{"id":27461,"date":"2021-05-27T09:13:33","date_gmt":"2021-05-27T07:13:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/perspektivet.no\/lydvandring\/"},"modified":"2023-03-21T07:32:26","modified_gmt":"2023-03-21T06:32:26","slug":"audiotour","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/perspektivet.no\/en\/audiotour\/","title":{"rendered":"Sara and freedom"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Don’t have your own headphones?<\/strong> Feel free to borrow at the counter on the first floor. You can also read the lyrics, if you prefer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Go to area:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Dear Elisabeth<\/a> \u279d<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Listen to excerpts from Sara Fabricius\u2019s private letters written to her childhood friend Elisabeth Sinding-Larsen, during the period 1898\u20131903 when Sara lived in Troms\u00f8.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Still lifes<\/a> \u279d<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Listen to Cora Sandel\u2019s (Sara Fabricius\u2019s reflections on themes she was passionate about.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Work information<\/a> \u279d<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Here you will find information about paintings, images, drawings and artworks in the exhibition.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Dear Elisabeth (7)<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Ba, long nose, Nansen!<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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September 6th 1900<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

This summer has been perfectly horrid. Summer up here should be a time for storing up energy in order to make it through the winter; instead, we\u2019ve just used up energy, courage and whatever good humour we had left. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2013 It\u2019s quite easy to describe the summer. It has rained every day, except for three, when it snowed. The temperature has remained around zero. Not even old people can remember anything like it, etc. The hay stands rotting in the fields, there will be crop failure and cattle starvation. These are the prospects of the poor, and it\u2019s overwhelming for everyone. \u2013 But now here I am whining and complaining, and that wasn\u2019t the intention. \u2013 It was so nice to read your letter about all your fun and your summer joys, it literally smelled of hay, and it made me think about how it is when the sun shines and it\u2019s warm. I can remember one sunny day this summer, or, I have to be fair, I think I can remember two. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2013 A bunch of us used the one to climb the mountain Tromsdalstind. It was an interesting and exciting trip. We waded across rivers, climbed across screes and slid down glaciers. From the top of the peak we looked straight out to sea, and the sunset out there was amazing. We got down from the mountain at the last minute because it started raining, and by the time we reached the valley it was pouring. The glorious day didn\u2019t last any longer. On the second sunny day we rowed to Grind\u00f8en, an island a little south of Troms\u00f8. We had a couple of hours of rowing in glorious weather. Mountain peaks and forest groves reared up out of the water wherever we went. You can image how much we enjoyed the rowing, soaking up the sun and wading around on the beaches. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2013 I sat on a beach and painted; it was the only time this summer I was able to. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2013 I had nurtured serious plans of painting outdoors this summer. I went to bed every night with the hope that tomorrow I would be able to start; but every \u2018tomorrow\u2019 it rained constantly, poured, splashed against the windows, so the few small sketches I\u2019ve made this summer also represent rainy weather. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2013 All winter I looked forward to coming home and painting this and that and the other thing, and nothing has come of it. Instead, I\u2019ve been diligent indoors. I made some unsuccessful attempts to get Jens and Henry to \u2018sit\u2019 for me, but had to give up. Then, in my despair, I started painting a picture of myself. I sat resolutely in front of a mirror and started the work; it was at least a model I could trust, and someone fairly easy to get along with. By the way, I\u2019ve enjoyed this work so much. Not because the result is really satisfactory, no, my mistakes stare back at me. I can never get it the way I wanted it to be; but the work has captivated me completely. I\u2019ve become engrossed in it and it\u2019s helped me in so many ways. (\u2026)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

(And) you can\u2019t believe how cramped and oppressive it is here, how silly and narrow-minded you can become from living here. I miss you terribly, so I\u2019m quite sick of it. (\u2026)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve joined a small English club. We meet once a week after dinner, read aloud and talk together, in English only. Miss Aagaard has been to England often and speaks the language excellently, so she\u2019s the leader. \u2013 It\u2019s really fun \u2013<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now I\u2019ll help Jens with some schoolwork, so should probably end for now. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2013 Everyone sends their greetings. Please give my warmest greetings to your father and Magna and write to me soon. In doing that you create a small oasis in my desert.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stella Polaris arrived today! It\u2019s been two minutes of a degree further north than Nansen. Ba, long nose, Nansen!<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Dear Lisbeth<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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Maundy Thursday 1901<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve thought of you so often, dear Lisbeth, and wished I had you nearby. Then I could talk to you about many things that have been painful to carry all on my own. I\u2019m sure I would benefit from talking to you about them. \u2013 To write about them would be a long opus, if I started. \u2026
I\u2019ve had a pretty hard time since Christmas. I dare say, with confidence, that I\u2019ve been chastised about things, but I also understand now that it was needed and that I\u2019ve benefited from it. And that\u2019s of course always a consolation. \u2013 On the whole, these three years since I returned home have been a trial. \u2013 I\u2019ve lost a lot and gained a lot, and neither of these experiences is completely painless. Maybe you\u2019ve experienced this as well.
