Danny & Pork Chop Go Scandinavian Day 6: PART TWO Adult Enternatinment & Dinomania
Thanks for being patient with the break in the travel blogs; I had to get a few Delectables with Dan out of the way since I didn't want the series to die, and I had the calendar cupcake arrangement I had to honour and then Tattoo Talk Thursday. We're back on track with the travel blogs, we've got 4 more to go. I don't know if I'll do them all in a row like I did when I started them out or if I'll throw some other content in before finishing the Danny & Pork Chop Go Scandinavian series.
After a spiritual adventure at the National History Museum, I was really wanting to clear my head and the National Gallery of Oslo is literally right around the corner and was one of the places on my list of 'to visits'. Wandering through the mid-morning snowdrifts I head round to the gallery, stopping to check out the nude statues on display. I always find it interesting that nudes like this are considered art, but porn isn't. Isn't porn a type of art? I mean, they call them porn actors and acting is an art form; different medium but still art. Oh dear, this argument sounded so much better in my head. Let's get outta here.
Walking inside find a packed entrance hall. I guess this place really is popular! Groups of young adults my age or a little younger stand in huddles waiting to buy tickets, sandwiched in between a few couples on a weekend excursion. I'm the only one stood alone, Pork Chop in my arms. After a relatively short time, we're called up and a woman asks me if I'd like a student or adult ticket. I could have said student probably and saved a little bit of money, but I actually was honest and said 'adult'. She handed me the ticket and receipt and I headed to the coatroom to store my bag since they're not allowed in the museum. I'm always so wary of these places you know, yeah they lock and all that, but is it really safe? I don't like the idea of leaving my passports, some cash and some of my film equipment in my bag where the public has access to. I think they're all monitored by CCTV in case of theft, but still.
Maybe I’m biased but the London National Gallery is the best in the world. Hands down. It’s not just because it’s home to my favourite DaVinci piece either. The only bummer about the gallery is that you’re not allowed to take photos…that didn’t stop me years back on my first visit. I needed a photo to remind me that I’d seen my favourite version of Madonna of the Rocks in person. ((I also went to the Louvre in Paris to see the other version. Saw the Mona Lisa too and honestly, I wasn’t all that impressed.)) I actually didn't know they housed The Scream here; I didn't do much research on the gallery. All I knew was that I wanted to go to a gallery and a National Gallery is almost always a great choice. I don't think I've ever been disappointed by a National Gallery.
There wasn't a crowd around it, which was kind of surprising, but pleasing as I got to stand right in front of the painting, taking it all in. It was haunting, but in a different way, the "death display" at the Natural History Museum was. It reminded me of my anxiety attacks and the overwhelming anxiety that plagued me before I left on this trip. It felt like the hollowed out eyes in the painting were staring right through me; everything was on display. I drew in a deep breath and almost wanted to scream. The creature in the picture had seen me, seen me more than the one I'm supposed to be partnered with and he was horrified. What would my partner say if he saw what this thing did? I was rooted in the spot, almost overcome with everything hitting me at once. The turmoil with him in Linköping, then the missing him, the hating him and the loving him. Then the stress of everything at home, the waves of bipolar mood swings and the feelings of inferiority. Then the thought hit me, 'If I don't get this shit under control, I'm going to look like that creature in the painting. That's what happened to the poor bloke. He just finally lost his shit, all his hair fell out and he started melting into the landscape.'
In retrospect, that's probably not the response Munch wanted from his work; he probably wanted to connect to the viewer to manage his own anxiety which is heavily explored in the vibrant and mulled colours of the painting, reaching out to connect himself to others and allow others to connect to him. You feel the horror the creature is experiencing and the turbulence of the background, which I can equate to my own surroundings. Maybe he just wanted this to be a reflective piece. Maybe he painted it just to fuck with stoned teenagers. Maybe he maybe he painted it to make people speculate. Christ, art is depressing sometimes. I don't know why this little nugget of thought depressed me, I'm a depressive artist for Christ's sake...though most of my pieces are meant to capture positive things, express the love I have for the person in the image, project feelings that are more than just sadness. This is why I'm not an art scholar.
