Scandinavia is well known for its artists who delve into the mythologies of their countries, amid the dramatic contrasts of their meteorological conditions. From the existentialism of Edvard Munch, who felt “a scream passing through nature”, embodied in that famous terrified humanoid figure on a bridge leading to nowhere, to the turmoil of August Strindberg’s landscapes; from the solitude in the portraits of the Danish artist Anna Ancher to the starkly quiet interiors of the artists of the Danish Golden Age. A latent disquiet permeates even the most poetically hushed interiors of Vilhelm Hammershøi.

Contemporary Norwegian artist Odd Nerdrum defines this metaphysical discomfort through these words: “Light is good for body. Darkness is good for thought. Dusk is where they meet”, essentially bringing two dualities together and describing one of the underlying concepts of his own idiosyncratic oeuvre.

In the case of Karl Fröman, the Swedish artist who has made Malta his home, our country’s stark sunlight contrasts sharply with the climatic and sometimes penumbral conditions of Sweden.

Illusions

“In all aspects of life, we need to occasionally look backwards so the light of the past may illuminate our faces as we walk into the future,” Fröman once said. Often, the didactic light of the past ironically shows us the way forward; caramel-hued past and the dark and murky present merge into the dusk of the future. This is somehow in tune with Nerdrum’s aphorism.

Fröman was born in Sigtuna, Sweden, in January 1985. His mother, a figurative artist herself, imbued in him a love for the old masters. His formal artistic education included studying painting restoration in England, which complemented this love as he got close and personal with the art of bygone ages.

Karl Fröman

He believes it is important that an artist arrives at a holistic understanding of his environment, the different cultures and their philosophies, for a much more eloquent artistic expression of the human condition. Fröman considers himself as both an anthropologist and a philosopher; this helps him delve introspectively deeper into the ‘semantics’ of the world around him.

 The jester, the wise man and other tales

The title of the exhibition suggests a morality tale of sorts, a narrative in which a purported simpleton and a wise man of old, the soothsayer of the 16th century, Nostradamus, meet to discuss and to converse. The figure of the fool is a protagonist of many tales originating from the lore of different countries.

The fool in the king’s court demonstrated a very sharp mind, ready to evaluate matters that ranged from politics to the amorous undertakings of the royal entourage while pouring irony and jocularity in an outwardly innocent manner. One could tellingly regard the fool as the wise man of the situation, a reader of relationships and blessed with acerbic wit.

Freedom is Golden

This painting, bearing the same name as the title of the exhibition, is disconcerting. There is a strong sense of companionship, of double-dealing camaraderie, in the relationship between two female nudes. The composition is slightly reminiscent of Masaccio’s Expulsion of Adam and Eve, situated at the Brancacci chapel in Florence, Italy.

Unlike the Early Renaissance masterpiece, Fröman’s two girls are unashamedly naked and there is no patronising archangel, sword in hand, menacingly hovering overhead. They are like actors on stage, the two different hats defining their roles. An exchange of hats redefines their roles and the dynamics of the narrative, as the courtly joker can be transformed into the royal astrologer. In today’s world, such roles are easily interchangeable.

Fröman considers himself as both an anthropologist and a philosopher; this helps him delve introspectively deeper into the ‘semantics’ of the world around him

Freedom is Golden relates to Christian Mariological iconography and to the western world’s depiction of saintly maidens and martyrs. The chromatic contrasts of the heavenly spectrum of shades of blue against the florid gold of the woman’s hair evoke the palette of Odilon Redon. The three rays emanating from the personage’s head could be deciphered as a halo of sorts, indeed a transcendental creature. Women are sometimes referred to as ‘heavenly creatures’, which in today’s politically correct world is regarded as a rather sexist and chauvinist euphemism.

The artist tackles the still life genre in the two paintings titled Fuel and Kitty and the Vase. The casual and the everyday is the theme of the former while the latter draws on artefacts that may having been laying around in the studio. Fuel has a subdued pop factor as the artist elevates his own mundane as being worthy of a theme. The can of Skol beer, rather like Warhol’s cans of Campbell soup, reflects the sign of the times – this brand of beer is a popular one, easily available at watering holes and other outlets.

Fuel

Unlike Warhol’s cans of soup, which are intact and have a rather protracted shelf life for their contents to be consumed, Fröman’s can of beer’s pull tab has been prised open, contents consumed already or getting there and the can will soon be discarded. This painting can be a celebration of the tools of the trade, the tipple as ‘fuel’ to kindle inspiration necessary for artistic expression and the paintbrushes to put concepts thus summoned onto canvas.

The Gnaga mask is a historical staple of the Venetian carnival. This mask covers only the upper part of the face, its wearers free to insult passers-by while addressing them obscenely in a shrill voice resembling the mewing of a cat. This explains the origin of the term Gnaga (gnau is the Venetian for ‘meow’). The mask in Fröman’s composition rests against a classical-shaped urn, which, for many religions and classical civilisations, was a symbol of death. The artist might be subliminally delivering a morbid message in the juxtaposition of two seemingly unrelated objects, an invitation to be frivolous and have fun before death eventually beckons. Kitty and the Vase is flooded with the golden yellow light of hope and of transcendence.

Non-finito is a path that Fröman occasionally likes to pursue, as in Bacchus Offering. The work-in-progress dimension adds to the aura of timelessness as the piece is left apparently unfinished, with the artist ultimately determining whether it is to remain in such a state. This causes a sense of disorientation in the viewer, as the narrative seems to be stuck somewhere, through the unorthodox dynamics in the composition.

Full Circle

The elements seem to float in a gravitation-less space. Two female nudes rest on a bed or a sofa, the intimation of a backrest suggestive of either, while a bottle of wine rests on an ornate tray, another bottle resting against the thighs of one of the protagonists. An aura of celebration can be fathomed. Does nudity categorise them as lovers? Are they contemporary nymphs in the throes of a Bacchanalia, as suggested by the title ascribed to the painting by the artist? How does the viewer’s psychological baggage and bias obscure the narrative? What is essentially going on?

The Fool and Nostradamus is not restricted by a specific theme. According to the exhibition’s mission statement: “[It] aims to portray a culture led astray of the beaten path of its human origins with massively heavy contemporary influences, stylistically mixed in the most progressive manner possible; techniques from most artistic isms mass appropriated to merge a good portion of visual arts history into a coherent and joyously fulfilling experience.” The decision on whether to be the fool or the Nostradamus of this experience is entirely up to us.

The Fool and Nostradamus, curated by Rosanna Ciliberti and hosted by Senglea’s Art by the Seaside gallery, is open between April 1 and 14. For information about opening hours, visit the gallery’s Facebook page.