Are you going to have a wedding soon? How fun it must be to start planning the things you\u2019ll have around yourself, (\u2026) If I had been near you maybe I could have given you some useful ideas. Such things interest me a lot. One rarely sees something really beautiful or that tells about a person\u2019s taste and imagination. \u2013 Up here, in any case, all homes are equally desperately boring, with plush furniture (plush furniture is a must if one wants to claim to be reasonably wealthy) and small, thin, wobbly shelves laden with knick-knacks. The greatest elegance seems to be expressed by a steel lamp with a very yellow or red silk shade. The national feeling is represented by \u201cburnt\u201d frames on photos, letter openers and wall weavings, which are hung behind the knick-knack shelves. This is considered particularly stylish. \u2013 I hope I can look forward to seeing your home someday, dear Lisbeth, although for the time being it seems I will be sitting up here forever. But the meaning of reality can hopefully not be that crazy. \u2013 You ask about my plans and prospects. Unfortunately, they are in a sad mismatch, as the plans are big but the prospects are very small: they don\u2019t exist at all. However, I now gather maximum patience for the autumn, that is when the battle will begin. Then I will try to exhibit my works and at the same time apply for a scholarship. But do me the favour of not mentioning this to anyone. \u2013 I\u2019ve read a lot of art history this winter, and at the same time have studied many reproductions which the diocesan provost, one of the city\u2019s very few people interested in art, has kindly lent me. These my eyes have relished. By the way, it\u2019s difficult for me to talk about my work right now since it\u2019s so disappointing. \u2013 If I weren\u2019t such a poor creature who had to create my own means of escape, I probably wouldn\u2019t think of either an exhibition or a scholarship for a long, long times yet.
We\u2019ve had a desperate winter this year. As you know, the rats have given us lots of trouble, and in addition, the dark months have been almost without snow, so it\u2019s been unusually dark and oppressive. \u2013 A porridge kitchen was established here, and I\u2019ve worked there once a week throughout the winter. Lots of people have come. Many apparently have nothing else to live on. Old and young, men and women and small grey-pale children; a large and diverse group of people. Everyone gets as much hot porridge with syrup and milk as they want. \u2013 It\u2019s extremely economical for me to work there because the sight of all that porridge makes me feel full the whole day and for several days to follow.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Passionate about dance<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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23.02.1902 I mostly walk around in a constant state of resentment. I do manage to hide it, I think. I hope people who live with me don\u2019t notice much of it, but that I am resentful is a sad fact. \u2013 The worst thing is that no one seems to know what I\u2019m struggling with. Everyone seems in a way to approach me as if I were quite a different person than I am. Of course, it\u2019s my own fault \u2013 I\u2019m accused, rightfully to some extent, of having a closed personality. But I can\u2019t go and blow the trumpet for something so unsure and uncertain that I don\u2019t even dare yet to call it \u2018my art\u2019. \u2013 Maybe the only thing I make, and will come to make, is a fiasco. If so, it\u2019s just sad that I can\u2019t stop making it, and I should just keep quiet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I feel so infinitely lonely, you see. \u2013 And I also have so little opportunity to work. My room isn\u2019t even two meters wide, and this is where I must stay and keep my stuff. (\u2026). I\u2019m not allowed to go outside to sketch in the winter either. My mother starts screaming if I just mention it. Twice was I caught when I tried to sneak out. Now she keeps a close eye on me. I myself hardly care about a little cold or, in the worst case, a runny nose, but my family is ridiculously careful. \u2013 The only thing I can really do is read art history, and that just inspires me even more. Oh yes, \u2018The home is both bad and good\u2019, I completely agree with the poet on this. \u2013<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But now I\u2019ll stop bothering you with my lamentations and instead tell you a little more about the evening\u2019s entertainment which I mentioned earlier in the letter. For we have, three men and three women, throughout the winter, been busy rehearsing some Norwegian and Danish folk dances, spring dances from different villages, Ving\u00e5kerdans and so on, with a performance in mind. And last Friday the day arrived; \u2013 it was actually the teetotaler union that was the organiser. We only assisted. The evening was \u2018national\u2019, and the orchestra played the overture to \u2018Til seters\u2019 [To the Alpine Farm], \u2018Seterjentens s\u00f8ndag\u2019 [\u2018The Alpine Farmgirl\u2019s Sunday\u2019], something