paul Holberton: ”Classicism”, in Hugh Brigstocke (ed.):
Oxford Companion to Western Art, Oxford 2001.
36 ”Neoclassicism”, in Ian Chilvers (ed.): A Dictionary of
Twentieth-Century Art, Oxford 1998.
37 Ferdinand de Saussure: “Lingvistikkens objekt”
[1916], in Peter Madsen (red.): Strukturalisme. En
antologi, Copenhagen 1970.
38 It is, of course, impossible to provide an overview of
everything that has been written about classical
tradition, or to provide a meaningful account of
works and artists that have been called classical.
See, for example, the list of literature and the
considerations behind it in Michael Greenhalgh, The
Classical Tradition in Art, London 1978, 9, 235ff. It
lists approximately 1,000 articles and books about
classical art and architecture.
39 Calinescu, 1987, pp. 13-14; Johan Fornäs: Cultural
Theory and Late Modernity, London 1995, p. 19; Boehm,
1996, p. 24.
40 Calinescu, 1987, p. 26ff.
41 two of Winckelmann’s books came to be at the centre
of the notion about classical antiquity’s status
as a model to be emulated in art: Johann Joachim
Winckelmann: Gedanken über die Nachahmung der
griechischen Werke in Malerey und Bildhauerkunst,
Dresden and Leipzig 1756; Johann Joachim
Winckelmann: Geschichte der Kunst des Alterthums,
Dresden 1764.
42 alex Potts: Flesh and the Ideal. Winckelmann and the
Origins of Art History, New Haven and London 2000, p.
98.
43 Hugh Honour: ”Neo-Classicism”, in The Age of
Neo-Classicism, the arts Council of Great Britain,
London 1972, p. xxii.
44 “Modernity is the transient, the fleeting, the
contingent; it is one half of art, the other being the
eternal and the immovable.” Charles Baudelaire: Det
moderne livs maler (the Painter of Modern Life) [1863],
aarhus 2001, p. 33; the art historian Craig Owens
quotes Jules Lemaître’s interpretation of Baudelaire’s
view of art as: “[a] constant combination of two
opposite modes of reaction … a past and a present
mode.” Craig Owens: ”the allegorical Impulse”, in
Brian Wallis (ed.): Art After Modernism: Rethinking
Representation, New York 1984, 211.
45 athena S. Leoussi: Nationalism and Classicism. The
Classical Body as National Symbol in Nineteenth-
Century England and France, London 1998, p. 25ff.
46 Erik Zahle, “Svend rathsacks Ungdom”, Kunstmuseets
Aarsskrift XXX, 1943, pp. 110-11; abildgaard, 1996, p.
126.
47 a contemporary modern classicism can be discerned
in Danish architecture with Carl Petersen’s Faaborg
Museum as an early example, but a discussion of
architecture as an analogy to the visual arts falls far
outside the scope of this article.
48 For an overview of the period’s perceptions about
the stages and traits of ancient art, see e.g. this
popular Danish handbook for young students, which
was printed and reprinted in numerous editions:
J.M. Secher: Græsk-romersk Kunsthistorie til Skolebrug,
Copenhagen 1926, 6 th edition.
49 Cf. Zahle, 1943, p. 110.
50 art history and archaeology agree that outstretched
or raised arms in free sculpture are features that are
not seen before late Classical sculpture, and which
are not used in earnest until the advent of the bronze
sculptures of the renaissance. See robin Osborne:
Archaic and Classical Greek Art, Oxford 1998, p. 226.
51 the view of the kouros statue as being, at least in
certain eras, ideal and universal is widely accepted.
robin Osborne: ”Men Without Clothes: Heroic
Nakedness and Greek art”, Gender & History vol. 9
no. 3, 1997, p. 512; Nanette Salomon: “the Venus
Pudica: uncovering art history’s ‘hidden agendas’
and pernicious pedigrees”, in Griselda Pollock (ed.):
Generations and Geographies in the Visual Arts, London
and New York 1996, p. 71ff.
52 regarding the body culture of the era and its classical
precursors, see tamar Garb: Bodies of Modernity.
Figure and Flesh in Fin-de-Siècle France, London 1998,
pp. 54-79; a Danish context is described in Gertrud
Hvidberg-Hansen: ”Hellas under nordlig himmel”, in
Gertrud Oelsner and Gertrud Hvidbeg-Hansen (eds.):
Livslyst. Sundhed – Skønhed – Styrke i dansk kunst
1890-1940, toreby L. and Odense 2008.
53 Most literature regards the revolt against tradition
as a crucial, progressive basis shared by modernism
and the avant-garde alike. See e.g. the influential
studies: Peter Bürger: Theory of the Avant-Garde,
Minneapolis 1994, 3 rd edition, pp. 22, 49, 60-63;
Matei Calinescu: Five Faces of Modernity, Durham,
1987, 2 nd edition, pp. 5, 10; renato Poggioli: The
Theory of the Avant-Garde Cambridge Ma and London
1968, pp. 30ff, 52ff.
54 roland Barthes: ”Myten i dag”, Mytologier [1957/70],
Copenhagen 1996.
55 In Hebrew adam literally means “human being”,
and the general understanding within Western
thought, as influenced by Christianity, is that adam
is a symbol of all of humanity by virtue of his role as
the first man, the first sinner, and the first farmer.
James F. Driscoll: ”adam”, in The Catholic Encyclopedia,
New York 1907), available at www.newadvent.org/
cathen/
56 Zahle, 1943, p. 110.
57 aksel rode: ”to danske billedhuggere”, Konstspegeln
6/7, 1955/56, p. 17.
58 the art historian anne Højer Petersen offers a very
similar analysis: ”In the large Abyssinian Bjerg unites
the classical (the human figure, the choice of material)
and the modern (the non-narrative content, the
ethnic element) to form a harmonious whole and has
furthermore created an unusually perfect sculpture
in the round on a monumental scale.” anne Højer
Petersen: ”Johannes C. Bjerg, Abessinier (1914-15)”,
in tine Nielsen Fabienke and Gertrud Oelsner (ed.):
Vores bedste stykker, toreby L. 2008, p. 68.
59 the sculpture was done after the same male model
as Georg Kolbe’s Torso eines Somalinegers, created
two years earlier, so the motif could, if one wished to
be polemic, also be Kolbe’s statue rather than the life
model. See ”to arbejder efter samme Model”, Dagens
Nyheder, 16.2.1932.
60 Fornäs, 1995, p. 30. On this subject one can note that
various peoples have experienced being uprooted
prior to this time; the Jewish peoples and various
historic migrations are good examples. However, the
african people in the West are the first to experience
a large-scale physical relocation and a systematic
denigration and repression of their culture.
61 Haavard rostrup, 1950, pp. 438, 442; rode, 1955/56,
pp. 16-17. as far back as 1929 Sigurd Schultz
described Utzon-Frank’s art as having a tendency
towards “the mannered”, which should be regarded
as an instance of traditional, qualitative criticism
rather than as a designation of the artist as having
been inspired by Mannerism. the same text points
to antiquity and Florentine renaissance as the main
sources of inspiration for Utzon-Frank. Schultz, 1929,
pp. 13-14.
62 In connection with this article Ernst Jonas
Bencard has called my attention to the fact that
Mannerism and “mannered” are concepts that
appear several times when Bjerg and Utzon-Frank
are mentioned, which means that these concepts
could be incorporated into an analysis of their early
art. On this subject I would note that Mannerism
is a much-contested and very vague definition and
that such characteristics are only applied to Bjerg’s
english version 146