They really have a lot of nudes in this place. They didn't mention that in the brochure. Wait, they might have. I never read guidebooks. I look at things online, read through things or watch documentaries on places I want to go to and then I go. The nudes are a mind-numbing blessing. The thoughts of worry, fear and doubt brought on by The Scream are trickling out of me, staining the hardwood of the gallery floor. They have some rather interesting pieces that contrast some of the more "serious" pieces in the gallery. I can't help but provide my own commentary to amuse myself as I take in some of the paintings. I wonder what possessed the art to paint these scenes, what the inspiration was.
I stand in front of a portrait of two women, one of the women holding her husband's head in a basket. Well, I'm assuming it's her husband, though it could easily be her lover. I almost choke on laughter as I create a dialogue between the two women.
"Shut the fuck up Clarice, you know I'm finished playing with you! I know that you and Claude had been romping behind my back! You two have had quite the time behind my back, well now heads are rolling! I got his head in my breadbasket and I'm coming for your next, so back it off bitch!"
In a room or two over, there's another painting that captures my imagination and probably not in the way the artist intended. It's a painting of what looks like an angel slapping a man and grabbing hold of another. "What the fuck do you think you're doing Albert? Don't think you're getting away that easy! Jimmy already got the shit slapped out of him and now it's your turn!" Wow. These images really know how to captivate one's mind. It reminds me of a mother laying down the law with her two sons, too. Memories of childhood start creeping into me and I push them down as I stare into the breast of a woman who appears to be breastfeeding her husband. I want to know more about this piece, but there's no backstory on the card. Why the hell would anyone paint this? And why the hell would it be hung in an art gallery? Just when I think I'm finished with art for the day, I take in some of Picasso's work. It's amazing to see, but I don't really get why it's so great. It's shapes in paint on a canvas. I look into layers and layers of colour and shapes. I'm starting to get dizzy. Am I falling into the painting? Jesus Christ. I need to get out of here.
I head back to get my rucksack and on my way out the door, the museum shop catches my eye. I need postcards of my favourite pieces. I'm a complete sucker for classical art; I don't really like modern art. I don't get it; to me, it feels soulless and far too commercialised. There's too much emphasis on what it all means, they're all wanting to make a fucking political statement or a statement on something that ultimately doesn't matter; there's no real love in the art. Sure it's a creation, but is it a piece of the person, like the old master's work? I think not.
I head out with my postcards neatly tucked into my rucksack. I can walk this. It's 2.3km. I look at my watch and realise much of the day has slipped away. It's already a little after 2pm. I have to get there before it closes and I really want to be able to take my time in there like I did earlier. I shuffle through the slushy pavement, almost slipping and breaking my neck twice and landing on Pork Chop only once. I make my way toward the main train station, knowing that I'll be able to navigate from there. It's not that bad. I can do this. I manage to make it to the central station with no broken bones. I'm not sure which direction I need to head in to be able to get there the fastest, I'm just stuck with a basic idea. Venturing into the tourist help centre, I ask a tall, bored woman how I'd get to the National History Museum from here. She tells me that I don't wanna try and walk it, cause of the snow and it might start snowing again soon and that my best bet is to take the underground. She marks it off on a little map for me and I head back out and to the side of the station where the underground entrance is. Simple enough. Everything is colour coded and clearly labelled. More public transit systems need to be like this; I've used them in almost every major European city and most of them less than impress.
I buy a ticket at the machine and jump on the 4 green line. I'm not going far; only two stops over. Jernbanetorget to Toyen. The name strikes me odd. It reminds me of the Juggernaut from 13 Ghosts...that film still terrifies me. I'm not sure what it is about it but it sends me into panic attacks like no tomorrow. I get off at the stop and emerge into a snow-covered street. I take a look back it's the weirdest looking underground station; it looks like some kind of dodgy underground carpark. If I didn't know better, I'd stay the fuck away from it. It's not even clearly labelled. I shuffle into the mid-afternoon flurries and past the Munch Museum. I think about stopping there, but I really just want to see some fuckin dinosaurs first. I can hit it on the way back.
