Kongsvinger | minus 2 degrees | v. foggy
up at six
to catch the only bus
..a yellow one
to town
sitting in the warm
we quietly trundle
through black pine forests
past dark, glassy lakes
and brittle bogs
illuminated
by an enormous
fullish moon
that swings
from one side of the bus
to the other
as we follow
the twisty road
sometimes,
in peripheral vision
2 moons can be seen
at once
the real
and the reflected
drinking in
the pearly luminosity
an uncanny feeling
settles
the station up ahead
suddenly appears
we alight
it’s 7.20
it’s dark
and foggy
the Canadian artist
gets a train
to Bergen
at the kiosk
we get hot coffee
me and the young man
(my daughter’s age)
doing his Masters
at Taipei
can’t see much ahead
the fog’s so thick
we follow
the high street up
to Kongsvinger festning
a fortress
(a recurring form)
a lovely star shaped structure
from the 1670’s
it is modest
in scale and form
looking down on the
somber river Glomma
the stoney walls
part historical testament
to an erratc past
part hotel
a stange place
with zig-zag patterned doors
(photographed with relish)
a mustard coloured armoury
empty and silent
the nearby museum
is modern
neat and tidy
product of a
logical and ordered
sense of time + place
bonnets, chairs, linen shirts
butter moulds + clunky tables
an elegant sledge
perfect for a snow queen
upstairs in what looks like
a lecture room/office
a display of posters
by Gunnar Østbøll
kind of 50’s 60’s advertising
flat colour and graphic
light, fresh
all else is shut
for winter
the art gallery + women’s museum
walk down
through Øvrebyen
past old wooden cottages
dark pink and yellow
dark grey and red
bohemian and gemütlich
tiny lights and big white berries
dot the bushes
not much else to see
through the lifting fog
shops and cafés
government offices
back on the bus
in daylight
we doze
when we try
to get off
the bus driver asks
‘are you from the art house?’
we nod
‘relax, sit down – I take
you there’
mid afternoon
as evening light descends
I wander
up the lane
with the Norwegian artist
skirting the lake
and up into the forest
dark and not
especially invinting
she thinks we
might see
an Elk (or Moose)
she once found
one, dead, in the woods
took it home
to fester and moulder
in her garden
til all flesh had gone
to draw
her parents have it now
no Elk in sight
not far is a pink castle
built for a Queen
when Norway + Sweden
were one
here the air was clear
and fresh
so here she moved
we pass a few houses
with numerous outbuildings
the older ones
have outdoor larders
wood storage
bake houses
from when they baked
local bread
just once a year
everyone helped
to mix and roll
the grainy mixtue
rolled into thin sheets
to be baked
and kept all year.
into the night
we sit in the studio
I make angular structures
the Norwegain artist
watches 3rd series
of The Bridge
excited, I wonder
do I have time to watch
that too ?
