Sven Froekjaer-Jensen Landscapes
every painting is a consciousness, and in the consciousness
the memories create an identity – and a landscape mixed
with memory, like a trunk of treasures.
here you can find paintings of Danish landscapes. Most of
them are created recently, and you can just enjoy them as
windows to chosen places in Denmark.
since all these paintings are born as a mix of the memory of
the past expressed through the shape of a landscape, maybe
you can encounter yourself in the pictures in this book.
this project I have strived to create my memoires form
important moments of my past. But instead of just writing it
down, as normally done, I have combined the memory with a
painting of a landscape.
might not have walked with a beautiful person through the
night described below or been skating on the ice but since
most human lives in many ways are alike, these glimpses of
Denmark and the past may open doors to your own landscapes
of memories. Have a pleasant journey.
Artist. Born 1943. Cand. Mag from the University of
Copenhagen 1969 in history and religion. Teacher at Slagelse
Gymnasium until 2008. Debut as an artist 2008. Many juried
exhibitions, solo- and group shows in Denmark and abroad.
of many awards.
having 3 children and 8 grandchildren.
memory from Hoerve, Sjaelland, Denmark.
er så rød, mor og skoven bli'r så sort
Nu er solen død, mor og dagen gået bort.
Ræven går derude, mor vi låser vores gang.
Kom, sæt dig ved min pude, mor og
syng en lille sang.
sun is just so red, mom,The forest very black
sun is dead now, mom, The day has passed away.
fox hunts out there mom, we lock our door.
sit here by my pillow, mom and sing a little song.
Bergstedt. Poems. 1915
name of the year was 59, my age 15, autumn it was, winter
drawing near, the sky over the garden over my mother´s
house blazing with colours.
really loved my mother, and when she had sent the last
customers home from her shop below, where she sold a lot of
dresses and other items to the women of our small town, we
often sat talking, while dusk was falling. I really cherish
the memory of that time, and one day, when we had been close
to each other and discussing many subjects, me sitting in
the red armchair, she in the sofa, I rose and went to the
window and looked out.
years later I have tried to recollect the moment in this
Odsherred. In the dead of winter, I told you so.
the time they seemed to be skating in fanthomless depths of
blue the ice had become; and so glassy smooth was it that
and quicker… with the white gulls circling about them, and
the air with their wings the very same sweeps that they cut
on the ice
Voolf. Orlando. 1928
winters of the 50´s were often rather cold in Denmark, and
the ponds on the fields, the small rivers and even the salt
sea froze to ice, so you could skate on it. The clothes and
the rubber boots many of us wore, were quite cold, but the
lack of comfort was driven away by the feeling of the air,
the lightness of running on the ice and the freedom of
childhood. When you came home to your mother, the cheeks
were red as old apples and the feeling of weight in your
body just wonderful. I don’t keep my childhood hidden in a
guitar, but maybe in a pair of rubberboots and iceskates.
painting shows a very characteristic landscape with the
island of Nekseloe in the background. The island has played
a very inspiring role for me, and I have been looking at it
every summer my whole life from our summerhouse.
early morning in the spring of 1960. Nekseloe in Odsherred.
row, row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Life is but a dream.
nursery rhyme. 19. century or before.
the very early spring a 17-year-old girl and I rose at 5 o´clock
in the morning and rowed the two miles to the island of
sea was quite calm and very, very beautiful, and so was the
girl. Today I have been married to her for 53 years.
our way home at midday a strong gale rose, the waves got
very big, and the water started to pour over the sides of
the boat, so we had to take an alternative route home. Since
it was a bit dangerous, the girl sat in the bottom of the
boat, and since she was afraid, she started singing to keep
the fear and the water demons away. Luckily she is still
singing to me, keeping the demons away.
St. Hans Night when the bonfire is lit.
var som hvide roser. Langt ude, en mil ude brændte en glædesild
på en høj. Der fløj en tavs fugl hurtigt forbi og videre
ud i den svale dæmring. Piletræet ved brønden hældede
sig stille med alle de milde, hvide blade i den lyse nat. En
spæd, askehvid mølsværmer flakkede i natluften. Himlen
var tåget af stjernelys.
sky was like white roses. Far out, a mile out, a bonfire
burned on a hill. A silent bird flew quickly past into the
cool twilight. The willow at the well bowed itself quietly
with all the mild white leaves in the bright night. An
ashencoloured moth fluttered in the night air. The sky was
dimmed by starlight.
V. Jensen. The fall of the king. 1,933
year at midsummer the bonfires are lit all over Denmark. It
is a very old tradition and
celebrated with friends and family. My wife and I have been
together with the same fine
for many, many years at midsummer, where we eat our shared
food together, drink and sing the song connected with
midsummer and have a good time in the night.
have a long row of memories from midsummer bonfires and very
beautiful and fragile light of the longest day of the year,
when heaven is open by day and by night.
the painting the light from the small bonfire is reflected
in the lake and maybe rain is coming.
through the night in Odsherred.
there was a path
And a girl with chestnut hair,
And you passed the summers
Picking all of the berries that grew there…
Cohen. Dress rehearsal Rag. 1971.
the summer of 62 I was in love with a young girl, and in a
beautiful summer night we decided to walk together to my
mother´s summerhouse several miles away. Of course we did
not want to follow the easiest path, so we went across the
the fields at last following a very tiny and overgrown path
through the fields with the ears from the long and almost
ripe wheat or barlow hindering our steps.
girl had her hair in two braids.
