On H. C. Andersen’s Boulevard in Copenhagen you of course will find a statue of him, but it appears a little shy – almost as if the sponsors excused themselves for erecting him at all – as it is situated on the pavement at the corner of the city hall, him sitting top-hatted in a chair with the cane in one hand and a little book in the other resting in the lap.

Whereas the statute is very predictable and unable to mistake for anyone else, and thereby supports the idea of setting a statement for this great son of the country, the place is not supportive at all. Only distanced by half a meter from the curb side, the surroundings are featured by the city hall, the hopelessly messy town square and the busy boulevard with noisy traffic, traffic lights and traffic jam. Not supportive at all of the idea of an author living more than one and a half century ago and known for his particular way of telling tales and writing short stories – and not at all in the way his products are read or listened to. 

If you stay on that side of the street and stroll a few hundred meters further down towards the harbour you will notice a modern type building, which may provoke you to say that the marriage with its surroundings is not as happy as it could be. HRH Prince Charles may support you on that opinion, but one have nevertheless to say that the building in its architecture aims at supporting its raison d’être – that of exhibiting the design aspects of industrial products, from vacuum cleaners, bicycles to furniture and whatever is design related. Varying exhibitions are accommodated by an openly laid out interior architecture over several floors around a central mall giving visitors an impression of a space vaster than it really is. 

The DDC, acronym for Danish Design Center, also provides meeting facilities, and sitting in one of the meeting rooms last Tuesday I noticed that they also had been designed to signal the overall purpose of the DDC and at the same time appear timeless and non distracting to participants. The view from there could be distracting, maybe, and this could be the reason why participants were seated with the back to the large windows providing afternoon backlit views to Tivoli Gardens on the opposite side of the boulevard. The wall we faced was featured by broad low windows providing a view over rooftops towards 19^th century buildings – much calmer. We had the sun and the distractions in our backs – clever setup.

So, why do I write about these two observations? Is it because they have anything in common – they seem opposite? Well, they made me reflect on the aspects of design and wonder whether the type of artwork we do is subject to the same rules that make a statute successful throughout – or only partially, or what makes a design centre successful – or only partially.

We and the sculptor and the architect all design towards a purpose, and do that according to the ways we feel right to meet this purpose – within the boundary conditions given by possibilities and limitations in materials or construction volume. So, yes, we do have quite a lot in common. Where we differ is perhaps that the architect knows a priori where his artwork is going to be displayed, the sculptor perhaps also, but not always, and the textile artist rarely.

Having the artistic aspects in common and differing in the level of predictability of exhibition venues – I wonder what kind of thoughts this synthesis could lead to… 

For you, who do not know the shop Au Vieux Campeur I should perhaps mention that it is not one shop, but almost a dozen small shops spread over several narrow streets in the Quartier Latin on the left bank of the river Seine in Paris. So shopping there makes you fit, because you have to walk from shop to shop, according to your shopping list. My list was long, and it was the second day of shopping gear for a hiking tour that Roland and I intend to walk in May, so the physical exercise of shopping compensated a little for the physical training I should have done during the last couple of months… 

Well, I stood there in the oldest of the shops, the one in Rue de l’Ecole, loaded with a new backpack, hydration system, raincoat, hat – and just needed a carabiner. A young shop assistant very kindly helped me pick one amongst at least two hundred of various calibres. It was very light, inexpensive and he assured me that it could stand a weight of 3 metric tonnes – all positive features although I knew with myself that I only wanted to hook lightweight stuff to it, if at all. But Roland had recommended me to buy one, so I did.

Turning around to go to the cash desk I detected trekking poles further down in the shop and knew that I had forgotten an item!Not having a clue of what kind of pole to choose I got hold of the young man again and asked him to help me make an informed choice amongst the many types they had on display. He may have noted a certain lack of response in my eyes to the technical details he fed me with, because after having introduced a handful of poles he cut it short and asked for which purpose I needed them. I did not react to the word “them” until a little later, but explained the young man that Roland and I in May will walk the West Highland Way in Scotland. 