I see the signs for the natural history museum and get confused. Several buildings are labelled as it, but there's no real layout. I stand in the show looking into the windows of a greenhouse before wandering inside. I pull out a chocolate filled croissant and sit and stare into the waterlilies blooming inside the greenhouse. I'm sweating my nuts off in here, but they have some gorgeous pants. Venus flytraps, brilliant pink flowers the size of my head. Where the fuck are the dinosaurs? I'm getting impatient. I'm not in the greenhouse long, wandering out into the chilly air so that I can breathe. I notice two mothers with a group of children. They have to know where the place is. I follow behind them, like a ghost, not wanting to see creepy. I make my way through massive buildings and see the museum shop with a sign that says tickets. Here's the fucking place! GODDAMNIT!
You enter the museum through the gift shop, which I naturally stopped in. I was hypnotised by all the dinosaur items. I thought my head was going to explode at all the choices. I don't have much room in my bag, so I need to choose wisely; I also don't want to blow my entire load on-OH MY GOD A GIANT PLESIOSAUR TOY. My thoughts about room and price go right out the window as I grab him. "I will call you Tobias!" I stick him under my arm and wander a little bit further and see a thing of glow in the dark dinosaurs. I fucking need that too. I get another small dinosaur toy before landing back in reality. I hustle up to the till and place my collection of items on the counter. "Anything else?" "Oh, yeah and a museum ticket." She hands me my change and receipt, I stuff everything into my rucksack and head through the double doors out onto the little path that takes you to the museum entrance.
Its filled with all sorts of amazing things. Animal habitats mounted heads and fossils. I love places like this. I can really get into it, just lose myself in everything around me. You feel like you're in the sets. It's not that crowded thankfully, a few couples and 3 small groups of kids. You follow the museum around in a spiral, ascending up into a large area that houses sciences of the human body, other dinosaurs and an interactive area. I look down over the dinosaurs and feel a sense of joy and freedom that's just plain magical. It reminds me of one of the museums I'd been to as a kid. I overlook the place, wondering if I could jump from here, what would happen. I don't know why the thought overtakes me. I'm not about to do it because of all the kids around here, but the notion lingers with me as I move to the next section.
There's a human brain in a jar. I look deep into it. I wonder who it was. What it's meatshell looked like. I wonder what's inside. I want to take a look inside. I wonder if I can leave my brain around, floating in a jar...what would that mean for my consciousness? Would that create another version of me? A version that could be converted into some sick kind of artificial simulation of me? My mind races back to that Black Mirror episode and I sit in bathing in a low bath of horror, panic and existential amusement. I want to just shut down. Turn my brain off. Stop thinking. Is there any way to do this? I think about all the directions my life has been racing in over the past decade, the times I've often felt powerless over the twists and turns of life. I'm about to scream for the second time today when a little child pulls on my shirtsleeve. "Mr, you're sitting on my book." "Oh!" I stand up and hand the kid his book, returning to my position to think.
After a spiritual adventure at the National History Museum, I was really wanting to clear my head and the National Gallery of Oslo is literally right around the corner and was one of the places on my list of 'to visits'. Wandering through the mid-morning snowdrifts I head round to the gallery, stopping to check out the nude statues on display. I always find it interesting that nudes like this are considered art, but porn isn't. Isn't porn a type of art? I mean, they call them porn actors and acting is an art form; different medium but still art. Oh dear, this argument sounded so much better in my head. Let's get outta here.