from the \u2018Per Gynt\u2019 suite, and other Norwegian music, a quartet sang \u2018Brudeferden\u2019 [\u2018The Bridal Procession\u2019], and we danced. The event was quite stylish. The stage set looked like the interior of a Norwegian log cabin with a fireplace and benches along the walls. In one corner was the fiddler wearing a peasant costume. He sat and played his fiddle and stomped the beat. With help from Tiedemand\u2019s pictures, we tried to make our costumes as correct as possible, and afterwards received lots of applause. We were praised in the newspaper for the dancing, the costumes and everything. After the performance all the contributors danced and had a little coffee \u2026. in the caf\u00e9. It\u2019s been really fun, mostly because of the dancing. I\u2019m absolutely passionate about dance, you know, and folk dancing is so fun, especially in a national costume and with really good fiddle tunes. For once it\u2019s really been quite fun, because otherwise you might think the \u2018small town fun\u2019 is gruesome or at least uninteresting to me. \u2013 Everyone here is so vain. One should never say such things; but \u2013 it\u2019s probably enough just to focus on taking care of oneself, that\u2019s for sure.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Half-talended painter<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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25 June 1901 <\/h4>\n\n\n\n

You can believe I\u2019ve many times wished I didn\u2019t have this small talent, which, when it comes down to it, probably isn\u2019t a talent but just my imagination. It costs time and money and is such a hindrance in every respect. If I didn\u2019t have this, let\u2019s say, imagination, at least until it turns out that it\u2019s something else, then I would calmly be able to take up telegraphy, business school, become a governess \u2013 or do some \u2018useful and fun\u2019 activity, spend my evenings with the family, be pleasant and talkative. When I was in \u2026? (which I find particularly difficult) knit socks and embroider pretty little bread-basket napkins in blue and white; in short, be a rather different and more useful, gracious and pleasant member of society. But if I tried to do any of these things I would have no peace, I would walk around and be a failure, a misunderstood genius, and so on. By the way, I don\u2019t want to be a half-talented painter who strives and produces extremely boring \u2018quite pretty things\u2019. If, in a couple of years, I haven\u2019t managed to accomplish any of what I have in mind and can\u2019t present it in a way that satisfies me, I\u2019ll put the brushes away for good. \u2013 Then I\u2019ll no longer have the right to walk around and be talented. Then I\u2019ll throw myself into making money and being kind and nice (although that will probably be doubly difficult) and hope the road will be short. \u2013 I\u2019ve given myself a couple of years because I have little opportunity to work. Just the fact that every time I scribble something on a piece of paper, right out of my head, the way I think I might even come to paint, the family comes running: \u2018What\u2019s this? Where did you get it from? Who should it be? I think you should have another chair in the picture. Shouldn\u2019t this rug have a pattern? I think it should have a pattern\u201d, and so on. \u2013 It makes me crazy. I never show them any of my work anymore. \u2013 It\u2019s awful of me, but I\u2019m unfortunately not kind. \u2013 No Lisbeth \u2013 you shouldn\u2019t aspire to be gifted, and you shouldn\u2019t be sad not to be gifted in any particular way, and least of all think life is poor when you yourself aren\u2019t. Think about how well many people live, just by being who they are, by being something for others, even if it is not always for their family members.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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He\u2019s so amiable<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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29.10.1903<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

I enjoy having Jens at home. He\u2019s so amiable and has such a blessed mood and an eye for the comical, which is a virtue in a human being. \u2013<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I myself am constantly working on my paintings. It\u2019s been sad and discouraging and I\u2019ve been close to giving it up. But I couldn\u2019t, as it turned out. Now I feel that things are going better and I am working with new energy and zeal. Hopefully, the time when I couldn\u2019t complete anything and tore everything up is now behind me. I hope so at least. By the way, don\u2019t mention my work to anyone, it is still my sore point. \u2013<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s very nice that Ragnhild Str\u00f8m is back home. She\u2019s been gone the last two winters. She sits as my model, and we play four-handed piano together. She\u2019s been gone for the sake of the music and is very accomplished \u2013 I have to work hard to keep up with her when we play, and often times lag behind. It\u2019s normally the bass part that I play. Do you want to know our repertoire? It\u2019s pretty respectable, I have to say. A couple of Beethoven\u2019s symphonies, one of Bach\u2019s preludes, \u2018Stabat Mater\u2019 by Rossini, \u2018Hungarian Rhapsody\u2019 by Liszt, \u2018Spanish Dances\u2019 by Moszkowski, \u2018Hungarian Dances\u2019 by Brahms. As I said, I need to practice a lot. \u2013 We perform as a kind of Bremer Stadt Musicians. Have to bring the sheet music when we go to parties and such.