and Utzon-Frank’s art at a somewhat later date
than when they were produced, and not until after
the publication of the two absolutely seminal works
identifying Mannerism as a style by the austrian
art historians Max Dvořák and Walter Friedländer,
published in 1922 and 1925, respectively. It would
certainly be possible to discuss e.g. Friedländer’s
description of the “anti-classical” and Dvořák’s
identification of a “crisis sensibility” in mannerism
in connection with Modern Classicism, but it
does not seem entirely feasible to link Bjerg’s and
Utzon-Frank’s works to this type of interpretation
when such readings were still in their infancy. Even
though a few artists such as El Greco, Giambologna,
and Cellini, who would later come to be regarded as
quintessential Mannerists, were admired before the
1920s, it is by far the most likely scenario that the
main objective was to point to the proto-Mannerist
traits of the already acclaimed Gothic and Florentine
15 th century sculptures. Max Dvořák: ”Über Greco
und den Manierismus”, Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschicthe, p.
XV, 1921/1922; Walter Friedländer: „Die Entstehung
des antiklassischen Stiles in der italienischen Malerei
um 1520“, Repertorium für Kunstwissenschaft, p. XLVI,
1925.
63 Cf. note 5.
64 Several of these works are now lost; the only
documentation of their existence can be found at
Danmarks Kunstbibliotek (the Danish National art
Library), Kunsthistorisk Billedarkiv. also see Chr.
Engelstoft: ”Einar Utzon Frank”, Skønvirke V, 1919, p.
102.
65 rodin and Meunier appear to be widely accepted
as Utzon-Frank’s role models for his attempts at
renouncing the type of naturalistic sculpture that
Carl aarsleff taught at the royal Danish academy of
Fine arts, and which constituted the dominant type
of sculpture. See e.g. rode, 1955/56, p. 15; Schultz,
1932, p. 8.
66 Schultz, Utzon Frank, pp.10, 23.
67 Poul Henningsen: ”Einar Utzon Frank”, Vor Tid II, 1918,
pp. 140, 149.
68 Henningsen, 1918, p. 149.
69 Caroline arscott and Katie Scott: ”Introducing
Venus”, in Caroline arscott and Katie Scott (eds.):
Manifestations of Venus. Art and Sexuality, Manchester
2000.
70 Norman Bryson: Tradition and Desire. From David to
Delacroix, Cambridge 1984.
71 Bryson, 1984, p. 30.
72 Ernst Jonas Bencard: ”Generationen uden
egenskaber”, in Ernst Jonas Bencard and Stig
Miss: Afmagt. Dansk billedhuggerkunst 1850-1900,
Copenhagen 2002; aksel rode: “1880’ernes og
90’ernes billedhuggere. Fra klassicismens efterklange
til 90’ernes stilsøgen”, in Viggo thorlacius-Ussing
(ed.): Danmarks billedhuggerkunst. Fra oldtid til nutid,
Copenhagen 1950, pp. 382-383.
73 Henningsen, 1918, pp. 140, 149.
74 rode, 1948, p. 114.
75 the same function, i.e. the modern, classical work
as a self-aware presenter of the style in itself, is
identified, independently of each other, by the art
historians Jens toft and Gottfried Boehm, as a
147 english version
central strategy for other artists of the time. Jens
toft: “Nogle betragtninger over tegnet i maleriet”,
Periskop. Forum for kunsthistorisk debat no. 4, 1995;
Boehm, 1996.
76 ”In other words, the notion of unified form is
integrally bound up with the perception of self, and
the construction of individual identity.” Lynda Nead:
The Female Nude. Art, Obscenity and Sexuality, New
York and London 2004, p. 7; also see George L. Mosse:
The Image of Man. The Creation of Modern Masculinity,
Oxford and New York 1996, p. 24ff.
77 rosalind Krauss: Passages in Modern Sculpture,
Cambridge Ma and London 1981, p. 23ff.
78 this reading runs counter to the tradition of
regarding the artistic body image as being a primarily
aesthetic matter, as has been argued in e.g. the art
historian Kenneth Clark’s influential book: The Nude. A
Study in Ideal Form [1956], London 1973. a significant
criticism of Clark and his position can be found in
Nead, 2004, p. 12ff.
79 See e.g. richard Shiff: “Phototropism (Figuring the
Proper)”, in Kathleen Preciardo (ed.): Retaining the
Original. Multiple Originals, Copies, and Reproductions,
Washington 1989, pp. 164, 169.
80 Barthes, 1977.
81 See e.g. the attack on postmodern art that point
back to tradition in Benjamin H.D. Buchloh: ”Figures
of authority, Ciphers of regression: Notes on the
return of representation in European Painting”,
October 16, 1981.
82 Jessica Sjöholm Skrubbe: Skulptur i folkhemmet. Den
offentlige skulpturens institutionalisering, referentialitet
och rumsliga situationer 1940-1975, Göteborg 2007, p.
113.
83 Bryson, 1984, p. 15ff.
84 In the 1920s rathsack and Bjerg created a number
of designs for reliefs for new apartment buildings
created in the “Danish Classicism” and Functionalist
styles in e.g. Vanløse and the København NV and
Østerbro areas in Copenhagen. Utzon-Frank’s
designs also included the figures for the extension
of the royal Danish theatre, Stærekassen, around
1930-31, and the relief Bull for the modern complex
of slaughterhouses in Kødbyen in 1933. Works by the
three artists were also erected in connection with
aarhus Stadion and Østerbro Stadion, in public parks,
and in many other settings.
85 Bjerg’s and Utzon-Frank’s work as professors shaped
an entire generation of Danish sculptors for better or
worse, and their influence was increasingly viewed
as restraining or inhibiting. See Ernst Jonas Bencard:
”Den bundne varme”, BKF. Billedkunstnernes Forbund,
nos. 5-6 1985; rasmus Kjærboe: “Billedhuggerskole
med vægt på traditionen. Johannes C. Bjerg, professor
1945-55”, in Henrik B. andersen and Carsten
Jarlov (eds.): Billedhuggerskolen i Frederiksholms Kanal,
Copenhagen 2008.

Fig.1
english version 148

Henri matisse, Le Luxe II
k at h r i n e segel and ole nørrega a r d jensen
In 2009 the painting Le Luxe II 1 [fig. 1] by
Henri Matisse (1869-1954) was restored
at the National Gallery of Denmark’s
Department of Conservation. During treatment,
a number of studies were conducted
in order to achieve greater knowledge about
the painting’s genesis and to expand our
general knowledge of Matisse’s painting
technique. One particular objective was
to ascertain how the artist transferred
the motif to the canvas. Another was to
determine the medium used to execute Le
Luxe II, as existing information pointed in
different directions. The extensive studies
prompted collaboration between the Gallery
and protein scientists from the Department
of Biochemistry and Molecular Biology at
the University of Southern Denmark (SDU)
in Odense.
Le Luxe Times Three
As the title of the painting indicates,
Matisse painted two versions of Le Luxe.
The older version, Le Luxe I, was painted
in 1907 in Collioure, south of France. The
painting was executed in oil and measures
210 cm x 138 cm. It was exhibited later
that year at the Salon d’Automne in Paris
under the title Luxe (esquisse). The fact that
Matisse added the word “sketch” to the
painting’s title at the time might suggest
that the painting was either unfinished or
that it formed part of a longer process. The
painting, which is now known by the title Le
Luxe I, remained in the artist’s ownership
right up until 1945, at which point it was
sold to the Musée National d’Art Moderne
in Paris (the present-day Centre George
Pompidou).
While the older version described above
is well accounted for, some confusion has
reigned regarding the genesis and dating of
the subsequent Le Luxe II. 2 Today, however,
scholars are convinced that Matisse painted
it at his studio in Couvert des Oiseaux in
Paris in late 1907 or early 1908. 3 Le Luxe
II measures 209.5 x 139cm. The two paintings
share virtually the same size and the
compositions in both works are also almost
identical. One reason behind the studies
described here is that in contrast to the
149 english version
older version Le Luxe II was obviously not
executed in oil. The painting was exhibited
in Cologne and London in 1912, and was
also featured at The Armory Show in New
York the following year. In 1917 the painting
was bought by Johannes Rump, a Danish
engineer, politician, and property developer.
In January of 1928 Rump donated his collection
to the National Gallery of Denmark; a
gift that included Le Luxe II.
Despite the similar compositions featured
in the two versions of Le Luxe, the paintings
differ in terms of style. Le Luxe I was
painted using broad, irregular brushstrokes,
thereby creating a certain sense of volume,
while landscapes and figures in Le Luxe II
are simplified and reduced to almost flat,
monochrome fields of colour. The painting
shows three naked female figures on a
beach. In the foreground is a dark-haired
woman standing on a white piece of fabric.
At the woman’s feet is a kneeling, blonde
woman who is either attempting to dry the
standing woman’s feet or to liberate her
from the cloth. The third female figure in the
painting is approaching the other two. She
carries a bouquet of flowers, and her pose
suggests that she wishes to present it to the
standing woman. Some think that the work
evokes associations to the birth of Venus. 4
Others interpret the motif as an allegory of
three different states: activity, passivity, and
contemplation. 5
In addition to the two paintings, the
motif is also featured in an undated
preliminary drawing owned by the Centre
George Pompidou in Paris. The present
dimensions of the drawing are 225 x 137cm,
which makes it slightly taller than the two
paintings. At either end of the drawing an
empty, horizontal band of 7.5cm has been
added. Presumably these horizontal bands
were originally folded back and have been
added to the work itself in connection with a
previous relining. 6 If this is indeed the case,
the drawing would originally have measured
210 x 137cm, which corresponds to the
size of the two paintings. The preliminary
drawing was done on paper which has been
divided into a 20 x 20cm grid of reddish
lines. On top of this grid Matisse drew the
motif in charcoal. Matisse did not date the
preliminary drawing, but studies have shown
that Matisse may have done it during the
time elapsed between Le Luxe I and Le Luxe
II. 7 If this is the case, the preliminary drawing
functioned as a tool allowing Matisse to
retain a clear memory of the subject when
Le Luxe I was sent to be exhibited immediately
upon its completion. This thesis is
corroborated by the fact that Le Luxe I was
exhibited at the Salon d’Automne as Luxe
(esquisse), suggesting that a final painting
was in the works.
Furthermore, the art historian Yve-Alain
Bois has observed that Matisse carried out
a number of compositional changes in the
later version of the painting. 8 In Le Luxe I
the standing woman has her front towards
the spectator, whereas in Le Luxe II she
is turned slightly towards the heraldic left.
Similarly, the second female figure moves
her foot from heraldic right towards heraldic
left. If we compare the paintings to the preliminary
drawing it seems as if the drawing’s
composition falls somewhere between the
two versions of Le Luxe. The adjustments
in the preliminary drawing can be read as
if Matisse was, at a conceptual level, in the
process of rotating the painting’s central
figure.
The Conservation of Le Luxe II in
1966
In 1966 conservators at the National Gallery
of Denmark carried out extensive conservation
of Le Luxe II. At this point the painting’s
surface was already greatly affected by
major water damage in the painting’s upper
half as well as comprehensive stains and
runs caused by moderate water splashes. A
photograph of Le Luxe II from 1919 revealed
that this water damage was not original
[fig. 2]. 9 The matt paint layer had plenty
of areas with flaking paint and craquelure.
Furthermore, the canvas was in poor condition.
Thus, a choice was made to reline the
painting with glue-paste. The treatment was
carried out on a hot-table. The glue-paste
employed for the process was made of
wheat flour, gelatine, benzoic acid, and
water. 10 Flaking paint layers were consoli-