I tell you that she was wearing a light dress with some sort
of small crinoline,
very modern in those days ?
was the most typical Danish summer night and the dew had
fallen rather heavily. The
was almost transparant, but the wet stalks were bad for her
legs below the dress, so I carried her on my back along the
trail. I still remember the feeling of one of her braids on
my neck, her breathing on my back and her wonderful smell.
at Kaarup, Odsherred. In the middle of the Summer.
man, his days are like grass;
a flower of the field, so he flourishes..
you it might look just a normal field, but it is not. This
is near the place where my mother brought me on the back of
her bike when I was about 5 years old, telling me the story
of some young people, whose love was impossible. Although
being so young, I strongly sensed her feelings for the young
people. Now about 70 years later I wonder if she was one of
so long ago I visited the place with our very good friends
from Bloomington, USA, but maybe I forgot to talk about the
Sea and Nekseloe.
sea was calm, your heart would have responded gaily,
obedient to controlling hands, you on the shore…
S. Eliot: The waste land. Original draft. 1922.
the first part of the summer of 1948 I stood at the sea with
my parents looking at the island of Nekseloe.
I was ordinarily dressed with belt and trousers, I ran into
the water to impress my mother and father, and threw myself
with all my clothes on into the clear sea. A small girl who
became my friend, not my spouse, for her whole life, was
standing nearby and maybe I just wanted to show off to her
grown ups didn’t scold me, they just laughed very friendly
and took me to the summerhouse for dry clothes.
my eyes the water was just as mysterious a blue as on the
painting. And the day so beautiful having both a father and
the edge of town. I.
lille nisse rejste
med ekstrapost fra land til land,
hans agt det var at hilse
på verdens største mand.
little nisse traveled
extra mail from place to place,
aim it was to greet
biggest man in the world
song. En lille nisse rejste
C. Gerson, 1845
grandparents lived 200 km away in Jutland, a great distance
in those days. I spent a lot of my childhood over there with
their big and fine family.
day in the summer of 47, I think it was, I sneaked out of
their house alone, because I was overtaken by a very strong
desire to see what was outside the little town. Although I
was only 3 or 4 years old I was very determined to explore
this mysterious and maybe wonderful area.
off I went about a kilometre to the edge of town, where the
fields started. In the painting I have tried to show the
feeling of wonder and excitement over this big expedition
for such a small kid.
feed for the rabbits with a fewer.
er hvidt herude,
kyndelmisse slår sin knude
overmåde hvas og hård,
hvidt forneden, hvidt foroven,
pudret tykt står træ i skoven
som udi min abildgård.
all white here,
ties its knot
sharp and hard,
below, white on top,
thick stands wood
woods as in my garden.
Steensen Blicher. 1838.
wintertime the sun often sets with a abundance of blue
colours. The air vibrates with the coming darkness, and the
fatigue sets in.
the winter of 54, being 11 years old I had to collect free
frozen carrots for my rabbits some miles from my home.
carrots were transported in my little brother´s baby
carriage tied to my mother´s bicycle. Driving or rather
walking through the landscapes that was dressed in blue snow,
I got immensely tired. At home I was ill with a rather high
fever. But the rabbits got their feed, and I never forgot
the deep blue colours on the road home through the dusk of
in the fields with our children.
is no end to this story
No final tragedy or glory
Love came here and never left
that my heart is open
It can't be closed or broken
Love came here and never left
de Sela. Love came her to stay. 2009.
our town are beautiful fields with barrows more than 2500
years old. In a special place near the small river two of
them are covered with trees today.
my kids were small we often walked around outside town
looking for animals, utensils from the stone age and other
things that might enthuse the kids. Sometimes you could the
deer coming out from their shelter.
it is a sunny day, and I can almost hear the voices of my
children talking exitedly about the things we had seen and
found. I really cherish all those moments now frozen in time
days of sunny youth and madness. Vallekilde by day.
as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
held me green and dying
I sang in my chains like the sea…
Thomas, Fern Hill.
lot of parties were thrown at ours friend´s house just
outside the tiny village of Vallekilde. Drinking, singing,
shouting and discussing with the enthusiasm and folly of the
painting is the memory of the view from a tree just outside
the house called Solbakken, meaning the hill of the sun. I
climbed it one day at a party in 1968 or 1969. Maybe it was
the moonshine or maybe it was the very special light over
the lowlands with the ripe fields, that made such a great
impression on me. It is almost 50 years ago, but I can still
feel the branch under me and hear the loud voices below me.
as a treasure at the root of the tree.
care of all of your memories said my
Mick, for you cannot relive them…
Dylan. Open the Door Homer. 1968.
1954 three young boys took their precious things, consisting
of toy cars, tin soldiers and other wonders, put them it in
a tin box and buried it near the foot of the tree.
never unearthed this offering to whatever gods have guided
our lives later on, and today there is a supermarket built
where the tree was.
in our memories the hidden treasures will live for ever in
all the time there is. Somebody later told me, that there
lived three women near the root of the tree, but that is
just a story. Maybe.
you the most of luck digging up your memories.
seuil des tentes toute gloire! Ma force parmi vous! Et l´idee
pure comme un sel tient ses assises dans le jour.
at the threshold of the tents, and my strength among you,
and the idea pure as salt holds it assize in the day light.
Perse: Anabasis. 1924
find a symbiosis of memories and consciousness, to conquer
the past and the present in a beautiful and ripe moment. To
hope for reaching the place where your destiny is fulfilled.
Following the path through the fields of existence
title of the painting to the right is:
the ironbird flies. The Shaman project.