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our city lawyer \u2013 Urbye \u2013 will be substituting for Professor Hagerup. \u2013 We\u2019ll miss them when they leave. Ragnhild and I have lots of fun with them in their cosy and very art-focused home. They live in the same building as we do, next door. That\u2019s the only place where I see and hear something of interest. Their walls are covered with reproductions of old and new art \u2013 \u2018Studio\u2019 and other art magazines lie in stacks around the house. Art historical works line the shelves. It\u2019s lovely. \u2013 But after Christmas they will leave.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Picturesque and small<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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Elisabeth has clearly requested more letters.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But Elisabeth \u2013 if life had been a little different for me since we parted, I would probably have been more in the mood to write \u2013 maybe several letters at a time. \u2013 In a way I\u2019ve had a lovely winter \u2013 for example, I\u2019ve several powerful impressions of nature, or at least felt them to be more interesting than ever before in my life. \u2013 Never have I felt such joy with my work, or been so sure of which way I should go, even though I feel more than ever that I can do nothing, absolutely nothing. \u2013 But just the fact that I\u2019ve understood how much there is for me to work with, that\u2019s wonderful. \u2013 Although my life has, in a way, become richer than ever before, it is also more difficult than ever before. \u2013 I really feel I\u2019m in opposition to everything. I simply can no longer submit to the laws on which both my home and the whole life around me are built. \u2013 Oh, when I think back on this winter, I only see doubt and struggle and rage. I\u2019ve mostly walked around alone because I\u2019ve been unable to endure being with others. That\u2019s how it\u2019s been for me Lisbeth! So oppressive and torturous are the conditions in such a small town! One feels as if all one\u2019s development stops. One ends up standing quite desperately, staring down at the great wall \u2013 the people around oneself. Yes Lisbeth \u2013 you can\u2019t imagine what a stupid, incomprehensible and vicious crowd it is! I just get so angry when I think about it, it\u2019s not worth talking about anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What have I been doing all this time, on a daily basis? \u2013 Yes, in the morning I paint. I painted a self-portrait. It\u2019s pretty horrible \u2013 that I can see, but it\u2019s as good as I can make it. I know that with hard work, I can achieve quite different results, overcome the shortcomings I already clearly see. I think, Lisbeth, that if one does everything as well as possible \u2013 not once turning away from what one originally intended, not saying: \u2018I don\u2019t care\u2019 to some things, and not giving up on the difficult things \u2013 then one will ultimately reach one\u2019s goal, what one really and sincerely thinks is best. If one does not reach the goal, then one at least has the satisfaction of having done one\u2019s best, and that must be better than consciously giving up on something because one doesn\u2019t think it\u2019s good. I don\u2019t know if you understand me, I don\u2019t think I explain what I mean very well. Just now I\u2019m painting an interior. I\u2019ve read some art history this winter, as much as I could manage. First all of L\u00fcske, it\u2019s a terribly old edition from the municipal library, with such bad reproductions of the various works that the artists would roll over in their grave if they saw them. After that I read \u2018The Human Figure in the History of Art\u2019 by Professor Julius Lange. This, I think, is the most exciting thing I\u2019ve read. It\u2019s so full of spirit, so graciously written, it carried me away completely. And I think one gets a pretty good overview of the art history from it. \u2013 Now I have a couple of small dissertations on Eckersberg and Thorvaldsen left to read, and after that I will have ploughed through everything I can find of art history. I haven\u2019t read much else this winter \u2013 a couple of English books \u2013 \u2018Mother Lea\u2019 \u2013 some short stories by Herman Bang, that\u2019s all. Then I have had some issues of \u2018The Spectator\u2019 and \u2018Ord och Bild\u2019 at home, and I\u2019ve read the literary critics and art critics\u2019 reviews of various art exhibitions, which I like a lot. Otherwise, my days are spent reading with the boys and doing