Walking inside find a packed entrance hall. I guess this place really is popular! Groups of young adults my age or a little younger stand in huddles waiting to buy tickets, sandwiched in between a few couples on a weekend excursion. I'm the only one stood alone, Pork Chop in my arms. After a relatively short time, we're called up and a woman asks me if I'd like a student or adult ticket. I could have said student probably and saved a little bit of money, but I actually was honest and said 'adult'. She handed me the ticket and receipt and I headed to the coatroom to store my bag since they're not allowed in the museum. I'm always so wary of these places you know, yeah they lock and all that, but is it really safe? I don't like the idea of leaving my passports, some cash and some of my film equipment in my bag where the public has access to. I think they're all monitored by CCTV in case of theft, but still.
Maybe I’m biased but the London National Gallery is the best in the world. Hands down. It’s not just because it’s home to my favourite DaVinci piece either. The only bummer about the gallery is that you’re not allowed to take photos…that didn’t stop me years back on my first visit. I needed a photo to remind me that I’d seen my favourite version of Madonna of the Rocks in person. ((I also went to the Louvre in Paris to see the other version. Saw the Mona Lisa too and honestly, I wasn’t all that impressed.)) I actually didn't know they housed The Scream here; I didn't do much research on the gallery. All I knew was that I wanted to go to a gallery and a National Gallery is almost always a great choice. I don't think I've ever been disappointed by a National Gallery.
There wasn't a crowd around it, which was kind of surprising, but pleasing as I got to stand right in front of the painting, taking it all in. It was haunting, but in a different way, the "death display" at the Natural History Museum was. It reminded me of my anxiety attacks and the overwhelming anxiety that plagued me before I left on this trip. It felt like the hollowed out eyes in the painting were staring right through me; everything was on display. I drew in a deep breath and almost wanted to scream. The creature in the picture had seen me, seen me more than the one I'm supposed to be partnered with and he was horrified. What would my partner say if he saw what this thing did? I was rooted in the spot, almost overcome with everything hitting me at once. The turmoil with him in Linköping, then the missing him, the hating him and the loving him. Then the stress of everything at home, the waves of bipolar mood swings and the feelings of inferiority. Then the thought hit me, 'If I don't get this shit under control, I'm going to look like that creature in the painting. That's what happened to the poor bloke. He just finally lost his shit, all his hair fell out and he started melting into the landscape.'
In retrospect, that's probably not the response Munch wanted from his work; he probably wanted to connect to the viewer to manage his own anxiety which is heavily explored in the vibrant and mulled colours of the painting, reaching out to connect himself to others and allow others to connect to him. You feel the horror the creature is experiencing and the turbulence of the background, which I can equate to my own surroundings. Maybe he just wanted this to be a reflective piece. Maybe he painted it just to fuck with stoned teenagers. Maybe he maybe he painted it to make people speculate. Christ, art is depressing sometimes. I don't know why this little nugget of thought depressed me, I'm a depressive artist for Christ's sake...though most of my pieces are meant to capture positive things, express the love I have for the person in the image, project feelings that are more than just sadness. This is why I'm not an art scholar.
They really have a lot of nudes in this place. They didn't mention that in the brochure. Wait, they might have. I never read guidebooks. I look at things online, read through things or watch documentaries on places I want to go to and then I go. The nudes are a mind-numbing blessing. The thoughts of worry, fear and doubt brought on by The Scream are trickling out of me, staining the hardwood of the gallery floor. They have some rather interesting pieces that contrast some of the more "serious" pieces in the gallery. I can't help but provide my own commentary to amuse myself as I take in some of the paintings. I wonder what possessed the art to paint these scenes, what the inspiration was.
"Shut the fuck up Clarice, you know I'm finished playing with you! I know that you and Claude had been romping behind my back! You two have had quite the time behind my back, well now heads are rolling! I got his head in my breadbasket and I'm coming for your next, so back it off bitch!"In a room or two over, there's another painting that captures my imagination and probably not in the way the artist intended. It's a painting of what looks like an angel slapping a man and grabbing hold of another. "What the fuck do you think you're doing Albert? Don't think you're getting away that easy! Jimmy already got the shit slapped out of him and now it's your turn!" Wow. These images really know how to captivate one's mind. It reminds me of a mother laying down the law with her two sons, too. Memories of childhood start creeping into me and I push them down as I stare into the breast of a woman who appears to be breastfeeding her husband. I want to know more about this piece, but there's no backstory on the card. Why the hell would anyone paint this? And why the hell would it be hung in an art gallery? Just when I think I'm finished with art for the day, I take in some of Picasso's work. It's amazing to see, but I don't really get why it's so great. It's shapes in paint on a canvas. I look into layers and layers of colour and shapes. I'm starting to get dizzy. Am I falling into the painting? Jesus Christ. I need to get out of here.