“Ah, Ben Nevis” he said. I confirmed and added that the last stages of the route promised impressive views to the country’s highest mountains – and asked him if he had seen Ben Nevis from the route himself. “No, not from the route – I climbed the mountain” he replied with a smile. I knew instantly my place in the outdoor sports hierarchy. He handed me two different poles, one of which was cheaper but its handle would give me blisters if used for several hours. The other would not.  That made it an easy choice and I said that I did not want blisters.  Then he looked at me and very politely recommended to consider buying a pair, because using them would relieve the work on the knees. Thinking about my old knees and my present state of fitness I had sympathy with his argument. My body-language apparently did not reflect this and it must have caused 4 or 5 customers suddenly to appear, around us, like mushrooms after rainfall. They all said that I would regret not buying the pair. One of the customers must have felt that I really, really needed to be convinced and said: “When I was in my twenties, I could walk with one pole only, but nowadays it is always two!” and then he illustrated in 5 steps over the shop floor how I would limp as a crooked old man at day’s end if I used only one pole.Being of the same age as he and knowing that I have to stay in shape over five days of mountain walking I was more than convinced. I left the shop with the pair. 

“Of course two! How could you have thought about buying only one?” Inge exclaimed when I later that evening explained the brief scenario that played out in the shop. 

As you can imagine, I have been very observant the last couple of days as I was exploring unknown territory whilst being introduced to the modern art of outdoor equipment, revisiting products I have not had on my mind for forty or more years, and which in that period have undergone evolutions I were not aware of. Fortunately for me, only to the better, lighter and more intelligent.

People gathered last Friday evening between 5:30 and 8:30 PM at the junction of the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers. It was not to go fishing, but as invited to participate in the official preview of the FiberArt INTERNATIONAL 2007 – this year’s exhibition of contemporary fiber art arranged by the Fiberarts Guild of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in the US. 

Such previews are here in Europe often referred to as vernissages, linking it to the traditional world of fine arts and in particular to the moment when the oil paintings were bone dry for sure and given a lustre boost in the form of a layer of varnish – a little like sharpening a digital raw image. 

Nowadays vernissages are usually associated with a reception marking the official opening of an exhibition, where selected personalities and luminaries are invited to have a preview under comfortable conditions with champagne or dry whites in the glasses – and first and foremost without the general public jamming the space and spoiling the special feeling of being a little special. 

Vernissages can be very nice, and also interesting to attend. From the communication about the preparation for this exhibition in general and its opening in particular, we can deduct that Friday’s vernissage for the FiberArt INTERNATIONAL 2007 was both nice and interesting.  Should you ask us – knowing that we are active in the textile sector of the art world – whether we would have liked to attend as well, the answer would have been: “Yes, we would”.

It would be interesting to see our own contribution amongst other types of fibre art and it would be interesting to meet the organizers and the invitees they had chosen, including the other exhibiting artists.  On the way from the hotel to the opening at the Pittsburgh Center for the Arts we would – had we been there – been curious to see how the exhibition was curated in terms of selected works and their mutual spatial arrangement and the overall lighting set-up. We would have been keen to see if the attendees not only represented the organizers, sponsors and exhibiting artists, but also art critics and gallery representatives. 

Yes, we would have liked to go, but we opted out – feeling it was too far away for a brief round trip across the Atlantic (presently no room for vacation) – and are now looking forward to receiving the exhibition catalogue. For those of you who will not receive the catalogue and may be curious to see our contribution there is a way: go to our website click on Quilts, lean back and wait for “Misty Appearance” to appear…

Sometimes I have experiences which make me feel that time stands still, or have stood still for a very long time. Tuesday this week I could not say whether the time had stood still or whether the land I observed had floated motionless in the flow of days, months and years.  Maybe it was not the land, but my recollections and memorial structure of past times that had stood still, while time has passed with ever increasing speed.

Physically I was heading north and despite a headwind of 200 km/h the plane made around 800 km/h. With the Easter holidays in full force in the Nordic countries there were not many passengers on board AF2375 from Paris to Oslo so I had two seats on my own. This made me move to the window seat for a change and I noticed that we were north of Amsterdam and that the cloud cover started to spread. Soon the shores of Jutland appeared in the distance. 

It was when contours of the coastline, the islands, lakes, towns got more detailed that memories started coming in. The coastal region north of Esbjerg brought me right back to my childhood when the family camped in tents during summers. The memories of a boy 6 years old changed to memories of a young student spending a week with his girlfriend in a rented cottage on one of the isthmuses separating the coastal lakes from the  North Sea.