housekeeping, which is my plague. I\u2019m playing with Henry. He learns easily but is surprisingly lazy. I also ski now too! \u2013 Believe it or not, I\u2019ve been on a couple of ski trips lately. We cross the strait, go up Tromsdalen and then up into the mountains, most often to \u2018Storskarsfjeldet\u2019. It\u2019s a rather strenuous trip, a long and hard slog to get up the mountain. But when one has reached the plateau \u2013 the infinite, white plateau, with the mountain peaks in the distance forming a circle all around! Oh, it\u2019s a wonderful and indescribable feeling. Peak after peak in the wildest, most amazing formations, so shining white against the deep blue sky \u2013 and farthest away a strip of the sea, it makes one feel rather solemn. I don\u2019t think anything can compare with Nordland when it comes to nature. It\u2019s so overwhelmingly powerful. Everything down south seems so picturesque and small, as I remember it \u2013 up here one needs to paint with a wider brush \u2013 mountains and sea and sky in infinite masses. \u2013 But one can\u2019t enjoy the view from up there for very long, since the temperature is not the mildest. On each trip someone gets a frozen finger or ear. And skiing downhill, it\u2019s fast. There\u2019s no ski terrain like this anywhere else in Norway. The masses of snow level everything out, so one can safely set off in almost any direction without risking anything other than a good snow bath in the worst case. \u2013 One can ski down the hills for a very long time, and at a very fast pace. Yes, it\u2019s wonderful. \u2013 I\u2019ve also taken many lovely jaunts around the island in the snow. Mostly alone. The long and sunny afternoons we have now are so wonderful. \u2013 Of other pleasures there are very few. The Sanitetsforening organised a \u2018Ski party\u2019 the other day. Very fun as you can imagine. The advertisement said \u2018possibility for dancing\u2019, but there was absolutely no possibility for that, as only ladies and two police officers turned up. \u2013 By the way, we were offered a couple of amateur plays, where one had the opportunity to convince oneself that the art of acting has not disappeared and that the actors have not lost out by sacrificing their private life. The most fun was the singing by a young woman from Vard\u00f8, Miss Gundersen. She hadn\u2019t had any voice lessons, but sang so boldly, with a big, fresh voice that can really become nice if she works with it. Basically, I think it\u2019s more fun to hear people who don\u2019t have trained voices \u2013 they\u2019re so blessedly free of pretence, and one can enjoy the song even more than when a person stands there and shapes their mouth so terribly correctly.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Polar bears on board<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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20.08.1898
Dear Elisabeth!
Believe me, I think it\u2019s regretful that these shells have not been sent earlier. You probably thought I had completely forgotten about them, and you must think I\u2019m a great slowpoke, but I\u2019ve had quite a lot of trouble collecting them. I hope you\u2019re not too upset. And I\u2019ve probably also promised you sea urchins, but I\u2019m afraid I promised more than I can deliver. It\u2019s terribly annoying because when the water is clear we can see them sitting in large flocks at the bottom, but I don\u2019t know how to catch them. They don\u2019t bite on any hook, and they float away from any scooping devise. One day I asked a fisherman to catch some for me when he rowed out. But when he returned he just said: These sea urchins, they\u2019ll stay where they are. \u2013 But if I ever get hold of some, I will of course send them to you. \u2013 How are you all doing now? You yourself are hopefully quite well again. \u2013 Yes, this winter I will stay in Troms, so I\u2019ll just have to live as best I can on the memories from last year. I\u2019m already longing to return south, so I don\u2019t know how it will turn out as winter progresses, especially since none of my friends here will be home this winter. \u2013 What a terrible summer we have! And it\u2019s not much better down south, according to what we hear. It\u2019s constantly raining here, so none of our planned trips have happened. The trip Erika Erichsen and I had planned to Lyngen had to be cancelled completely. Just imagine, the day before we were to go there, when we were packing our suitcases, we got a telegram saying Gi\u00e6ver\u2019s house had burned to the ground that night, so of course we couldn\u2019t go. \u2013 One day it didn\u2019t rain here, and all the old people in town said the weather would stay nice. Right away the young people decided to go to Tromsdalstinden the next day. The next morning it was just pouring, and since then we\u2019ve had rain every day. \u2013 By the way, the other day, despite the rain, we took a pleasure trip to the soldier\u2019s parade grounds to watch the demobilization, but it was a very unfortunate trip. First of all, there was no demobilization due to so much rain. And secondly, the whole group was chased by a