Henrik Strömberg &

Eduard Kiesmann

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                                                                                                                                                                          Bernshammar, February 16, 2024

Dear Eduard, Dear Henrik,

It’s tempting to look for similarities, patterns, and shared topics, when one is asked to write about a show with works by two artists. To look for similarities is a bit like cleaning or doing a jigsaw puzzle. It is a way to put things in order. It feels good when you’re done. Yes, a certain kind of satisfaction and relief often accompanies the finding of a likeness. In my conversations with you, you both told me how happy you were to see how your works started to communicate, when you installed the show. This wasn't something you had intended. You discovered how certain shapes and colors emerged, met, and acknowledged each other. Eduard, you told me, that it was as if you had been working in parallel for a while, from a shared starting point, which you hadn’t done at all. It was simply a matter of serendipity (one of my favourite words in English).

It seems to me as if both of you prefer chance over intention, surprise over meticulously executed plans. After knowing you, Henrik, for many years, I’ve had the joy of delving into the processes you set in motion, to reach places that you wouldn’t reach otherwise. And you, Eduard, seem to have a strong suspicion towards the idea that the impulse for the work is an idea that only needs to be translated into painting. As if the important part was already done with the idea and that the rest was just a matter of craftsmanship. You can correct me if I'm wrong – we don’t know each other yet, and I’ve only recently begun to familiarize myself with your works. You told me, that you never throw away any works, not even the worst failures, but instead categorize them according to how good or bad you think they are, and then roll them up and set them aside in some corner in your studio. Eventually, maybe several years later, you return to them. And sometimes you discover something in them, perhaps a detail or an aspect, that make you reassess them, and then this found aspect comes to life in another work. Serendipity, again! When you return to a piece, you see it with different eyes. Or, which cannot be ruled out, it is the paintings themselves that have changed. This kind of metamorphoses, peculiar disappearances, and sudden appearances occur in Henrik's works as well.

To catch sight of something one hasn’t noticed before, something that might overturn one’s previous judgment, is a gift. A joy that is far from the cozy, somewhat self-satisfied joy of discovering and mapping out similarities. Unfortunately, I believe we are quite bad today at truly catching sight of things, shaped as we are by our seeking of similarities. People say that they love the new. Truly, they don’t. They only like what seems new, but in fact is old. I suspect it’s mainly the fault of intention, or our blind trust in intention. It makes our gazes cool, indifferent, and fundamentally blind. If we want something new to happen, we must make room for serendipity.

Henrik, you have told me that since we first met in your studio ten years ago, your perspective has shifted from the individual object to the environment where it occurs. I have had the pleasure of spending a lot of time in your studio, and for me, it has always been a place that breathes. Yesterday, you talked about the satisfaction you feel when you have prepared the studio, for example, for a visit from a journalist. That you feel extremely good when everything is in its place. But that the order is always temporary. Very soon everything is a mess again. I am deeply grateful to occasionally be welcomed into this disorder.

Eduard, I want to apologize for almost immediately starting to talk about flowers when we spoke. I noticed that you looked somewhat displeased. You said that everyone mentions flowers when they talk about your works. It was obvious that it had started to annoy you, which I can understand. I have only a small comment regarding flowers. If we disregard the central function of flowers for life itself, I am fascinated by the fact that everyone likes them – at least I have never met anyone who explicitly claims to dislike them. They are completely uncontroversial but also very expressive. They bind us together. Not only with other people but also with other species, because it’s not just humans who like them. When I admire a flower, there is nothing that distinguishes me from the wasp, the fly, or the bumblebee.

Sincerely,
Jens

Letter from Jens Soneryd to Eduard Kiesmann & Henrik Strömberg, Hanging On a Thread. February 17–March 16, 2024. Åplus, Berlin.