In the last week, I’ve been in three national galleries: in Oslo, Stockholm, and Helsinki. Each one is a hardened little palace of culture, showing off the nature of the land and the psyche of its people in a proud and central architectural jewel box.
It just seems obvious that a national gallery would give a probing view into a people. Of the many national galleries, Scandinavia’s do this extremely well. (Others that come to mind — like London’s and Washington DC’s — mix it up with more generally great art.) But in a little country (with no history of art-grubbing royalty), in a land where the visitor who hits it on a bad month might wonder why anyone would want to even live up here…much less paint, a national gallery works to show visitors that people who live here are not nuts. (Do you have a favorite national gallery for giving an insight into a particular culture?)
In each case — whether Norway, Sweden, or Finland — the paintings exaggerate the power and awesomeness of nature. In those tangled, plush, tumultuous symphonies of nature, the piccolo section is the country folk — people in traditional peasant costumes, tiny but in sharp focus…surviving with grace. Or, in the most famous painting in Scandinavia, just letting out a bloodcurdling Scream.
Like the Swedes have Carl Larsson, each country has its Norman Rockwells who painted almost photorealistic looks at 19th-century Scandinavian life. Rather than paintings celebrating kings and popes, it’s people’s art — a bridal voyage (perfect to show off the traditional jewelry and formal wear), low church devotion (perfect to show the strength of renegade Lutherans not following the state dictates — until they ran out of patience and moved to Wisconsin), and solid families at work and play.
And the “slice-of-life” scenes seem to just as often be slice-of-death scenes: a stoic family filling their rowboat, oaring in the coffin of a dead daughter, her sister clutching the funeral flowers through the bitter ride, and the harsh season clear on the weathered faces of the heartbroken parents.
And there are the struggles with a puritan 19th-century Protestant society, and the psychological problems that result. Basically (if you spent much time with Edvard Munch), messed-up men who didn’t know how to handle women.
As is the case with so many minor cultures in Europe, the 19th century was a time of resurgence and awakening — Finns holding back Russification, Norwegians distinguishing themselves from the Danes and Swedes. Legitimacy can be founded on epic myths. In each of the galleries, huge murals celebrate the Paul Bunyan beginnings of their nationalities. In The Mid-Winter Sacrifice, the noble Viking king prepares to sacrifice himself to the gods so spring will return and his people will be fed. In The Wild Hunt of Odin,the rowdy horde of Viking-like warriors gallops across the sky, snatching up unsuspecting maidens and the souls of sleepers forever.
I’d suggest that anyone traveling across Scandinavia use each country’s national gallery as a cultural springboard for venturing further from the capital.