bull on the way home, so we had to run through a large peat bog and sank up to our thighs. You can imagine it was a comical sight when we returned to the ferry, sopping wet. Some were able to borrow dry clothes from the restaurant manager, but most of us had to remain in the cabins in more or less \u2018airy\u2019 costumes while our clothes were drying. \u2013 Now the military exercise out there is over, and there are plenty of soldiers in the streets here, some of them wearing uniforms that are too big, but for most of them, the uniforms are too small. \u2013 We\u2019re now in the midst of making jam. I clean gooseberries, but have pressed Jens and Henry into service while I write this letter \u2013 Now they will soon start school again, and I\u2019m excited to see if Jens will do better, because I\u2019ve read with him all summer. \u2013 I dread awfully Erika\u2019s immanent departure. She has a job as a governess in Lyngen and is on vacation until the first of September, and then I\u2019ll be all alone. Fortunately, I now have enough things to do. I\u2019ll probably be drawing with a Mrs. Captain Lund, who\u2019s coming to Troms\u00f8 soon. She\u2019s a student of Eilif Pettersen and Werenskiold, and I hear she\u2019s very capable. I\u2019ll also study perspective drawing at the teacher\u2019s seminar, and I\u2019ll be at home teaching the boys. Being a homemaker is terrible, I think, but necessary. \u2013 I\u2019ve been sick to my stomach this summer. The doctor finally thought I had a stomach ulcer and examined me twice, but fortunately found nothing. Now I\u2019m on a plant diet and eat almost only vegetables and berries, and I\u2019m going to keep doing this for a month and maybe even longer. \u2013 Lerner\u2019s expedition has now returned, and<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Still lifes (5)<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Listen to Cora Sandel\u2019s (Sara Fabricius\u2019s reflections on themes she was passionate about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Authorship<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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There are some poor, miserable characters who think it\u2019s absolutely vital to have me as their author, so whenever I have a little peace and quiet, they\u2019re the ones I tinker with (\u2026)
I began in order to earn a little money, if possible, and I continued for the same exalted reason, and because when you give the devil a finger, etc.
Planning of the Alberte books? Alas, they were never planned. In 1919, when I was in Britany and unable to paint anything due to being busy with childcare, I began whiling away the evenings writing down the melange of memories and observations from the North, which in 1926 saw the light of day under the title \u2018Alberte and Jakob\u2019. After that I thought of writing something completely different, a book entitled \u2018Beda and the Judge\u2019. But the publisher wanted above all a direct sequel; I lived on a cash advance and for that reason was \u2018eager to please\u2019, like Piglet in Winnie the Pooh. Then they wanted another sequel. I wrote and wrote under the pressure of my debt, and when I read the books, I can no longer fathom that it was me who wrote them. In wonder and surprise, I come across episodes whose origin is a mystery to me. But that\u2019s probably how it is for all authors. What one is finished with, one is so finished with that it becomes a stranger.
We experience many things that mature over time and surface in us long after we\u2019ve experienced them.
The material comes to me in present tense. It always has. It\u2019s the never-ending \u2018stream of life\u2019 I have wanted to give it if I possibly could. And then the publisher and translator, behind my back, recreate everything into a pond (\u2026) with slimy green algae on it and decay underneath (\u2026) I am not a writer of epics.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2026. how characters emerge and come to life, people will probably never understand. And I for my part don\u2019t really understand it either.
Maybe it\u2019s a negative advertisement when I claim not to have lived through everything I wrote about. Average readers still go home and think their own thoughts.
I know of countries where people don\u2019t sniff out the private life behind everything that\u2019s written. \u2026 Where no parallels are drawn between the author\u2019s own existence and that of his fictional characters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Norwegian authors are asked absurd questions \u2013 what they would do if they won a Nobel Prize, whether they are in charge of a publishing house, what their greatest experience has been, and so on. They create their own self-portrait. They make pronouncements here and there about what they meant when they wrote something. In this way, it is said, they \u2018enter into dialogue with the public\u2019. Naturally, it\u2019s also called \u2013 it is \u2013 advertising. Necessary advertising.
I\u2019ve never been able to come to terms with it. I\u2019ve answered such questions reluctantly and as minimally as possible.