I head back to get my rucksack and on my way out the door, the museum shop catches my eye. I need postcards of my favourite pieces. I'm a complete sucker for classical art; I don't really like modern art. I don't get it; to me, it feels soulless and far too commercialised. There's too much emphasis on what it all means, they're all wanting to make a fucking political statement or a statement on something that ultimately doesn't matter; there's no real love in the art. Sure it's a creation, but is it a piece of the person, like the old master's work? I think not.
I head out with my postcards neatly tucked into my rucksack. I can walk this. It's 2.3km. I look at my watch and realise much of the day has slipped away. It's already a little after 2pm. I have to get there before it closes and I really want to be able to take my time in there like I did earlier. I shuffle through the slushy pavement, almost slipping and breaking my neck twice and landing on Pork Chop only once. I make my way toward the main train station, knowing that I'll be able to navigate from there. It's not that bad. I can do this. I manage to make it to the central station with no broken bones. I'm not sure which direction I need to head in to be able to get there the fastest, I'm just stuck with a basic idea. Venturing into the tourist help centre, I ask a tall, bored woman how I'd get to the National History Museum from here. She tells me that I don't wanna try and walk it, cause of the snow and it might start snowing again soon and that my best bet is to take the underground. She marks it off on a little map for me and I head back out and to the side of the station where the underground entrance is. Simple enough. Everything is colour coded and clearly labelled. More public transit systems need to be like this; I've used them in almost every major European city and most of them less than impress.
I buy a ticket at the machine and jump on the 4 green line. I'm not going far; only two stops over. Jernbanetorget to Toyen. The name strikes me odd. It reminds me of the Juggernaut from 13 Ghosts...that film still terrifies me. I'm not sure what it is about it but it sends me into panic attacks like no tomorrow. I get off at the stop and emerge into a snow-covered street. I take a look back it's the weirdest looking underground station; it looks like some kind of dodgy underground carpark. If I didn't know better, I'd stay the fuck away from it. It's not even clearly labelled. I shuffle into the mid-afternoon flurries and past the Munch Museum. I think about stopping there, but I really just want to see some fuckin dinosaurs first. I can hit it on the way back.
I see the signs for the natural history museum and get confused. Several buildings are labelled as it, but there's no real layout. I stand in the show looking into the windows of a greenhouse before wandering inside. I pull out a chocolate filled croissant and sit and stare into the waterlilies blooming inside the greenhouse. I'm sweating my nuts off in here, but they have some gorgeous pants. Venus flytraps, brilliant pink flowers the size of my head. Where the fuck are the dinosaurs? I'm getting impatient. I'm not in the greenhouse long, wandering out into the chilly air so that I can breathe. I notice two mothers with a group of children. They have to know where the place is. I follow behind them, like a ghost, not wanting to see creepy. I make my way through massive buildings and see the museum shop with a sign that says tickets. Here's the fucking place! GODDAMNIT!
You enter the museum through the gift shop, which I naturally stopped in. I was hypnotised by all the dinosaur items. I thought my head was going to explode at all the choices. I don't have much room in my bag, so I need to choose wisely; I also don't want to blow my entire load on-OH MY GOD A GIANT PLESIOSAUR TOY. My thoughts about room and price go right out the window as I grab him. "I will call you Tobias!" I stick him under my arm and wander a little bit further and see a thing of glow in the dark dinosaurs. I fucking need that too. I get another small dinosaur toy before landing back in reality. I hustle up to the till and place my collection of items on the counter. "Anything else?" "Oh, yeah and a museum ticket." She hands me my change and receipt, I stuff everything into my rucksack and head through the double doors out onto the little path that takes you to the museum entrance.