Fig. 2
dated locally with gelatine. Also, the most
damaged areas of Le Luxe II were retouched
using a mixture of dry pigment and gelatine
that matched the matt appearance of the
paint layer.
Basis for the Technical studies
in 2009
In early 2009 Le Luxe II was once again
restored at the Gallery’s Department of
Conservation for aesthetic reasons. The old
retouchings had become discoloured and
were detrimental to the overall experience
and appreciation of the painting. Moreover
there was an interest in examining Le Luxe
II for the purpose of adding new knowledge
about Matisse’s painting technique and to
confirm or refute contradictory information
about the work.
When the studies commenced, the issue
of how Matisse had transferred the motif
to the canvas was unresolved. Due to the
overall similarities between the compositions
of Le Luxe II and the preliminary drawing, it
was assumed that Matisse had used some
kind of transfer technique. However, a
naked-eye examination did not immediately
reveal an underdrawing underneath the
paint layer.
Additionally, the studies wished to
determine the exact medium used to paint
Le Luxe II. Existing literature have described
the paint layer as either casein or distemper,
which in chemical terms are widely different
mediums. The earliest Danish source
referring to the painting is an exhibition
catalogue on J. Rump’s collection of modern
French art. The catalogue was published in
1929 and states that the painting was executed
in distemper. 11 But in a questionnaire
survey from 1951 conducted in connection
with a retrospective at the MoMA in New
York, Matisse allegedly stated that Le Luxe
II was executed in détrempe. 12 In French the
concept of détrempe has two meanings: 13
the term can denote either distemper or
emulsion paint / tempera. In A.H. Barr’s
1951 publication on Matisse, which uses the
questionnaire as part of its source material,
détrempe has been translated as casein. 14
Since then both terms have been used in
various international publications to describe
the paint layer of Le Luxe II. There is also
information suggesting that Matisse received
the recipe for the paint from the relatively
unknown Catalan painter Etienne Terrus 15 .
Despite keen efforts it was not possible to
uncover the original recipe. 16
Visually, the paint layer of Le Luxe II
appears extremely matt, almost pastel-like.
Preliminary studies also showed that the
paint layer was water soluble. These two
observations suggested that the paint layer
consisted of distemper. However, they could
also indicate that the paint layer was in a
very advanced stage of deterioration.
Regardless of the medium used, Le Luxe
II stands out among the artist’s other works
by not having been executed in oil. There
are only three other known cases where
Matisse did not employ oil for his paintings.
Of those paintings only two still exist today.
At the Museum of Art in Grenoble, France,
analyses were conducted on the binder
employed in the painting Intérieur aux
Aubergines (Interior with Aubergines) from
1911. The study revealed that the paint
layer contained animal glue. 17 According
to conservators at the Hermitage in St.
Petersburg the painting Le café Arabe/ Café
marocain (Arab Coffee-House) from 1913
is presumably also executed in distemper. 18
However, this information was based solely
on the conservators’ empirical knowledge
of materials; no technical studies are
available. The third painting La Nuit/ Grand
Nu à la colle from 1911 is lost, presumably
destroyed by the artist himself. According
to literature it, too, was executed in
distemper. 19
Grid
When the ornamental frame of Le Luxe II
was removed in connection with the restoration,
this revealed lines of approximately
1cm spaced 20cm apart along the painting’s
horizontal edges. In some cases the lines
took the form of a narrow ’v’. The short
lines were perpendicular to the painting’s
edge [fig. 3]. A total of six lines could be
observed in the top and bottom alike. The
small marks were made in pencil. The lines
could be observed to form pairs opposite
from each other along the top and bottom.
This indicated that Matisse had divided the
canvas into segments. However, naked-eye
inspections did not reveal similar lines along
the painting’s vertical sides.
At this point the painting was studied
under infrared light; the examination was
conducted using Artist PRO® camera
Fig. 3
english version 150

Fig. 4 Fig. 5 Fig. 6
from Art Innovation. 20 The infrared studies
revealed identical marks along the two
vertical sides of the painting. Here, too,
the 1cm lines were spaced 20cm apart,
and the marks were set perpendicular to
the painting’s side [fig. 4]. A total of ten
lines were observed on either side of the
painting. The topmost mark was set 20cm
from the painting’s upper edge, and due to
the painting’s height (209.5 cm) the final
mark was set approximately 10cm from the
bottom. The marks along the vertical sides
could not be observed with the naked eye
due to the fact that Matisse painted all the
way to the edge in these areas (he did not
do so at the top and bottom). There were
now clear indications that Matisse had
divided the canvas into a grid. However, the
infrared light did not reveal that these marks
had been linked by horizontal and vertical
lines, which would conclusively prove the
use of a grid. Grids are frequently used to
transfer a motif from one surface to another,
e.g. from a sketch to a canvas. The grid
allows the artist to draw his motif freehand
by referring to the lines as he works. 21
Closer visual inspection did, however,
reveal that the canvas had indeed been
divided into a grid pattern. In areas where
the ground was exposed or where the paint
layer was transparent, it was possible to
observe fragments of either horizontal or
vertical lines. The position of these line fragments
corresponded to the marks alongside
the painting’s edges. All in all, traces of the
151 english version
grid could be observed in twelve different
locations in Le Luxe II [fig. 5]. The painted
surface was originally divided into 10.5
x 7cm squares. This grid is identical to
the grid in the preliminary drawing if one
disregards the two horizontal bands that
have been added to the drawing at a later
date. The grid on Le Luxe II was drawn with
red chalk, which was why it could not be
seen under infrared light. The chalk line
also proved to be water soluble, meaning
that the grid was presumably “painted away”
when Matisse applied the watery paint
layer. The water solubility of the grid also
explains why the light-coloured areas of the
paint layer (especially the carnation) have a
reddish tint in places. In these areas the red
colour from the grid has become mixed with
the paint layer.
Underdrawing
Having divided the canvas into a grid
Matisse outlined his motif in a thin, dark
grey charcoal line. Like the red grid, the
contour line proved to be water soluble, and
was presumably dissolved when Matisse
applied the paint. This explains why one
cannot see the underdrawing in the infrared
studies. Thus, the underdrawing can only
be observed in the very few areas where the
paint layer does not provide full coverage.
The line is clearly visible at the point where
neck and shoulder meet on the painting’s
central figure, the standing woman [fig. 6].
In some areas, the underdrawing, like the
grid, has caused a shadow-like discoloration
of the paint layer around the contours due to
the water solubility of the charcoal line.
It is not clear to what extent Matisse
carried out compositional adjustments in the
underdrawing (like those visible in the existing
preliminary drawing). As the shadow-like
discoloration can only be observed locally
around the contours of the motif, one must
assume that such corrections, if any, were
limited in scope. In all likelihood Matisse
simply outlined the motif in a thin line as
illustrated.
Fig. 7

MV
sDs-PAGE separation of protein
SDS‐PAGE separation of protein
Fig. 8
Sample no.
1 2 3 4 5 6
Binder analysis
MW
170 kDa
130
95
72
55
43
34
26
17
10
The studies included an analysis of the
binder used for the pigments in order to
ascertain which medium Matisse employed
for Le Luxe II. The result of this analysis
would be significant to our understanding
of Matisse’s painting technique and artistic
development. Additionally, identifying the
binder would have an impact on the imminent
restoration of the painting. When carrying
out their retouchings conservators would
wish to apply materials that are reversible in
relation to the originally used by Matisse.
The point of departure was a belief
that Le Luxe II was done in either casein
or distemper. Casein is a group of protein
molecules found in milk. Dried casein
powder is in itself insoluble in water, but
it can be made soluble and adhesive by
adding an alkaline liquid such as ammonium
hydrogen carbonate. 22 As the casein can
then be dissolved in both water and oil, the
medium is also known as emulsion paint
or tempera (from the Latin for “mixing”).
Once dry, casein paint is insoluble in water
because its components, such as the protein
molecules, are cross-linked during the
setting process.
Distemper is a type of paint created by
dissolving dry pigments in size. Within the
arts, size is usually an animal hide or bone
glue. 23 Animal bones and hides contain a
protein called collagen. Therefore it was
natural to include a protein analysis in the
endeavours to identify the medium used for
Le Luxe II: The two types of paint supposedly
used by Matisse both contain protein
based binders; the two types of binder differ
in terms of the specific protein components
they contain.
Protein molecules consist of polymer
chains of amino acids held together by
peptide bonds. The structure of individual
proteins can be divided into four levels.
The lowest level, known as the molecule’s
primary structure, describes the sequence of
the amino acids in the polymer chain, analogous
to pearls on a string. This is followed
by the secondary structure, which describes
the folding classes for a given amino acid
sequence. The tertiary structure refers to the
three-dimensionality of the protein molecule,
i.e. the protein’s spatial organisation. The
highest level, the quaternary structure,
describes features such as protein-protein
interaction.
As it was not possible to carry out protein
analyses at the Gallery, the Department
of Conservation contacted Ole Nørregaard
Jensen, professor at the Department of
Biochemistry and Molecular Biology at
SDU, who specialises in proteins.
The protein analysis was conducted
by extracting and analysing a very small
sample from the painting Le Luxe II. The
samples were taken mechanically by means
of a sterile scalpel. A total of six samples
was collected: three came from the paint
layer (blue, red, and green) and one from
the ground. The remaining two samples
were taken from the retouched areas. Each
sample was placed in a sterile container and
sent to the protein laboratory at the SDU.
The following focuses on the results of the
tests taken from the paint layers and ground,
respectively.
Fig. 9
sDs-PAGE
The samples were first analysed by means
of gel electrophoresis (SDS-PAGE). 24 The
technique uses an electric field to separate
proteins on the basis of their molecular
weight (size). The individual samples from
Le Luxe II were dissolved in sodium docedyl
sulfate (SDS), which dissolves any proteins
present in the material. After the electrophoretic
separation the protein pattern is
“developed” and visualised by means of silver
staining [fig. 8], a process analogous to
photographic development techniques.
The analysis used a gradient-polyacrylamide
gel at a concentration in the 4-20%
range. The proteins migrate across the gel
in accordance with their size; small proteins
move faster than larger proteins, and this
means that the components of a given
protein mix are separated.
SDS-PAGE separations employ the
measuring unit kilodalton (kDa) 25 to describe
protein size. The analysis showed that all
samples contained proteins within the
50-200 kD range, and that several of the
samples also contained smaller proteins in
the 10-50 kDA range [fig. 8]. The staining
pattern suggests that the proteins have
been broken down as no clear, individual
protein bands appear; instead, the tests
showed smeared traces of protein for each
sample. This indicated that the samples
from the paint layer of Le Luxe II contained
aged protein materials and that the original
protein would have been relatively large
EsI ms/ms analysis: Collagen Protein fragment: GAAGLIGPk (572-580)
english version 152