It is through one\u2019s work that an author enters into dialogue with the public.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One of the quietly voiced letters from readers out there \u2026 They\u2019re more than a joy, they\u2019re a miracle. A great wonder \u2026 Minds far away are set spinning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To sit and write in a race with the demands of daily life, that I cannot manage \u2013 there\u2019s a tempo needed that will never be mine, and I just want to throw up all the time. A damned beggar\u2019s existence it is \u2013 in the end you\u2019re a starved cow, having to roar to get a little food for each squirt of milk you deliver to your publisher. I\u2019ve been stupid many times in my life, but the most stupid was when I got the idea that Erik and I could live like human beings on my production \u2026
If it weren\u2019t for this eternal short story production. I sit here making soup with sticks.
In recent years publishers have succeeded in turning the whole process into an industry, with authors as the underpaid spinning machines at the bottom.
A book isn\u2019t finished by Christmas. It\u2019s finished when it\u2019s finished, because it grows in a natural way.
Maybe I am too slow for them, and clearly, I won\u2019t get any faster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m unspeakably tired and discouraged. Since my book doesn\u2019t sell. I stuffed it like a sausage with whatever I thought would be tasty and make the rest easy to swallow \u2013 but no. I\u2019d gladly accept the harshest criticism if there were only some money. You can live on that, but you don\u2019t get far just with nice words. I clearly sense that I\u2019m now too old for this begging life. Apply for support, apply for grants, reach out my hand and beg. Almost never an honest payment despite all the struggle \u2013 a pariah\u2019s existence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I once sent something to the ladies\u2019 magazine Hjemmet, but it was returned with many excuses. It was too sad, they mostly emphasised lighter stories with happy endings, etc. Oh, the one who could dictate happy ends. The difficulty is that life itself offers only one ending, and that is death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

(\u2026) but oh, how much more delightful is colour as a means of expression than pen and ink, how much more a good portrait can depict, than can a thick novel.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Feminine table<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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Sweet is love, sweet it is to be a mother, good is the work. We have a right to it all, and it is wrong of people to organise life such that we are forced to choose between the one or the other, mutilating ourselves on one or the other side.
We women probably always immerse ourselves in living beings, whether a man, a child or a dog. Everything else is secondary for us, and if we don\u2019t have anyone to immerse ourselves in, we whither. This doesn\u2019t hinder us from going through painful processes, repeatedly having to cut the umbilical cord on an unfinished work. But we do it bravely for the sake of these others for whom we actually live.
It\u2019s damn hard to be an author, it\u2019s probably damn hard to be a male author. But it\u2019s a thousand \u201cdevils\u201d worse to be a female one. A male author usually has a wife.
It happened too, sitting there on the fence, that I saw pass before me a whole generation of women who I actually thought had vanished \u2013 women who sit through their entire youth embroidering on small serviettes, and whose vague dream of happiness is contained in the magic formula: Marriage \u2013 a Man.
They were all here, both the one who still dreamed in emptiness and resignation, and the well-nourished wife for whom marriage has resulted in trivial mundanity \u2013
Women who allow existence to wash over them, and to bring or not bring, and who never think for a moment about taking hold of life, forming it according to their own mind.
No, no agitation for the feminist cause. Not because I\u2019ve got anything against the women\u2019s cause, it is just that it is humanity\u2019s cause I want to fight. Above all, it is the young people\u2019s hesitant lives I\u2019ve wanted to draw \u2013 that has been close to my heart.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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The Aunts<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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When I say that my surroundings consisted mainly of pretty, elegant and very anxious women, my mother, grandmother, and many aunts, real aunts and aunts by marriage, then anyone who has been in the same situation will intuitively understand the rest. I was under the anxious women\u2019s control. They kept their eye on me from windows and verandas. They called to me over the picket fence. If I tried to ally myself with one or another kind delivery boy, I was immediately discovered and called to order.
To this day, I struggle to be on top of the situation when they\u2019ve caught hold of me and I\u2019m inside the ring of aunts.
