Author name: Odalisque

Carsten Höller's "Stockholm Slides" invites you to a controlled fall from Moderna Museet text Natalia Muntean A new large-scale art installation transforming the facade of Moderna Museet is more than a slide. It is a physical exercise in surrendering control. “Stockholm Slides,” a pair of spiral slides by internationally renowned artist Carsten Höller, opened to the public last week. The artwork consists of two identical, mirror-image slides, each 39 meters long, allowing two people to ride simultaneously in what the artist describes as a “mirrored choreography.” But for Höller, the core of the experience lies in the psychological state it induces. “In a slide, you must give up everything to do with your own control.” Höller elaborates on the unique tension of the ride: “You know exactly what is going to happen. There is no surprise… But you cannot do anything during the process between the beginning and the end.” This regulated loss of control is, for the artist, the source of a powerful and contradictory sensation, finding this duality fascinating, placing the rider “on two extremes simultaneously. You have hard joy and fear.” When asked if the work, a literal controlled fall, relates to the contemporary feeling of political or environmental free-fall, Höller acknowledged the metaphor while also emphasising the openness of art. “It’s an artwork, which means we cannot say it means this or that. It means many things. And I think that’s the great thing about art, that it’s not just one thing, but many, many, many things.” This perspective aligns with Höller’s history of creating what he calls “influential environments” – installations designed to provoke specific states of mind like disorientation, doubt and exhilaration. “Stockholm Slides” invites visitors to physically release control, challenging the traditional passive museum visit, and exploring what it means to fall and to let go.

Gerdman Gallery Debuts with Johnny Höglund’s Digital Memories text Natalia Muntean “My hope is to contribute to Stockholm’s ever-growing gallery landscape by presenting artists of my own generation, both from across Sweden and internationally, working in a variety of media,” says Peter Gerdman, founder of the newly opened Gerdman Gallery in the heart of Stockholm. This clear vision defines the new space, which enters the scene with a collaborative and curatorial approach. “I want to grow alongside the artists I work with,” Gerdman explains, “so beyond the strength of their practice, it’s important that we share values and goals.” His strategy is both focused and expansive. “My approach is to look broadly, starting in Sweden, then across the Nordics, and more widely as the gallery develops.” While an artist’s career stage is a key factor, the final selection is ultimately a personal one. “It’s also a matter of taste,” Gerdman explains. “I follow my conviction in an artist’s practice, trusting that belief as the foundation for what is presented.” This philosophy is reflected in the gallery’s inaugural exhibition, “What is Gathered is Not Memory” by Johnny Höglund. Gerdman has been tracking Höglund’s artistic journey for some time, but it was the body of work showcased during Annual, Malmö Art Academy’s yearly exhibition, that ultimately convinced him. “I immediately sensed that his work would be ideal for the gallery’s first presentation. His practice not only stands strongly on its own, but also conveys the kind of visual vocabulary and conceptual qualities I want people to come to expect from Gerdman Gallery,” says Gerdman. Höglund’s paintings capture the anonymous, everyday moments frozen by our screens. In his hands, these fleeting digital fragments are metabolised through the slow, physical labour of oil painting on large-scale canvases. Höglund’s works are an invitation to challenge the speed of the scroll, inviting us to pause and reconsider what we gather and what we truly remember. Portrait taken by Hannes Östlund Natalia Muntean: The exhibition title suggests a difference between collecting information and creating memories. In your art, what do you collect and what becomes a true memory in your paintings? Johnny Höglund: I base my selection of images on the fact that they have, in some way, managed to capture my attention enough for me to take a screenshot. It can be anything to me; the content does not matter. It happens almost unconsciously. There is something in the image that appeals to me, but I don’t necessarily know what it is or understand when I begin working with it. For me, it’s not about preserving a specific image or memory, but about understanding why it appears in my feed, and, by extension, becomes part of an autobiographical narrative, without becoming a self-portrait in the traditional sense. NM: You slow things down when you paint, going from a quick digital move to a slower physical one. When does a small piece of a digital image stop being just a random part and become something that shows your personal touch? JH: I believe it does the minute the brush touches the canvas. At that moment, I’m fully invested in the image. The process beforehand is slow and takes several days. I build my own stretchers, then I put down two layers of glue, followed by three layers of gesso. Every layer needs a light sanding and time to dry. During this process, I’m already thinking of the image that I will be painting onto that canvas. But there’s still time to have second thoughts. Time to even discard the image and use another screenshot (because the image still needs to work as a painting). So I would say that from the first brush stroke onwards, that’s when my hand is present and the image becomes an extension of myself. NM: You use classic materials like linseed oil on canvas to show digital experiences. Is this a choice about lasting quality, or do the paints help show what digital images are like? JH: I think working with our hands is becoming increasingly more important. And to let the human hand show through in its work is so important. It has so much inherent feeling with all its so-called imperfections in contrast to the very clean and crisp digital image. A brush stroke can contain so much emotion in its simplicity. But painting is, above all, a way of processing. It is not about illustrating something that already exists, but about allowing something to take shape through doing. And once complete, the painting holds its ground in real space. It cannot be scrolled past. NM: You explore a “collective memory shaped by algorithms.” As an artist, are you trying to rebuild what was lost in the digital screenshot or make a new story through painting? JH: The collective memory of the screenshot. A collective memory which is shaped not only through what we save and send forward, but also through all those images we scroll by, which are pre-cognitively imprinted in our memories. I see this fragmented timeline as something more poetic than prosaic. Connected as autobiographical material shaped through the algorithm, and then processed by hand. The saved image is saved to our tangible reality. I place it back into the world on new terms, inviting the viewer to experience it through their whole body.   NM: The large scale of the works implies a physical, bodily engagement for both you and the viewer. How does this physical act push back against the feeling of just scrolling on a screen? JH: The scale of the paintings demands attention differently compared to that of the feed. You cannot scroll or swipe. You move around in the room as a viewer, not the image. With a painting of this size, the body has to adjust, to move closer or further away, to stand still for a longer moment. It creates a different temporality, one where the image doesn’t vanish but instead insists on staying with you. For me, this