while still intact, i.e. larger than 50 kDa.
At this point it should be noted that casein
proteins are small (smaller than 50 kDa),
whereas collagen proteins have a size greater
than 100 kDa.
LC-ms/ms
In order to get closer to an exact identification
of the components in the proteincontaining
paint layers of Le Luxe II, sample
materials were then analysed by means of
liquid chromatography mass spectrometry
(tandem MS) (LC-MS/MS). 26 This technique
is widely used for protein identification
within cell biology, protein chemistry,
and proteom analysis. The LC-MS/MS
technique combines high-pressure liquid
chromatography (HPLC) with advanced mass
spectrometry (MS/MS). The latter is a highly
sensitive technique that makes it possible
to determine the sequence of amino acids
in the protein chain. The sequence of amino
acids is unique for each individual protein,
allowing us to identify individual components
in a mixture on the basis of searches
in a protein sequence database. The method
corresponds to taking a fingerprint or a
dental impression of a person and then use
this information to identify that person by
searching a database of potential candidates.
Mass spectrometry is used to determine
the structure of organic molecules such as
proteins, nucleic acids, lipids, and metabolites.
In the study addressed here we used
electrospray ionisation mass spectrometry;
molecules are transferred from liquid to
gas phase where they are ionised, i.e. have
charged particles added. The gas phase
molecule ions can be manipulated in electric
and magnetic fields; based on their movement
and energy it is possible to determine
their mass-to-charge ratio (m/z) and hence
their molecular weight. In addition to this
the molecule ions can be fragmented,
thereby determining their chemical make-up.
As mentioned above, mass spectrometry
based on fragmenting proteins makes it
possible to determine the proteins’ amino
acid sequence. Thus, the specific protein
can be identified by comparing the results
of the analysis with information from a
protein database.
When working with older paintings it is
often difficult to identify the binder because
the materials are already broken down to a
153 english version
Fig. 10 and 11
great extent. Also, the function and value
of the test subject means that you can only
extract very limited quantities of sample material.
Mass spectrometric protein analysis of
the samples taken from Le Luxe II showed
large contents of one large protein component
in particular: bovine collagen alpha-1
[fig. 9]. Collagen is a protein found in animal
bones, and the analysis went on to show
that the collagen found was from a cow! The
test also discovered traces of keratin, which
is a mammalian protein. Keratin is found in
e.g. hide, hair, and horn. The results were
identical for both paint layer and ground.
It should be emphasised that LC-MS/MS
analysis showed great consistency between
the various samples, which helps corroborate
the results of the individual analyses.
Furthermore, the test samples showed no
traces of casein protein. 27 Control tests
carried out by means of LC-MS/MS analyses
of fresh glue and casein paintings yielded
the expected results; collagen and casein
protein were identified. Aditionally, GC-MS
analyses carried out at the National Museum
of Denmark’s laboratory showed large
contents of hydroxyproline in the sample of
Le Luxe II. This amino acid is frequent found
in collagen proteins.
The results of the analyses indicate that
Matisse used distemper for Le Luxe II. The
binder used in the ground and paint layers
would have been based on boiled bones,
as is evident from the large quantities of
collagen in the samples. The presence of
keratin may be due to remnants of animal
hide having been included while the glue
was boiled, or it can hail from the gelatine
used in connection with the 1966 conservation.
28 The conclusion that Le Luxe II was
painted in distemper ties in with the fact
that its paint layer is highly water soluble, as
had been demonstrated in the preliminary
studies. If Le Luxe II had been painted in
casein tempera it would probably not have
been possible to dissolve the paint in water.
The conclusion accords with information
from the 1929 Rump exhibition catalogue
which, as mentioned, stated that Le Luxe II
was executed in distemper. The misleading
information about the painting being
executed in casein presumably first emerged
after the 1951 questionnaire due to an
erroneous translation of the term détrempe
from French to English.
studies of painting technique
As part of the study, a number of cross sections
of the paint layer were extracted from
various areas of the painting. Each cross
section was extracted by means of a scalpel
and embedded in Serifix, 29 a two-component
polyester resin. The cross sections showed
that the painting generally consists of a
ground onto which a single, thin paint layer
has been applied. The contours of the motif
would then be outlined on top of the paint
layer [fig. 10]. This result accords with the
visual analysis of Le Luxe II; in some areas
the ground can be observed through the
layer of distemper, and locally the ground
is visible.
As the distemper technique requires a
certain efficiency on the part of the artist,
brushstrokes can be observed in many
places. The visible brushstrokes should
presumably be seen as the result of a
combination of factors: the fields of colour
were filled in at a comparatively rapid
pace and/or the distemper did not provide
full coverage. The purple mountain in the
background is one of the areas where
brushstrokes can be observed. Here, the
distemper has obviously been applied in
horizontal strokes, and the paint layer to the
right is not opaque at all, indicating that
the work was done at a rapid pace.

The Pink Cloud
There are, however, local deviations from
this overall structure. A cross-section
of the large pink cloud seen to the right
reveals that underneath the pink colour is
a greenish paint layer consisting of white
and green grains of pigment [fig. 11]. The
greenish paint layer can still be observed
along the edge of the painting and where
the pink paint layer is damaged [fig. 12]. In
this context it is interesting to note that the
cloud in Le Luxe I is light green. Perhaps
Matisse originally set out with the intention
of having a more identical colour scheme in
the two versions of the painting?
The fact that this was the only area in Le
Luxe II where Matisse painted two layers of
paint on top of each other may help explain
the abrasions seen in ground and paint layer
in this particular area. In the lower, left half
of the cloud the ground and the substratum
of green paint have been scraped off all
the way down to the canvas. The abrasions
should, however, be regarded as original
insofar as the uppermost pink paint layer
was applied on top of the exposed canvas.
The majority of the abrasions can be dimly
made out in a photograph sent by Rump to
Matisse’s art dealer, Charles Vildrac, on 27
September 1920 [fig. 2]. 30
Due to the properties of distemper the
artist may have found it more difficult than
expected to apply a second layer of paint on
top of the first layer, for distemper demands
that you work at a rapid, even pace in order
to create a uniform paint layer. Furthermore,
distemper remains water soluble after it
has dried, and so it is difficult to apply an
additional layer of paint without dissolving
the layer underneath. Thus, it is possible
that Matisse, having experienced some
difficulties, elected to reduce the scope of
his adjustments to this area of the painting.
As described, Matisse painted most of
his paintings in oil. Only a limited number
of works have been executed in other
media – and presumably these were all
Fig. 13
Fig. 12
done in distemper. Matisse painted the four
paintings executed in mediums other than
oil during the period 1907-13. The fact that
Matisse only tried his hand at distemper
for a very brief period suggests that the
technique did not meet the artist’s requirements.
Matisse’s paintings often underwent
a wide range of different stages before
they could be regarded as finished works.
The many stages were part of a working
process that regularly saw Matisse making
changes to the painting’s colour scheme,
composition, etc. One example of such a
process would be the painting Gran desnudo
recostado/Desnudo rosa from 1935, 31 which
belongs to The Baltimore Museum of Art.
Over a period of six months the painting
was changed 22 times. Matisse had each
of the painting’s stages photographed as
documentation. 32 Oil paints cross-link as
they set. This means that the paint layer is
not dissolved when a new layer of paint is
applied on top of it. Oil allowed Matisse to
continue to add to and adjust his works. The
properties of distemper did not allow for a
similarly layered approach.
Contours
As has been described, cross-sections and
visual analyses showed that the contours
have been outlined on top of the paint
layer. However, deviations from this overall
approach can be observed in places. At
first Matisse chose a dark brown for the
contours. The colour was identical to the
colour chosen for the hair of two of the
women featured in the painting. Originally
the majority of the contours of the running
women had been painted using the dark
colour. Similarly, the forehead area of the
kneeling woman and the red mountain in the
background were also outlined in this colour.
Matisse subsequently chose to outline the
contours in grey instead. Nevertheless, the
dark brown remains visible because the
artist was not entirely exact while tracing
the new lines [fig. 13]. Only the eye area
of Le Luxe II’s central figure is still done in
dark brown. For the rest of the woman’s face
Matisse chose to use grey for the contours.
Conclusion
Photographic analysis and visual studies of
Le Luxe II revealed that Matisse employed a
grid to transfer the motif to the canvas. The
grid was executed in reddish chalk, while the
underdrawing itself was outlined in dark grey.
The underlying preliminary work undertaken
on the painting was largely painted away
during the subsequent painting process
because the chalk line was water soluble.
This is why it is only possible to observe
english version 154

