“Oslo’s contemporary art” is something that simply ceases to exist. From witnessing the art within the Astrup Fearnley Museet, I’ve come to terms with the fact that it’s solely hare-brained to categorize the art in such ways. Perhaps it had been easier to group masterpieces of which had been bizarre to the eye in a single group; although each and every piece had been produced with a pastiche of particular passions, each had been fashioned with idiosyncratic intentions. This is my opinion, due to the fact that I find hardship in distinguishing similitude between denim doused canvases, shopping cart creations, and paper-carved coups.
Based on my self-reflection, I distinguish a certain depth in “Oslo’s art”, the miniature brain-muddles it’d take a person to disentangle a sole piece, and the mystery that envelopes it, for unless you were to pry open the mind of the certain creator; you’d never truly fathom the depth that had originated from the marvelous masterpieces I had witnessed today.
Check out a simple version of my art based on my previous experiences in Oslo, Norway:
Who is Alfred Nobel?: Alfred Bernhard Nobel, 1833 – 1896:
Considering the fact that Nobel had been infamous for the birthing of the “Nobel Peace Prize”, along with five other rewards based on various categories; (eg. chemistry, economics, literature, physics, physiology, and medicine.) I had never guessed his career had commenced due to the exact opposite.
Alfred Nobel had had specific interests since he had been birthed, one of which had included nitroglycerin. Having been influenced by people of intellect such as himself, it hadn’t taken long for Nobel to develop interest in the chemistry department. Despite the fact that nitroglycerin, at the time; had been eminent due to the fact that it had been the most unchancy reincarnation of explosives in the 19th century, Nobel had been quick to toy with it.
This had resulted in the death of five people, including his youngest sibling. During one of his nitroglycerin-congested experiments, the building; much to my non-existent confoundment, had, well…exploded.
This had left Nobel at a stunned state for a matter of five seconds in the duration of a decade; for he had quickly brushed himself off, determined to avenge the day Emil had perished by…
the production of explosives!! From that day forward, Nobel had been positively driven to produce trustworthy time-bombs, occasionally tweaking for the better of battles.
That is, until he had stumbled upon the feet of Baroness Bertha Von Suttner. From the day the had met, they had been considered as the closest companions. Von Snutter, the prodigious pacifist, as well as the perplexing pen-woman; and Alfred Nobel, the… dashing dynamite dude?
Fortunately, the beautiful baroness had been able to clean his act up a bit, no matter of the fact that he had custody of four beach houses in countries of which he spoke fluently.
As much as Von Snuttner, as well as Nobel had been best buddies; they had never considered themselves as the “romantic”. Proving this point, Nobel had later on courted some woman that had been 1/2 his own age, although ‘suppose “love is love”. Since I had already began to delve into dalliance, I might as well state the fact that Alfred Nobel had never gotten around to marrying; not to mention the fact that he had never had offspring. (Dad/Mom: Yeaahhhhh!!)
1896, October 10, Midday,
was the day of the death of Alfred Bernhard Nobel. The procession commenced, the coffin had been enveloped with fragrant flowers. Later it had been discovered that:
at his deathbed Nobel had had something of a guilty conscience. Having done dynamite deals a majority of his life, he hadn’t exactly contributed towards peace until he had written his will.
Why was the Peace Prize named after him?:
What lay written in Alfred Bernhard Nobel’s will, was the fact that he had requested a platform be made for the means he had devoted his life to. Thus began the birth of the Nobel Prizes, and the distribution of 1 million dollars, as well as a memorious medal every December 10th, the day an admirable man had gone gallivanting to the heavens; an armful of explosives at hand.
Who are my top 3 favorite Nobel Peace Laureate? Why?:
Baroness Bertha Von Snutter, the very first female Nobel Peace Laureate, not to mention the fact that she had greatly impacted Alfred Nobel’s life, and future decisions, and possibly the past itself.
Denis Mukwege Mukengere, for the temporary exhibition at the time had displayed the deeds he had done, and the wounds he had healed for the victims of awful armed rebells. (The most recent Laureate, 2018.)
Nadia Murad, along with Denis Mukwege Mukengere, she too was rewarded the 2018 Nobel Peace Prize, for after her execrable experiences as she was held captive in the city of Mosul where she had gone through things no human should ever withstand; she had managed to escape, and is now the founder of Nadia’s Initiative, “an organization dedicated to helping women and children victimized by genocide, mass atrocities, and human trafficking to heal and rebuild their lives and communities”.
What would you I in the future to win a Nobel Peace Prize? How? When?:
Contribution to climate change, and before everything smelts to smithereens.