Early on, I realized it was the men one should ally oneself with here in this world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was ugly and impossible. That is certain. With my round face and small eyes. My appearance wasn\u2019t \u2018in fashion\u2019. It wasn\u2019t until I arrived in Paris, and then I was already past 25 years old, that I felt all types of women were acceptable as long as they were natural and they were being themselves. And then one becomes prettier \u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wrote Alberte because I was upset about how life could turn out for a young girl from Troms\u00f8. How difficult it was to break through the wall of conventions that surrounded her. There were few options other than marriage. Sit in a solicitor\u2019s office, teach, work at the Telegraph, learn languages \u2013 that was allowed under certain circumstances.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Life\u2019s Tapestry<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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This is how life is woven, with yesterday, today and tomorrow. But some day there\u2019s no tomorrow. I won\u2019t know it, I\u2019ll just lie there dead, but tomorrow is gone, and part of today or tonight too. The thread broke, the tapestry fell out of the loom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That, too, lies there and has no magnificent pattern. It\u2019s just so-so. The little shuttle that was me ran confusedly in and out many times, big weaving mistakes emerged, even tangly knots. The whole thing is also rather colourless, although there are sometimes rich and shiny passages, sometimes disruptive. The overall impression is and remains ordinary. An extremely ordinary and average textile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But no one taught me the difficult art. Only after the pattern was decided a long time ago, did it begin to dawn on me how it should be.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Power of darkness<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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Now reigns the \u2018power of darkness\u2019. We burn lamps the whole day. Incidentally, the dark season is wonderful and atmospheric \u2013 in good weather, yes. Whipping wind and blowing snow and storms, to the point where one can\u2019t stand upright, can of course not be called fine. But in good weather, the sky in the direction of the sun is so superbly coloured, so infinitely beautiful and transparent, and against it the mountains stand so blue, so blue in sharp silhouette. And we have a small crescent moon and some big stars in the sky all day and night. When the weather\u2019s good for skiing, then it\u2019s wonderful in the interior of the island. The nature is so quiet, so hushed, the only sound is a little grouse cackle here and there. Oh, the nature up here is incomparable. I don\u2019t think there\u2019s anything like it anywhere else on the planet. If one has no worries and no hopeless longings, then I can\u2019t imagine a finer landscape in which to live.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Work information<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Here you will find information about paintings, images, drawings and artworks in the exhibition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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No title: Portrait of a woman, Bretagne. Oil on canvas, presumed 1916. Owned by Troms\u00f8 Kommune.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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No title: Still life with fruit and red onions. Oil on canvas, 1913. Owned by Troms\u00f8 Kommune.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Self-portrait by Sara Fabricius, pencil, presumed Christiania, 1910. Owned by Perspektivet Museum.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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From a pencil drawing by Sara Fabricius. Owned by Perspektivet Museum.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Lawrence Malstaf: The Child, 2019. Photo: Mari Hildung <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Lawrence Malstaf: Hesitant table, 2020.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Lawrence Malstaf: Brittany, 2020.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Sara in the aerial ropeway at the mines in Birtavarre, K\u00e5fjord, c. 1900. <\/span>Photo: unknown. Owned by Nord-Troms Museum.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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The Fabricius family with their parrot in Bankgata 13, 1893. Photo: J. H. Wennberg. Owned by Perspektivet Museum.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Caf\u00e9 Norden open around 1908, and this photograph was probably taken in 1910. Photo: Chr. Hansen. Owned by Perspektivet Museum.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Sara Fabricius og Ragnhild Str\u00f8m. Photo: Boye Str\u00f8m. Owned by Perspektivet Museum.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Sara Fabricius is the second girl to the left in the front row. They were celebrating the silver wedding anniversary of Marcus and Johanne Skancke on Troms\u00f8ya. Photo: unknown. Owned by UiT The Arctic University Museum of Norway.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Traditional folk dance with Sara Fabricius as number four to the left. Alfheim, June 1905. Photo: Chr. Hansen. Owned by Perspektivet Museum.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Cora Sandel 1969. Photo: Inga Larsson\/Larssons fotoateljer Uppsala. Owned by Perspektivet Museum<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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Cora Sandel, presumed 1950s. Photo: Studio J\u00e4rl\u00e5s, Stockholm. Owned by Perspektivet Museum.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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When the bourgeoisie met, silverware on the table was a given. Here from the club \u00abUten svik\u00bb \u2013 Without deception. From the left, Jens Fabricius, Bastian Dahl, Marga Fabricius, Alexander Holst, Louise Greger and Peter Holst. Photo: unknown\/Perspektivet Museum.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Don’t have your own headphones? Feel free to borrow at the counter on the first floor. You can also read the lyrics, if you prefer. Go to area: Dear Elisabeth \u279d Listen to excerpts from Sara Fabricius\u2019s private letters written to her childhood friend Elisabeth Sinding-Larsen, during the period 1898\u20131903 when Sara lived in Troms\u00f8. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"wp-custom-template-side-smal-tittel","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_trash_the_other_posts":false,"editor_notices":[],"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-27461","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/perspektivet.no\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/27461","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/perspektivet.no\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/perspektivet.no\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/perspektivet.no\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/perspektivet.no\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=27461"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/perspektivet.no\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/27461\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/perspektivet.no\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=27461"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}