fragments of the original underdrawing
today. It was also ascertained that an
undated preliminary drawing owned by
Centre George Pompidou corresponded
to the original grid and underdrawing of
Le Luxe II.
At the SDU’s laboratory the painting’s
ground and paint layers were analysed
by means of SDS-PAGE and LC-MS/MS.
The results showed collagen and traces
of keratin in the samples. We could thus
conclude that Matisse used distemper to
paint Le Luxe II, and that the distemper
1 Matisse’s works often have several titles.
Furthermore, the original French titles will be used
in some contexts while other works are best known
under their translated English titles. the present
article uses the original French title or titles.
2 the confusion regarding the painting’s provenance
is partly due to the fact that Matisse’s painting
Luxe, calme et volupté (Luxury, Calm, and Pleasure)
(1904-05) was missing for many years. Due to
similar titles Le Luxe II went by the wrong name for
a number of years; Barr, a.H., Matisse, his art and his
public, Museum of Modern art, New York 1951, p. 95.
3 For an in-depth account of the history of Le Luxe II,
see Kasper Monrad, Henri Matisse. Fire store samlere,
Statens Museum for Kunst, Copenhagen 1999, pp.
298-299.
4 Flam, J., The Man and his Art 1869-1918, London,
thames and Hudson 1986, p. 209.
5 Monod-Fontaine et al., Oeuvres de Henri Matisse,
Musée national d’art moderne, Centre George
Pompidou, Paris 1989, p. 35.
6 Conversation with Cécile Debray and Geraldine
Guillaume-Chavannes from the Centre Pompidou in
Paris, 18 September 2009.
7 Bois, Y.-a., ’Et de luxe-eksperiment. Le Luxe II’, in:
aagesen, D., Monrad, K. & Warming, r., Matisse.
Mesterværker på Statens Museum for Kunst, Statens
Museum for Kunst, Copenhagen 2005, p. 116.
8 Ibid., p. 123.
9 It has not been possible to ascertain when or how
the damage was done. a photograph of Le Luxe II
sent by rump to Matisse’s art dealer Charles Vildrac
on 27 September 1920 shows no signs of the
damage [fig. 2], confirming that the water damage
is not original to the work (the Letter archives, the
National Gallery of Denmark, Copenhagen). In the
155 english version
was based on bone glue. Art historical
studies showed that when painting, Matisse
only used a medium other than oil on four
separate occasions. In addition to Le Luxe
II the study showed that the three other
paintings of this kind are presumably all
executed in distemper.
Studies of paint cross sections showed
that Le Luxe II is mainly composed of
ground and a single paint layer on which
the contours had subsequently been
outlined. There were, however, local deviations
from this general structure. Matisse
Thanks to Kate Tierney Powell and Stephanie D’Alessandro from the Chicago Art Institute for their ongoing collaboration and assistance over
the course of this project. We would also like to thank Cécile Debray, Geraldine Guillaume-Chavannes and Per Jonas Storsve from the Centre
Pompidou in Paris for information about Le Luxe I and the sketch; Hélène Vincent and Gilles Barabant from the Grenoble Museum of Art for
supplementary information about the painting Intérieur aux Aubergines (1911); Marina Guruleva from the Hermitage in St. Petersburg for
information regarding the work Le café Arabe/ Café marocain (1913); Søren Andersen, Lene Jakobsen, and Martin R. Larsen from the SDU
in Odense for assistance on mass spectrometric analysis; Mads Chr. Christensen from the National Museum of Denmark’s Department of
Conservation in Brede; and Mikkel Scharff and Esben Segel for their comments and proofreading.
catalogue for the rump Exhibition of 1929 the
water damage is visible, Swane, L, Katalog over J.
Rumps Samling af moderne fransk Kunst, Statens
Museum for Kunst, Copenhagen 1929, p. 86.
according to a grandchild of rump, the painting
spent the period between 1920 and 1929 on the
wall of a children’s room in Puggaardsgade, Gottlieb,
L., Johannes Rump. Portræt af en samler, Statens
Museum for Kunst, Copenhagen 1994, p. 73.
10 the recipe for the glue-paste can be found in the
conservation department’s collection of recipes and
in the restoration report of 1966.
11 Swane, L., (1929), p. 45.
12 Unfortunately it has not been possible to obtain a
copy of the questionnaire, but a.H. Barr refers to
Questionnaire IV in: Barr, a.H., (1951), pp. 95 and 533.
13 Mayer, r., The Artist’s Handbook of Materials and
Techniques, 3 rd edition, London, Faber and Faber 1972
[original edition 1951], p. 644.
14 Barr, a.H., (1951), p. 95.
15 Spurling, H., The Unknown Matisse. A life of Henri
Matisse. Volume one. 1869-1908, London, Hamish
Hamilton 1998, p. 396.
16 the recipe is believed to be lost.
17 Correspondence with Gilles Barabant and Hélène
Vincent from the Grenoble museum of art, 13 July
2009.
18 Correspondence with Marina Guruleva from the
Hermitage in St. Petersburg, 22 april 2009.
19 Bois, Y.-a., (2005), p. 123.
20 Infrared photography was conducted by Kathrine
Segel using an artist PrO® camera (art Innovation,
Hengelo, Holland) fitted with a CCD progressive
scan image sensor (1360 x 1036 pixels) and a
Schneider Kreuznach Xenoplan 23 mm F/1.4 CCtV
lens in near Infrared 2 with a long wave pass filter
changed the colour of the contour outlines,
and the large pink cloud in the top right
of the painting had a green paint layer
underneath. Original abrasions to the paint
layer in the area suggested that it was
not easy for Matisse to work with multiple
layers in distemper. The conclusion was
that Matisse presumably sought to limit
the extent of any adjustments to Le Luxe
II. The limitations inherent in the distemper
technique may be the reason why Matisse
only used that particular medium on very
few occasions during his artistic career.
1000mm. the images were taken using artist
software (version 1.2).
21 Carlyle, L., The Artist’s Assistant: Oil Painting
Instruction Manuals and Handbooks in Britain
1800-1900, London, archetype Publications 2001, p.
208.
22 ammonium hydrogen carbonate is commonly known
as hartshorn or ammonium bicarbonate.
23 alternatively the glue can be made of plants such
as seaweed or various types of cereal, using the
starchy flour to produce a glue paste.
24 SDS-PaGE is short for sodium dodecyl sulfatepolyacrylamide
gel electrophoresis.
25 kDa is a unit used within biochemistry. Proteins are
large molecules, and so their mass is indicated using
kDa. One kDa corresponds to 1,000 Da. Da (dalton)
is another name for the unified atomic mass unit (u)
used to indicate the mass of particles on an atomic
scale.
26 Liquid chromatography mass spectrometry (tandem
MS) is frequently abbreviated LC-MS/MS.
27 the presence of casein cannot be ruled out
altogether because the materials involved have
been broken down. However, the results of the
analysis point unequivocally to bovine collagen
alpha-1.
28 It is possible that some of the glue from the glue
paste used for the relining in 1966 may have seeped
up into the paint layer during the process.
29 Serifix from Struers a/S, www.struers.com
30 the Letter archives, the National Gallery of Denmark,
Copenhagen.
31 the painting is known by the two titles.
32 andre, L., Seeing with Fresh Eyes. Matisse in the Cone
Collection, the Baltimore Museum of art 2001.

The Abandoned City. A reading of Palle Nielsen’s etchings
k a s pa r thormod
The Danish draughtsman and graphic
artist Palle Nielsen (1920-2000) may
be the single greatest interpreter of the
urban landscape within Danish art. At the
same time he is one of the most important
interpreters of ruins. In Nielsen’s work, lying
in ruins appears to be a permanent state
applying to the modern city: façades are
crumbling, the houses are abandoned, the
city stands before a fall. The question is:
what meaning and significance is associated
with such urban decay? The studies
conducted over the last 20 years have
predominantly viewed the decay in the light
of Nielsen’s biographical details and his
era, e.g. his experiences in connection with
World War II or the Cold War. 2
It can, however, be argued that there
cannot be simply one, ultimate biographical
or historical explanation behind the decay
expressed in Nielsen’s work. Quite the
contrary: the significance of urban decay is
given many different forms in the various
series. Consequently, this essay will aim to
shed light on a particular Nielsen series:
the one entitled The Abandoned City
(1973-1976).
The series is characterised by a distinctive
structure where perspective-less renditions
of industrial debris in the first part of the
series are juxtaposed with empty urban
landscapes staged with an almost exaggerated
use of perspective in the second
part of the series. Rather than following
in the footsteps of the limited literature
published about the series so far – which
either ignores or rejects the heterogeneity
of the series – this essay will examine how
The Abandoned City – in spite of a range of
differences in etching technique and spatial
construction – nevertheless achieves a sense
of cohesion by virtue of its title, by the
fact that the individual images are devoid
of people, and by the visually destabilising
nature of the etchings. The divided nature of
the series lets us associate it with the work
Opere Varie by the Venetian artist Giovanni
Battista Piranesi (1720-78). A comparison
to Piranesi allows the contours of Nielsen’s
ambiguous culture-critical rendition of decay
to emerge with greater clarity.
structure and reception
The first pressing question arising when
studying The Abandoned City is the issue
of accurately identifying the works that
constitute the series. Compared to the
english version 156

widely accepted inventories of Nielsen’s
work, studies of archival materials have
allowed us to expand the scope of the series
to include 11 etchings from the period
1973-76. 3 Nielsen himself applied the title
The Abandoned City to these etchings, which
have never been published in book format.
Nielsen used consecutive opus numbers
for his works, and these tell us that the
series’ etchings fall into two parts: The first
seven etchings are from 1973 and bear the
opus numbers 133-139, and the last four
etchings are from 1976 and have the opus
numbers 155-158. This division of the work
can also be observed at a motivic level, as
the first part depicts enlarged sections of
dilapidated industrial fragments such as
pipes and machine parts, while the second
part shows views of two kinds of urban
157 english version
Fig. 1
spaces: the train tracks and the square. The
combination of close-ups and views give
rise to a double gaze on the city. In what
follows, this double gaze will be of crucial
significance to our understanding of the
series. Let us first, however, consider how
the series was received.
The Abadoned City is mentioned in
three different places within Palle Nielsen
literature: in Kristian Romare’s Den
fortryllede by. En bog om Palle Nielsen, in
Jørgen Gammelgaard’s Palle Nielsen. Temaer
i hans værk, and in Jytte Rex’ Palle Nielsen.
Timebog. 4 Romare addresses the series
in connection with Nielsen’s small-scale
urban series created from the late 1960s
onwards, concurrently with his main series
The Enchanted City. Romare particularly
notes that Nielsen works with ”delicate and
accurately descriptive line etching” 5 in the
second half of The Abandoned City, whereas
the first part of the series – the industrial
debris – is characterised in the following
terms:
”[Palle Nielsen] homes in on the ruins left
behind after the disasters of ‘Pandemonium’,
portraying sundered piping and smashed
ventilation systems. They become the
modern city’s torn limbs and slashed
arteries, evoking an unsettling effect similar
to that of guts spilled in a bullring.” 6
In addition to linking the imagery of The
Abandoned City with another series from the
same period, Pandemonium, Romare also
believes that the series’ first part expresses
an acerbic criticism of culture. This double
approach can also be found in Gammelgaard.
He, too, links The Abandoned City with
the series belonging to the same era,
Pandemonium and Necropolis, while also
connecting the 1973 etchings to a dawning
social awareness of “the impact of excessive
consumption in the Western world”,
consumption which began to escalate in
earnest in the early 1960s. 7 This means
that the 1973 etchings become “linked to
the landfill as the ultimate metaphor of the
excessive consumption of a mass civilisation.”
8 Gammelgaard is, however, also aware
that The Abandoned City presents certain
difficulties in terms of interpretation; these
difficulties are related to the iconographic
split in the series where the first part seems
to address abandoned things, while the
second part refers to abandoned or empty
spaces. According to Gammelgaard, this
means that spectators must “relate to two
very distinct and separate experiences of
abandonment.” 9
The final piece of literature to feature
a mention of The Abandoned City is Rex’
book, in which three etchings (opus 138,
155, and 157) are reproduced. In keeping
with the book’s overall structure the only
text accompanying the images is a fragment
from Palle Nielsen’s own, unpublished notes:
” The Abandoned City is about that which
has already come to pass, about the space
left behind after events have gone by …
nothing, an empty mould, the non-visible …
I gazed into something completely unknown
and alien.” 10
This condensed fragment can be associated
with the theme of abandonment introduced in
the title. The first part of the quotation points
to the abandoned spaces that appear when an
event is over. Such a perspective makes sense
in relation to The Abandoned City, but it does
not add significantly to the basic theme indicated
in the title. The subsequent statements
about “an empty mold”, the “non-visible”
and the visionary overtones of “I gazed” are
difficult to understand in relation to the
series. The “non-visible” might be related to
Nielsen’s interest in the phenomenologist
Maurice Merleau-Ponty, who addresses the
concepts of the visible and the invisible, but
the connection here is most unclear. 11
This brief presentation of the scant
literature about The Abandoned City not
only says something about the series; it also
makes it possible to observe some common
features in the reception of Nielsen’s
work. First of all, the use of a fragment
of Nielsen’s text in connection with The
Abandoned City serves as an example of how
the work is often read through the artist’s
own texts. Romare, Gammelgaard, and Rex
all refer to the fragment, either directly or
indirectly, e.g. when Romare states that
”… he [Palle Nielsen] has explained that The
Abandoned City is about what has come
to pass, about the space left behind when
something is over,” 12 or when Gammelgaard
refers to the topic of the series as that which
“is left behind when you leave a place.” 13
Here, no critical approach to the actual
statement made in the text fragment is
in evidence.
Secondly, Romare and Gammelgaard