Its filled with all sorts of amazing things. Animal habitats mounted heads and fossils. I love places like this. I can really get into it, just lose myself in everything around me. You feel like you're in the sets. It's not that crowded thankfully, a few couples and 3 small groups of kids. You follow the museum around in a spiral, ascending up into a large area that houses sciences of the human body, other dinosaurs and an interactive area. I look down over the dinosaurs and feel a sense of joy and freedom that's just plain magical. It reminds me of one of the museums I'd been to as a kid. I overlook the place, wondering if I could jump from here, what would happen. I don't know why the thought overtakes me. I'm not about to do it because of all the kids around here, but the notion lingers with me as I move to the next section.
There's a human brain in a jar. I look deep into it. I wonder who it was. What it's meatshell looked like. I wonder what's inside. I want to take a look inside. I wonder if I can leave my brain around, floating in a jar...what would that mean for my consciousness? Would that create another version of me? A version that could be converted into some sick kind of artificial simulation of me? My mind races back to that Black Mirror episode and I sit in bathing in a low bath of horror, panic and existential amusement. I want to just shut down. Turn my brain off. Stop thinking. Is there any way to do this? I think about all the directions my life has been racing in over the past decade, the times I've often felt powerless over the twists and turns of life. I'm about to scream for the second time today when a little child pulls on my shirtsleeve. "Mr, you're sitting on my book." "Oh!" I stand up and hand the kid his book, returning to my position to think.
I must have sat there for a good 20 minutes. I was lost in reflection about everything. Where am I going? What are my goals? What are my dreams? What do I need to do? I check my watch and realise that it's 5 after 4 already. Jesus Christ, where is the time going? I want to get back before it gets too dark. I snap photos of the rest of the floor I'm on before heading to the staircase.
I don't know why but the walk back to the underground station seems to take forever, much longer than when I walked here earlier, despite me getting a bit lost. I follow hundreds of footprints, both big and small, wondering who made them, where they were going and why they were here. It's kind of haunting to see all these footprints but no people. Oslo is gorgeous, but I'm really starting to wonder if it's a ghost town. I wonder if anyone I've interacted with has really been alive. A wave of disillusionment begins to crash over me as I reach the spooky underground entrance. I need to tune these thoughts out. I'm here to get away from this kind of thinking. Let's get back to the hotel, have a hot shower and a fucking burger with a nice lovely pint.
**On my next trip to Oslo I'll go to the Munch museum. Sadly, I didn't have enough time here. A day and a half is not that much time in such a wonderful city. I think I'll need at least 3 days next time.**
I don't know why but the walk back to the underground station seems to take forever, much longer than when I walked here earlier, despite me getting a bit lost. I follow hundreds of footprints, both big and small, wondering who made them, where they were going and why they were here. It's kind of haunting to see all these footprints but no people. Oslo is gorgeous, but I'm really starting to wonder if it's a ghost town. I wonder if anyone I've interacted with has really been alive. A wave of disillusionment begins to crash over me as I reach the spooky underground entrance. I need to tune these thoughts out. I'm here to get away from this kind of thinking. Let's get back to the hotel, have a hot shower and a fucking burger with a nice lovely pint.
**On my next trip to Oslo I'll go to the Munch museum. Sadly, I didn't have enough time here. A day and a half is not that much time in such a wonderful city. I think I'll need at least 3 days next time.**
**I'm in the process of getting together some of the photos from the trip that I'd love to sell as prints. As more of that unfolds I'll update on my Twitter, IG, Facebook & here. You can see previews of some of the photos on my IG**
LINKS
National Gallery: http://www.nasjonalmuseet.no/en/visit/locations/the_national_gallery/
Natural History Museum: http://www.nhm.uio.no/english/
Edvard Munch Museum: http://munchmuseet.no/en/
Edvard Munch Museum: http://munchmuseet.no/en/
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