Approaching the geographically complex area of fjords, islands and lakes further north moved memories a dozen years further up when the two of them bought a house on the shores of an inland fjord to serve as a home away from their Canadian home.  As we moved on at 33000 feet altitude the wide sandy North Sea beaches emphasized by the white band of breaking waves continued to lead the eyes to known places where we have tapped ideas from nature for quilts, which later met their audiences on other continents… 

“Man, where has time gone?” I asked myself, and repeated the question as the northernmost tip of Denmark faded out in the distance, recalling the young years when we first met, Inge and I. Sitting there last Tuesday, in seat 4F, I did not have the answer – only a feeling that it had to do with individual vantage-points in relation to the time-axis. Some events may be seen in “time bubbles”, others on express trains speeding out on the time-axis. 

Upon return I discussed my search for an answer with Inge – and that became interesting! It became interesting because before long we left the search for an answer to this particular question and embarked on a discussion of the notion of “Timeless Art” –leading to the following questions:

·         What defines timeless in the context of art?

·         Is timeless art the ”sure choice” signalling proven and well marketed roots with kind of a prescribed longevity on the market? 

·         Can timeless only be attributed to the stars of the books of art and design that we all grew up with – in other words: the classic art?

·         Does timeless only have a meaning when talking about furniture and architecture – and no meaning for visual or pictorial art? 

As you see, the search for an answer to the experience of the passing of time gave inspiration to a discussion on the way art can be regarded in relation to time – leaving some very interesting questions to reflect upon…

In the episode of “Six Feet Under” where Nate goes bonkers over turning 40 and not understanding where those years had gone, his late father reappears, as he often does, and assures Nate that the next 40 years will pass much faster. I watched this episode Friday evening and unconsciously started a series of thoughts on a more modest scale – just about where my own last week had gone.

I felt it had gone in a flash. Artistically I had not done much, I thought. Had my professional life swallowed every hour of the week – or had the pressure of work dulled any sense of observation and awareness?

I couldn’t tell. Well, it was bedtime when this series of thoughts started and I was tired and inclined to let them go, drop the issue and focus on my pillow.

But the thoughts wouldn’t go away, so I mentioned to Inge, that the last week seemed to have oozed away between my fingers. The systematic mind she is, she started listing events in the last 7 days. I joined in and together we got a quite impressive list. Here are some of them:

• Compiled data and image proposals for our part in a coming book;
• Exchanged views on agreements with a gallery;
• Contributing every day to the “photo of the day”-file, where Inge and I still hang in after more than a year’s coverage;
• Participated in long and late evening meetings in Brussels after which I staged a one-man entertainment at midnight baptizing a run-down hotel “La Tristesse” and turning a desolate hotel room into a hunting field for motifs;
• Spent time in close proximity with another woman – my dentist – at the beginning and end of the week. These two encounters and another two next week will give birth to a beautiful new crown in my mouth;
• Drove Inge to a garage in the neighbouring town, so she could pick “her” car up after repair of damages inflicted by car-thieves last week;
• Prepared shipment of a quilt to an exhibition in the States.

My office looked like a battlefield Friday afternoon and for the full week our apartment has been bathed in the unpleasant odours of fresh paint – the pleasant part of that is that the interior of the house is being refurbished.

Oh yes, how could I forget, Inge and I also celebrated our 30^th anniversary last Monday and on my way home that afternoon I passed by a little shop in Paris to get a little “thing” as a token of my appreciation –  but I did not find what I went for. I had the back against the wall. But I did not panic. The ladies in the shop and I worked hard to see if there was an alternative – and there was! A much better one than I had set out for. All in 10-15 minutes time, which is not bad for me on such issues. I remembered that I was pleased with myself following an impulse to pass by that shop.

I also remember that I got this special and rare smile of Inge’s when handing her the little box on my way to the fridge to pour us a glass of the splendid Chateau de Mersault – one of her favourites.

What could I conclude on my way to bed Friday night other than feeling that I had a busy week behind me? After all, the week had contained several artistic aspects as well in the form of jewellery design, motif hunting and photography.

I hadn’t just been idle – but I had not been observant what regards the flow of time.