Fig. 2
attempt to forge connections between The
Abandoned City and the series that surround
it. Romare considers the 1973 etchings
alongside Pandemonium, and Gammelgaard
groups The Abandoned City, Pandemonium,
and Necropolis together as a ”trilogy about
the decay and destruction of the city,”
primarily because these series are linked
Fig. 3
chronologically. 14 However, the depiction
of decay evident in The Abandoned City
differs from that of the adjacent series in
at least two respects. First of all, as the
title itself suggests, there are no people in
The Abandoned City, and secondly there is
a marked tension between how the series
addresses the industrial debris and the
urban landscapes. Both are atypical traits
compared to series such as Necropolis and
Pandemonium.
Finally, the available literature also tries to
read The Abandoned City as an expression of
a heavy-handed cultural critique, as seen in
Romare’s associations of “the torn limbs of
the modern city” and Gammelgaard’s sense
of perceiving ”a tale about industrialism’s
exploitation of the Earth’s resources.” 15
Yet, as the following will make clear, such
descriptions do not fully capture The
Abandoned City’s special structure and
ambiguous meaning.
Industrial landscape
The first part of The Abandoned City is
characterised by featuring an abundance
of debris and industrial fragments scattered
in landscapes dominated by rocks,
pebbles, and water. In what follows this
landscape will be designated as an industrial
landscape. The formats employed for this
series of etchings are among the largest
used by Palle Nielsen, but this does not
permit an easier overview. 16 Rather, the
etchings are enlarged sections of the same
landscape, a landscape that cannot be taken
in at a glance and whose composition and
significance is not immediately revealed.
Here, the initial mode of steadily progressing
narrative has been replaced by a serial mode
english version 158

Fig. 4
of expression: the images seem to be variations
on the decaying industrial fragments
found in a single landscape.
Most of the etchings share the
compositional feature of having the terrain
incline from the left to the right. This overall
movement is accentuated by pipes and
machine parts; they can be seen everywhere
placed in toppled positions that make them
look as if they might fall over to the right.
One example of this can be seen in opus
133, where a punctured pipe is hanging
above the abyss to the far right, or in opus
137, where a giant structure reminiscent of
a ventilation system is precariously balanced
in the background. Much of the industrial
debris has also been depicted in a uniform
manner in the different etchings. This is true
of e.g. the ubiquitous black pipe openings
seen in the characteristic undulating pipes
(opus 133-139) or the use of distinctive elements
such as an aeroplane motor or turbine
(opus 136 and 139). It appears, then, that
these etchings depict variations on the same
universe of abandoned things – a universe
characterised by a tension between static,
abandoned landscapes and the impending
fall of a range of twisted fragments.
Despite the uniform composition and subject
matter the first part of the series also
shows some development. In opuses 133-
159 english version
137 the varying depths seen in the etchings
form a relatively consistent perspectivic
space which is, however, dissolved in opuses
138 and 139. In opus 138 a number of different
pipe formations rise out of something
that may be water or smoke, but which is
also mixed with rocks, stones, and bits of
wreckage. Even though it is possible to
Fig. 5
make out wreckage and pipes that are joined
up or disappear behind each other, it is no
longer possible to establish a single point of
perspective. Rather, the images accentuate
many different heterogenous grids and
levels that join up or interweave without,
however, logically forming part of the same
space. A similar sense of dissolution can be

observed in opus 139, where surrealistically
interwoven and seemingly floating industrial
debris destabilises perspective. Thus, it is
possible to see an emerging dissolution of
perspective in the series.
Railway track, square
The second part of The Abandoned City
depicts a recognisably urban landscape
that focuses on two specific urban spaces:
railway tracks (opus 156 and 157) and
squares (opuses 155 and 158). The railway
track setting is depicted almost identically in
opuses 156 and 157 with dangling overhead
lines and houses on either side. In these
etchings the vanishing point of the perspective
appears to centre on a point located
down between the tracks themselves. Here,
the tracks and overhead lines are used to
direct our gaze out of the city and to render
explicit its prominent central perspective.
The overhead lines continue out towards the
horizon, stretching beyond the houses and
forming their own, grid-like space that marks
a difference between the tracks and their
surroundings. It would appear that the city
we look out from has no suburbs, industry,
or organic countryside. There is, as Romare
also notes, something eerie about this
perspective centred on the railway tracks. 17
The central perspective, accentuated by
the railway tracks, creates an illusion of
accelerating speed as the distance between
Fig. 6
the masts holding up the lines seems to
grow ever shorter as they recede from view.
This evokes a sense of depth that sucks you
into the two-dimensional paper plane.
Central perspective is also a dominant
feature of opuses 155 and 158, where the
square takes centre stage. In opus 155 the
square is a space whose boundaries are
suggested by a range of scattered buildings.
Here, the square is partially obscured
behind a three-storey tenement building
placed in the foreground. To its right
stands a dome-shaped building, and in the
background the far sides of the square are
marked out by large buildings in the middle
and to the left. It seems as if these buildings
were originally part of larger blocks or
complexes, but that they are now strangely
isolated. The terrain is entirely flat; its
surface is made up of thin, horizontal lines
– a kind of grid imposed on the urban space,
accentuating its geometry. In the foreground
to the left and right we see the suggestion
of a low pavement whose lines run parallel
to the houses towards an explicit vanishing
point on the horizon. The depth of the
geometric space is further enhanced by two
parallel lines extending from the etching’s
foreground out towards the vanishing point.
When comparing opuses 155 and 158
one might think that the works show the
same square viewed from different angles,
just as you would think that opuses 156
and 157 show the same tracks. Closer
inspection, however, reveal that the domed
buildings are not identical; that this is not
the same square. This is evident in e.g. the
way that the square in opus 158, which
leads up to a monumental church building,
is clearly defined. To the left and right of the
church two six-storey buildings demarcate
the sides of the square. Paper, rubble, and
debris are strewn across most of the square
even though there are no signs that these
fragments come from the houses. The paper
and rubble is accentuated by the perspective
which, by taking its point of departure
very close to the surface of the square, also
emphasises the monumental qualities of the
buildings and the high, toneless sky.
A city of contrasts
As we have seen, The Abandoned City falls
into two distinct parts, thereby making it
difficult to make any overarching statements
about the series. Even so it is necessary to
maintain our focus on the issue of how one
might understand the series’ overall staging
of the city’s abandonment and decay.
Let us first consider the series’ graphic
presentation of the three urban spaces.
Even though the etchings constitute a single
series, the two parts employ widely different
graphic modes of expression. In the first
part of the series Nielsen works with rich
detailing and strong contrasts in the densely
described picture planes. In opus 133
the slanting terrain is constructed out of a
plethora of local contrasts between areas of
clearly distinct lines, where the white paper
remains visible, and black shadow-like spots
with dense hatching. 18 The result is a richly
modulated and complex mode of depiction
that, particularly in opus 138, contributes to
destabilising the sense of perspective. Here,
the dark areas in the upper middle seem to
suggest a black space behind the collage of
pipes and rocky landscapes that undermine
their position.
In the second part of The Abandoned
City the etching technique is used in a
very different manner. Opuses 155-158
are characterised by sharply delineated
lines and a subdued tonality restricted to
shades of light grey. The only exceptions
are the black windows seen in the tenement
block and the domed building in opus 155
and the church building in opus 158. A
english version 160

contrast between the façades and windows,
seemingly revealing a darkness or emptiness
inside the houses, makes us question the
realism of the depiction. By etching the
façade areas only very briefly during the
etching process Nielsen achieves the effect
of having them look as if they are hit by
light of varying intensity from all sides at
once. This makes the city appear bathed in
an almost scenic light, which in turn helps
elevate the depiction of the tracks and the
square, transforming these spaces into an
unreal urban universe. One might say that
in the first part of The Abandoned City
Nielsen employs the etching technique to
depict a complex, richly modulated and at
times destabilised space, whereas in the
second part of the series he accentuates
and overexposes – almost in a photographic
sense – the city’s rigid geometric structure.
Having considered the graphic differences
between the two parts of The Abandoned
City, it is also possible to point to a range of
differences at a motivic level; differences
that have been indirectly addressed in the
above. Whereas opuses 133-139 seem to
address a fragmented, abstract, chaotic
space that distorts perspective, opuses
155-158 are dominated by a panoramic,
figurative, rational space governed by a
central perspective. There are, however,
also certain traits that link up all the works
in the series. First of all there is the theme
of abandonment, which is introduced in
the overarching title that binds the series
together. As Gammelgaard has observed,
the series addresses two different kinds of
abandonment: Opuses 133-139 are about
abandoned things, and opuses 155-158 are
about abandoned spaces. 19 In both cases the
concept of abandonment seems to refer to a
loss of function for the urban and industrial
spaces alike. The objects portrayed in
the first part of the series can be said to
testify to an industrial area that has been
abandoned and hence become dysfunctional.
The sense of abandonment also manifests
itself in the second half of the series where
the unnaturally black windows seem to
reveal the fact that the buildings are empty
and uninhabited. Abandonment also rears its
head in opus 158, where the square in front
of the monumental church has gone from
being a central meeting place for people to
being covered in paper, stones, and rubble.
161 english version
Fig. 7
Even though none of the buildings seem
damaged they have lost their vital function:
to house and shelter life.
Another element that binds the series
together is the way in which it addresses
various forms of limitless, destabilising
spaces. As we have seen, the first part
of the series is a veritable tour de force
of landscapes whose boundaries grow
increasingly uncertain. In the second part
of the series the destabilising effect arises
by virtue of the etchings’ perspective and
their orientation towards a vanishing point
on the horizon; in all four etchings the
vanishing point has been positioned in the
same place, causing the images to become
four variations on the same perspective. The
strong accentuation of the vanishing point
shows that these urban spaces have an
endless depth that can, in a certain sense,
be said to break down the barriers of the
spaces. This lack of boundaries ties in with
Romare’s description of how ”the joined-up
perspective of the tracks [hurls] us far out
into the unknown.” 20 The limitless space is
a fundamental condition of The Abandoned
City series in its entirety, regardless of
whether such a space is created by the
endless depth of central perspective or by
the formless spaces that mark a break with
logical boundaries.
Nielsen and Piranesi
In spite of the argument outlined above it
is still possible to raise the contention that
the two parts of The Abandoned City are so
different that they cannot constitute a single
series. Indeed, Gammelgaard believes that
the series is a retrospective construct that
Nielsen may only have grouped together as
late as in 1996. 21 However, the merging
of the two parts of the series is not simply
a result of an whimsical categorisation
carried out by Nielsen at a late point of his
career. First of all, Gammelgaard’s claim is
erroneous, for the series is in fact grouped
together in Romare’s inventory from the
late 1980s, and there is nothing that
precludes this categorisation from dating
all the way back to the 1970s. 22 Secondly,
the series’ seemingly arbitrary juxtaposing
of blown-up close-ups and urban views
is laden with greater significance than is
immediately apparent. This becomes clear if
you seek to understand The Abandoned City
in relation to two series by Giovanni Battista
Piranesi appearing in a volume published
in 1750 under the title Opere Varie di
Architettura, Prospettive, Grotteschi, Antichita.
What follows will demonstrate how a link
can be established between The Abandoned
City and Opere Varie; a link based on a
range of similarities – in terms of structure,