Mom: “How, how, how???”:
Somehow incorporate geothermal energy for household heaters, stoves, etc. Despite the fact that there is indeed a possible percentage that global warming mayn’t be real, although the discovery of new energy could contribute nevertheless. If this fact proves to be true, I’d like to get behind exactly what warms the earth, and help the walking skeletons that have become our arctic animals avoid extinction.
Considering the fact that Tønsberg has been infamous for holding the status of being the filming sight for numerous marvel movies, the most commonly known being it’s role as “New Asgard” I’ve come to the conclusion that Lillehammer; emphasis on the hammer, would have done delightful. Although I’m certain of the fact that even the god of thunder had a hard time heaving up hills.
Well despite the fact, Tønsberg is indeed an abode for godly beings, and today had definitely proved that point:
Today had mirrored the day before, despite the slight shift of breakfast; but I had happily guzzled away. We had managed to catch bus 54, with the help of Dad’s pestiferous prodding, though it had been slightly more eventful then what I had expected.
A little girl, around six, stood blatantly at the bus station. Tears ran down her cheeks as she sniveled forlornly, Dad pointed out. This fact surprised me, for Dad hadn’t been one to barge in the business of other people; though in this scenario I see as to how one couldn’t. We stood rooted to the spot a few feet away, ogling observantly, yet unsure as to what to do. I blinked as a woman bulldozed her way out the bus that had been parked alongside the pavement, scooped the ill-fated fledgling in her arms and bounced back onto the bus. I’m not sure as to why this surprised me, though at a level I had expected her to- at the very least, comfort the poor soul rather than dragging her off like neglected luggage. I wasn’t in any place to protest, for I can’t possibly expect every single mother to be as magnificent as mine. (yeah, yeah, “sucker” or whatnot.)
We tramped off shortly after, though this event had spawned a series of tedious tutts from dear mother, but I doubt we’d ever stray, considering the constant- yet caring cuddles she’d give every few minutes. Some more than others, though you didn’t hear that from me.
Traipsing into Oslo Central had come a teensy bit more natural this time, and the furious fingering we had fumed onto the unfortunate ticket apparatus last time had somewhat subdued, so it’s safe to say we’re professionals now. Even the duration of train had dimmed, and not to mention the fact that the conductor hadn’t been quite as vociferous; thank Thor.
Now onto Tønsberg, the oldest city in Norway. When Mom had stated the fact I hadn’t assumed it’d be a ghost town. That may have been slightly overemphasized, although there truly wasn’t a person in sight. The stores stood vacant, and we were left to mingle with the bitter breeze; for it seemed as if even the sun had skedaddled.
Tønsberg seemed to be surrounded by a rolling ocean of hills and herbage, with tiny tufts of trees brimmed with blossoms. A turret stood isolated on the tippity top fold of green; a turret of which I had had no idea as to exactly how long it’d take to get there.
“I don’t know, it must be something with the internet.” Mom had the map at hand. Now I knew for certain Dad was stumped. We were lost.
Mom gestured wildly towards a road of which had been layered by construction. I sighed, pushing the arms of my jumper up to my shoulders, for apparently Tønsberg had chosen right now the perfect time to convert to sweltering hotness. Dad took charge once more, and we trudged up a steep slope; the likes of which wasn’t smothered by construction, until we halted abruptly at the face of an ivory cottage.
I inhaled sharply as Dad trotted towards a gap between the greenery that sat conveniently alongside the ivory cottage, though if the fact it was somebody’s backyard wasn’t tangible enough, a clothes wrack stood embedded into the earth; although Dad walked on nevertheless.
One by one family trickled away after Dad until I remained. Shortly after the mass of green had engulfed the single remaining family member that had been in eyesight, I sighed as I succumbed, and plunged into the forest.
Mom nearly scoffed at every step we had taken, for apparently she had what was considered experience in these type of things; although I’d hardly call what we were taking “steps”, or rather more of a earthy embrace.
Finally we had made it out, although to my dirty distress my knees were caked in soil, coincidentally on the same day I had decided to start anew in the pant department.
Face to face with the famous fortress. Excitement sparked in my belly, although I feel as if it was partially due to the tarnished trauma it had taken to get there, although of course, the history behind it too. Though the view!! A large lake occupied the dip between hills; calm as well as comforting. Despite the fact that winter was far ahead of us, a layer of glass seemed to plaster the surface, tingling my toes with the urge to sprint onto the sheen surface. The lush grass immersed my legs at every step, though I took care of the fanciful flowers. Wind whipped my face, kissing my cheeks pink.
We stopped by a cafe on the way back down, the original request of ice-cream quickly morphing to a numerous amount of items once hungry eyes were unsheathed. Shortly after a flurry of lip smacking and chomps we made our way to the port, although once the fact that certain items remained sinkable was made clear, I wasn’t as quick to dive in.