motifs, and meaning – between the two
works. It is, however, important to state that
such similarities are not necessarily based
on intentional references to Piranesi on the
part of Palle Nielsen even though Nielsen
was presumably familiar with Opere Varie; a
central excerpt of the work – a suite of four
so-called “grotesques” – can be found in
the Royal Collection of Graphic Art, where
Nielsen was a frequent visitor. A first
edition of Opere Varie can also be found at
Danmarks Kunstbibliotek, the library at The
Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts, where
Nielsen was a professor during the period
1967-72.
Let us begin by taking a closer look
at Piranesi’s work. The title Opere Varie
proclaims that the series contains “various
works”, and indeed the 27 consecutively
numbered sheets include a reworked version
of the series Prima Parte Di Architetture, E
Prospettive Inventate (1743), 23 the so-called
Grotteschi suite (1747-49), and a couple of
prints that might be viewed as the precursors
of the imaginary prison scenes known
as Carceri d’invenzione from 1761. 24 Even
though Opere Varie has a title page signalling
that the individual works are presented
here as a single series, Piranesi literature
has mostly addressed them separately.
However, the following analysis takes as
a fundamental premise that Opere Varie
should be viewed as a single work in which
the juxtaposition of the Prima Parte and the
Grotteschi suite is of particular significance;
these two parts of Opere Varie contrast
imaginary views and perspective-distorting
close-ups in a manner similar to that found
in The Abandoned City.
Prima Parte is dominated by perspectival
views through urban spaces – monumental
pillared halls, atrium yards, bridges, and
squares – whose architecture can be
described as a mixture of ancient Roman
and Baroque, a style that Piranesi created
himself, as is indicated by the word
“Inventate” in the title. 25 An example of a
prospect from Prima Parte can serve to
illustrate Piranesi’s distinctive staging of
the city. In ”Campidoglio antico” we see
one of the seven hills of Rome, the Capitol,
and in Piranesi’s rendition the site takes the
form of an imaginary square encompassing
different levels with steps, temples, obelisks,
and a triumphal arch. In the 1743 version
of Prima Parte the etching’s full title was
”Forma ideale del Campidoglio antico”, which,
as has been noted by Richard Wendorf,
illustrates how these prospects can be read
as ”an ideal form inspired by the past.” He
elaborates:
”The buildings Piranesi offered his public
were not, strictly speaking, replicas or precise
reconstructions of other structures […]
What he offered, rather, were contemporary
conceptions that, while they may be inspired
by – and blend in harmoniously with – other
edifices, would stake out their own claim to
monumentality in the Rome of the 1740s.” 26
In order to understand Piranesi’s staging
of the city in Prima Parte it is important to
be aware of how he takes his point of departure
in Rome’s ancient architecture which, to
him, represents an acme of civilisation that
far surpasses ancient Greek architecture. 27
By using elements from the real-life city of
Rome, combining them in new ways and
transforming them beyond all recognition,
Piranesi ends up not only portraying Rome;
he also turns the Roman heritage into an
ideal or vision for the Eternal City’s present
and future. 28
At this point one might suggest the first
link to the four views or prospects from the
second half of The Abandoned City (opuses
155-158); the way they are staged can in
many respects be compared to Piranesi’s
work. Piranesi’s and Nielsen’s prospects
are both characterised by using the etching
technique to depict a range of extremely
geometric urban spaces in painstaking
detail. They both work with perspectivic
views through the city that can often be
mirrored along a central axis, and which
are arranged around one or more vanishing
points. Furthermore, in Piranesi’s and
Nielsen’s work the city is not a place whose
function is to house life. Even though human
figures appear in Piranesi, they are not
integrated into the city – they do not inhabit
it. Rather, they serve as staffage, as props
that indicate and establish the monumental
scale of the architecture, mediating the
experience of such architecture to those who
view the etching. 29 Thus, one might say that
in Piranesi and Nielsen alike the prospects
are staged in a manner that transforms the
urban landscape and its architecture from
a place where you live to a place where
architecture is the primary focus.
However, the most important parallel
between Nielsen’s and Piranesi’s works
is this: Just as the prospects in The
Abandoned City are juxtaposed with a
decaying industrial landscape, the prospects
in Prima Parte also have a counterpoint in
the form of a range of scenes of decay in
Opere Varie, specifically the Grotteschi suite.
The suite consists of four large etchings
bearing the subtitles “The Skeletons”, “The
Triumphal Arch”, “Nero’s Tomb”, and “The
Monumental Tablet”.
Those etchings all depict scenes of
ruin and decay in which objects from the
realms of nature and culture – tombstones,
toppled pillars, ancient statues, bones,
skeletons, ivy, snakes, etc. – are arranged
in a single image. With their chaotic feel
these grotesques are markedly different
from Prima Parte’s geometric spaces. This
is also apparent from the graphic mode of
expression, which is far more experimental
in this suite than in the Prima Parte. 30 In the
suite the strictly geometrical space typical
of the Prima Parte prospects is replaced by
a space in which the central perspective is
dissolved. Not only do the objects portrayed
meet and merge; the various spaces in the
etchings are also dissolving and merging to
form a hazy whole. An example would be
“Nero’s Tomb” where the background with its
dilapidated buildings, rocks, and trees is not
part of the same space as the main motif in
the foreground (an open sarcophagus); the
two motifs are divided by a mist. Overall,
then, the geometric and monumental
qualities of Prima Parte is contrasted with a
focus on decay and a dissolution of space in
the Grotteschi suite.
Here we can once again establish a
connection to The Abandoned City, this
time to the first part of the series (opuses
131-139), which is similarly characterised
by an expressive etching technique, a focus
on decaying landscapes and a dissolution
of perspective which – as is the case in
the Grotteschi suite – provides a contrast
to the prospects. In what follows, this
thought-provoking structural coincidence
will form the starting point for exploring
the significance hidden in the contrast of
prospects and grotesques in Nielsen and
Piranesi.
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social Critique and Ideal
In order to investigate the relationship
between prospects and grotesques we must
first clarify what these concepts mean.
Prospectus is Latin for “view”, and within the
arts the term denotes a perspectival image
of a landscape – here, an urban landscape.
According to Corinna Höper the designation
”Grotteschi” in Piranesi’s work can be
compared to capricci, i.e. architectural
fantasies, often based on decaying or ruined
elements, that combine architecture in ways
which destabilise the spectator’s gaze. 31
This is precisely what we also see in Nielsen,
where the destabilising effect takes place
in The Abandoned City’s collage-like and
boundary-less space.
One can also speak of a destabilising
of meaning in both Piranesi and Nielsen.
In The Abandoned City and Opere Varie
the spectator is confronted with a range of
recognisable fragments: tombs and pillars or
sewage pipes and machine parts. Yet even
though these fragments are presented under
the overall heading of the series, which
seems to indicate that they relate to its
meaning, the exact nature of this meaning
remains a mystery. Part of the enigmatic
qualities of the grotesques resides in how
they undermine the spectator’s attempts
at interpretation. As regards Piranesi’s
Grotteschi suite this relationship has, over
the course of time, given rise to a range
of different and frequently contradictory
readings that run the gamut from emphasising
their possible vanitas symbolism to
cosmological and mystical interpretations. 32
At first glance the iconography of the
suite points towards themes of transience
and mortality, but it has proven difficult to
construct a consistent vanitas reading. For
this very reason, it has been pointed out
that by virtue of its enigmatic nature, the
Grotteschi suite refers equally much to the
transience of interpretation as to the fleeting
nature of life itself. 33 Viewed through this
lens Piranesi’s work not only points to the
melancholy introspection prompted by being
confronted with vanitas symbolism, but also
to an interpretational melancholy arising
out of a failure to decode the images. 34
Such interpretational melancholy can also
be tentatively linked to The Abandoned
City. The crumbling, wrecked debris in the
first part of the series may not only testify
163 english version
to an abandoned industrial area whose
fragments might symbolise the passing of all
things, but also to the futility inherent in our
attempts at understanding these scenes as
part of a wider context.
Having said that, it is important to
establish that this pessimistic interpretation
of the grotesques is not the only possible
reading. As regards Piranesi’s work
Francesco Nevola recently pointed out that
the iconography of the Grotteschi suite can
be linked to the Greek poet Hesiod’s (circa
700-650 BCE) 800-line poem Works and
Days. 35 Without delving into the minutiae
of Nevola’s argument, the consequence of
the link between Piranesi and Hesiod is
that the Grotteschi suite can be viewed as
a reinterpretation of Hesiod’s so-called Five
Ages – a mythical tale of mankind’s fall from
a Golden Age civilisation to increasingly
lower and more morally corrupt stages:
” Piranesi like Hesiod identifies man’s
greatest epoch as an era lost in the remote
antique past, and rather than accepting his
own age as an era of Christian triumph – as
Vico postulates in his Scienza Nuova –
Piranesi with this image bitterly criticises
the present as a time ruled by envy, violence
and injustice.” 36
To Piranesi the Golden Age is in the past
while the present is corrupted. There is,
then, an aspect of social critique hidden
within the Grotteschi suite, as Piranesi – according
to Nevola – uses vanitas symbolism
for a kind of critical meditation on contemporary
Rome. Here, the transience of human
life or of readings are not the only themes
addressed; the work is also concerned with
the decay of contemporary civilisation. In
this sense the decay seen in the Grotteschi
suite is both physical and moral. Here, too,
it is possible to compare Piranesi’s work and
The Abandoned City. Even though the first
part of the series does not contain elements
with such overt symbolic significance as
tombs and skeletons, the industrial debris in
the barren, rocky landscape can nevertheless
be viewed as a kind of cultural critique.
However, the main point of interest is not
the fact that The Abandoned City contains
such criticism. Only when the ambiguous
underlying structure of this cultural critique
in Piranesi is compared to that of Nielsen
does its meaning truly emerge.
Let us return here to the fundamental
tension between grotesques and prospects.
Once again, this peculiar structure comes
into play as we unfold the cultural critique in
Nielsen and Piranesi. While the Grotteschi
suite represents a criticism of culture in
Opere Varie, the prospects of Prima Parte
can be said to offer an alternative or ideal
that contemporary civilisation should pursue.
In Piranesi, then, the fundamental structure
of his cultural critique is that the deplorable
state of his present civilisation is criticised
in the grotesques, but he also offers a
monumental alternative: a perfect, ideal
vision for resurrecting the Eternal City while
drawing inspiration from Roman antiquity.
Thus, Piranesi not only presents a diagnosis;
he also offers up a cure.
If we turn to The Abandoned City one
might say that a shift has occurred in the
relationship between the cultural criticism of
the grotesques and the ideals presented by
the prospects. Insofar as the first part of the
series represents a sombre criticism of
contemporary culture, it does not find a
correspondingly clear resolution in the pro-
spectuses of the second half of the series. In
Nielsen, the resolution is far more ambiguous.
As the analysis of opuses 155-158
demonstrated these prospects depict
abandoned spaces in a city that appears to
have lost its function as city. The prospects
are characterised by absence – an absence
of people and an absence of environs. As
was noted in my close reading of Nielsen’s
images above, it seems as if the buildings
were originally part of larger blocks or complexes
but are now left strangely isolated. A
sense of emptiness and a disturbing lack
of boundaries pervades all. The square,
usually a place for gathering in any city, is
empty, as are the railway tracks, the city’s
supply system. The very houses seem
hollow and empty. Having become isolated,
these houses have lost their function and
become placed within a brightly lit urban
scene, and it is difficult to view them as an
ideal alternative in contrast to the decay of
The Abandoned City’s first part. They stand
before us, ambiguous, empty, and silent.
In Piranesi’s Opere Varie the architecture
of Roman antiquity forms the point of
reference for the ideal city, the foundations
of a future Rome. Palle Nielsen’s work
does not possess the same notion of
identification with a glorious past. The