The ride back was a sad one, though it had been perfect for pondering. Reflection was inevitable by the time we’d be home, so I might as well ponder. Tønsberg was beautiful, and it had been such an eventful trip it’d be hard to form the right words. Once again I had fallen for another bit of the Norway I had come to treasure.
One thing was for sure, I definitely had a lot to write.
Quick quotes from the Traveling Parents before we pass the torch to our eldest worldschooler who is extremely passionate about exploring and writing:
“Every secret of a writer’ soul, every experience in his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works.” – Virginia Woolf
You got this, kyvelo! – Turknoy Parents
Saturday, May 5, 2019; 8:00 AM.
The night before, Mom had mentioned something among the lines of waking up at 4:00 AM, and had even went as far as planting the bloody phone alarm bomb alongside my bed. Protest had been on the tip of my tongue, although I hadn’t mustered the courage to do so.
As much as this fact had threatened my usual sleep-stocked slumber, I had slept soundly nevertheless. I had managed to pry my eyes open to what I thought had been four hours of sleep, when Mom bludgeoned through the unfortunate door; halting in her tracks as I allegedly “slept” on, completely unnerved. I had been semi-conscious at the time, so I hadn’t completely deceived mother dear. Mutinously mumbling, Mom trudged back through the door, which much to my surprise, had managed a piteous “click”, as she shut it behind her.
I squirmed beneath my sheets, partially due to the psychotic steam that had practically originated from myself, as well as the fact that I had started envying my former frozen self the day before.
Fast forward, although not too much so as to deprive Mom of precious “reflection”; I had been seated at the dining table a few minutes ago, where I had went through the usual territorial dish disputes; which hadn’t been much use since Dad had knowingly distributed accordingly, wary to the single grain.
Kim had decided to grace us with his bed-headed presence shortly after I had finished, although soon enough he wasn’t far behind.
We arrived at Oslo Central Station pink-faced and breath deprived, tapping for the troublesome tickets furiously, for the train had been due to leave in the next six minutes. As soon as I had stepped foot on the train, it had heaved and huffed, gradually gaining speed as we sped through the greenery. We stumbled through the numerous occupied seats; the occupants of which made noises remarkably like the exasperated huffs originating from the train itself.
Speeding through luscious lakes, and fanciful foliage, the train rocked here and there, lulling me into a dream-lavished snooze of which I had debated on whether this infamous “Lillehammer” really had anything to do with hammers at all.
I clenched my teeth as another ear-piercing ring rang through the air. I had woken a few minutes ago, and had fruitlessly been screwing my eyes tight, in hopes of returning to thoughts of mjolnir.
The two hour train ride had finally screeched to a stop. The staff door swung open, revealing the person I guessed was the conductor. I narrowed my eyes begrudgingly, as I couldn’t find a reason as to why a grown man was in need to “toot, toot!” every five minutes. I stepped off the train all too gladly, skipping the way to Lillehammer.
That is, until I had caught sight of exactly how steep their roads, as well as their pavements were. You attempt skipping on a surface where the tiniest nudge would make it perfectly acceptable as a wall.
Map at hand, we marched up up up, family members overlapping family members; desperate for the front position, desperate for the valid excuse of “waiting” for the rest.
“Museum”. My heart skipped a beat as I saw those letters peek out of the green landscape that my skin tone had done a remarkable job of mimicking. I stumbled towards the building, eyes bulging as a bus sped past. Nostrils flared, I huffed as we stepped into the museum.
“I suppose it was worth it.” I thought grudgingly, although I dare not say it out loud in fear of being accused of sucking up. Dad drawled on about the Vikings in the 1800’s in custody of practically nothing, whilst I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Nothing, huh? An enormous expanse of green stretched as far as the eye could see, shades of mint, lime, and emerald dotted here and there. Houses clustered just above the crystal lake, although it wasn’t difficult so as to imagine it’s former pre-beach-house beauty.
I pressed a palm against the spruce-like wood the cabins consisted of, breathed the scent of worn wood. Mom had teased about taking care of time portals, although now I had the strange urge to seek one out. A river rushed nearby, it was ridiculously accessible.
Seeing, smelling, and feeling things that had such stories behind them was simply indescribable. I’m not a lazy writer, so I don’t say that to the advantage of a decrease of words, which the previous extremely detailed paragraphs should hold proof of.
I had LITERALLY trotted through time today, from Viking abodes, to the perfect, prim, and proper peoples and places of the following decades; I had thoroughly enjoyed the adventures today had held, as well as Lillehammer itself. The architectural astonishment, and the historical heaven I had experienced the moment I took my last excruciating step uphill had been one of the most memorable; despite the lack of hammers.