architecture depicted in The Abandoned City
can be described as European Historicism
– a category that includes e.g. many of
Copenhagen’s biggest institutions. It also
encompasses many of the tenement blocks
that followed in the wake of the wave of
urbanisation in the second half of the 19 th
century, e.g. to house the new working class.
The main motif of opus 155 might be such
a block, whereas opus 158 shows a domed
building that shares certain traits and
features with The Marble Church (Frederik’s
Church) in Copenhagen.
Such buildings can be said to represent a
memory of the industrialisation movement
and the flowering of modern Europe before
the horrors of the world wars in the 20 th
century, and as such they can be regarded
as alternatives to the decay exemplified
by the grotesques in the first part of The
Abandoned City. They may represent
the optimistic outlook on the future that
1 thanks are due to the Danish Institute for art
and Science in rome and to associate professor
Henrik reeh, University of Copenhagen, for having
supported my work on this article and on Palle
Nielsen’s work in general.
2 See e.g. Kristian romare: Den fortryllede by. En bog
om Palle Nielsen, Copenhagen 1990, p. 8, or Michael
Wivel (eds.): Palle Nielsen in memoriam, Kgs. Lyngby
2002, pp. 14f.
3 Cf. romare 1990, p. 273, Jørgen Gammelgaard,
J.: Palle Nielsen. Temaer in hans værk, Humlebæk
2006, p. 245, and Jytte rex: Palle Nielsen. Timebog,
København 2008, 358-60. there are also eight
drawings and four sketches at the Clausens
Kunsthandel gallery in Copenhagen that can
with some degree of certainty be linked to The
Abandoned City as preliminary studies. this material
will not, however, be included in what follows.
4 romare, 1990, p. 167f, Gammelgaard, 2006, pp.
126-9, rex, 2008, p. 125.
5 romare, 1990, p. 167.
6 Ibid., p. 168.
7 Gammelgaard, 2006, p. 127f.
8 Ibid., p. 127.
9 Ibid., p. 127.
10 rex, 2008, p. 125.
11 In the text ”Sort lys og hvidt mørke” (“Black
Light and White Darkness”) from 1990 Nielsen
paraphrases passages from Merleau-Ponty’s essay
”L’Oeil et l’Esprit”, but it is debatable whether his
understanding of this essay reaches beyond a
sympathy for Merleau-Ponty’s central positioning
suffered a fatal setback with the outbreak of
World War I, and in that sense they provide
a nostalgic comment on the artist’s own
disillusioned time. If, however, we take a
closer look at how the prospects are staged,
one might argue that The Abandoned City
represents a memory of a city after a war
situation rather than before. In opus 155
large parts of the tenement block are gone –
leaving only a corner standing – and in opus
158 the domed building is isolated while the
square is covered in paper and rubble as if a
section of the city not visible in the etching
lies in ruins. These abandoned buildings
could be read as a city after the bombs have
fallen – and after the ruined houses have
been torn down and removed.
In this context it is tempting to incorporate
Nielsen’s own experience of the ruins of
Hamburg after World War II, as has indeed
been done by several scholars. 37 Pointing to
such a parallel would, however, cloud the
of art as a locus where our perception of the world
is marked with particular clarity.
12 romare, 1990, p. 168
13 Gammelgaard, 2006, p. 127
14 Ibid., p. 126.
15 romare, 1990, p. 168, and Gammelgaard, 2006, p. 127
16 For example, opus 139 is 345 x 310mm. a typical
Nielsen etching is approximately half that size.
17 Cf. romare, 1990, p. 168.
18 It is difficult to agree with Gammelgaard’s claim
that Nielsen has, generally, pursued a strategy
where”[t]he industrial debris has spent very little
time in the acid, causing it to appear pale and
whispery.”. Gammelgaard, 2006, p. 128.
19 Ibid., p. 127.
20 romare, 1990, p. 168
21 Gammelgaard, 2006, p. 127.
22 Jf. romare, 1990, p. 273
23 For a treatment of the series, see Corinna Höper
et al (eds.): Giovanni Battista Piranesi. Die poetische
Wahrheit. Radierungen, Ostfildern-ruit 1999, pp. 94-
104. also see Francesco Nevola: Giovanni Battista
Piranesi: the Grotteschi, rom 2009, pp. 58-138.
24 See Nevola, 2009, and Höper, 1999, pp. 120-124.
25 richard Wendorf: “Piranesi’s Double ruin”,
Eighteen-Century Studies, vol. 34, 2, 2001, pp.
161-180, 165.
26 Ibid., p. 163.
27 Cf. Carsten thau: Piranesis – rummets agoni (working
paper), aarhus 1992, p. 18.
28 Michel Makarius: Ruins, Paris 2004, p. 98. also
see Wendorf, 2001, p. 163, and Cara Denison
fact that in Nielsen’s work nothing indicates
that the city is a geographically specific city
referring to a personal experience. Rather,
The Abandoned City’s anonymity seems
to raise the prospects out of the realm of
concrete experience, thereby making their
abandonment a universal urban matter. It is
also important to emphasise that the series
does not conclusively show a war-torn city.
The reason behind the abandonment and
the isolation of the houses remains an open
question. Obviously, however, the ambiguity
means that the prospects cannot embody a
monumental ideal which contrasts with cultural
critique of the grotesques in the same
manner as Piranesi’s Opere Varie. Quite the
contrary: the tension between grotesques
and prospects remains unresolved in The
Abandoned City – and at the same time the
series continues to fascinate and challenge
the spectator’s interpretative gaze.
et al (eds.): Exploring Rome: Piranesi and His
Contemporaries, New York 1994, p. xxxvi.
29 Wendorf, 2001, p. 176, thau, 1992, p. 2.
30 See Höper, 1999, p. 120, and Myra Nan rosenfeld:
“Picturesque to Sublime: Piranesi’s Stylistic and
technical Development from 1740 to 1761”, in M.
Bevilacqua et al. (eds.): The Serpent and the Stylus.
Essays on G.B. Piranesi, London 2006, p. 84.
31 Höper, 1999, 120. as the present article is intended
as a comparative close analysis of Nielsen and
Piranesi, space does not permit further delving
into the origin and historical development of the
ruin motif. For a good Danish introduction on the
subject, see Maria Fabricius Hansen: Ruinbilleder
(Copenhagen 1999). also see Chris Fischer:
Ruinmani (Copenhagen 1995); Michael S. roth et
al (eds.): Irresistible Decay: Ruins Reclaimed (Los
angeles 1997); Michel Makarius: Ruins (Paris
2004); robert Ginsberg: The Aesthetics of Ruins
(amsterdam 2004); Julia Hell and andreas Schönle
(eds.): Ruins of Modernity (Durham 2010).
32 Ibid., p. 121, and rosenfeld, 2006, p. 86ff.
33 See Höper, 1999, p. 121.
34 Compare to thau, 1992, p. 15.
35 See Nevola, 2009, p. 185ff.
36 Ibid., p. 196. Nevola elaborates on the conse-
quences of this reading p. 201ff.
37 See e.g. Gammelgaard, 2006, p. 126f, or Nina
Damsgaard: Ruin – Vision. Ruinmotivet i sidste halvdel
af det 20. årh., Vejle 2008, p. 20.
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