After tonight’s Swedish class, and then catching up mates at the pub, I came HOME and watched documentary on ABC2 called, “Men Who Swim”, about a Swedish male synchronised swimming team. Or as the Swedes call it, “konstsim” (art swimming) which I think I prefer to the English-language phrase. One sounds very perfunctory, very organised, whereas the other sounds far more exotic, far more experimental.
I’d already seen the film, Allt Flyter a fictional account of this group just over twelve months ago.
At the time I noted…
There were shades of The Full Monty in the film’s premise, about a group of middle aged men who try something adventurous and new. In this instance, they formed a team to compete at the world synchronised swimming championships. In the background, the film also explores the relationships between the lead, Frederic, his daughter, his ex-wife, and his friend Charles. The film has a “feel good” vibe about it, though, as Graeme noted is often the case with Swedish comedies, it’s not all light and bright.
Tonight’s documentary also had a dark element to it: the sometimes difficult experiences of people who move to Sweden, and even though they speak quite good English, still find it difficult to find work and to fully integrate.
In this case, the film was told from the perspective of someone who was apparently a reasonably successful film-maker in the UK, but who struggled to find similar satisfying work in Sweden.
Not only do you need to learn Swedish, but you also need to join a group was the advice he was offered, and which he mentioned early in the film. And that’s how he became part of the male synchronised swimming team.
The film tells of their disorganisation, and often their lack of motivation, and explores group dynamics from the perspective of a group of men on the verge of middle-aged. They haven’t quite given away the desires and fantasies of youth, but haven’t quite settled down for a life in front of the television yet either. I find myself in a similar position, and so I could relate to both their desires to keep trying something new, and the headspace that requires.
It was a lovely documentary and I enjoyed it very much.
Heading down to grab a coffee at work today, a man stepped into the lift behind me and immediately asked, “What happened to your leg?” I could see genuine concern in his eyes—it wasn’t idle curiosity.
I explained that I’d developed sepsis from a cut on my foot while on holiday. He shared, with visible heartache, that his brother was facing the exact same ordeal: a cut foot, sepsis, and sadly, gangrene, with a double lower-leg amputation scheduled for tomorrow.
The poor man was completely overwhelmed. We stood there for half an hour, and I did my best to offer comfort and practical advice. I suggested he look into the Limbs 4 Life Facebook peer support group and shared small, humanising tips that helped me, like the importance of getting out of the hospital for a trip to the beach or the shops. I also mentioned practical aids, such as a plastic shower chair and a bed bottle, which can make such a difference in those early days.
Hospital stays can feel incredibly isolating, which is why I’m so grateful for friends like Andrea and Ross. Taking me out for some fresh air at the beach gave me such a necessary boost and helped me feel human again. It really is the little things that matter most.
Since his brother is 68, he doesn’t qualify for the NDIS, and he told me they felt lost navigating the system. I encouraged him to ask the hospital for a social worker to assist with prosthetic referrals. We also talked about the weight of it all; I shared that while formal hospital psychiatry wasn’t the right fit for me, the peer support I received through a call from Limbs 4 Life was life-changing.
Before I finally headed off for my coffee, we exchanged numbers. I made sure to clarify that while I’m not a counsellor, I am always here to listen and share what I’ve learned.
It reminded me of a recent request from a friend in the US asking if I’d be open to another amputee reaching out. My answer was the same: I’m always happy to share my story if it helps someone else feel a little less alone.
I’ve been wanting to complete the official Limbs 4 Life peer support training, but life has been busy—and occasionally challenging, between a trip to Lismore and a hospital stay for a broken hip. I still hope to do the training eventually, though I sometimes wonder if I’d be any good at it. In the meantime, I feel like the best way I can give back is through my podcast, where I can continue recording and sharing stories with our beautiful limb difference community. And by answering questions from random people who ask you with the best of intentions.
Some photographs and images from tonight’s opening of the “Two Generations” exhibition of artists from Red Gate Gallery in Beijing, currently in Sydney for Chinese New Year. It’s at Sydney Town Hall for the next two weeks – do yourself a favour!
To get to the island of Skeppsholmen, you need to cross a small bridge. Once on the other side, you notice instantly how different the mood is from the main business district of Stockholm. You can hear the birds, most people seem to use bicycles to get around, and there’s a lovely peace about the place. With that kind of environment, it’s not surprising it’s become Stockholm’s “arty farty” island.
I went there with a big interest, this morning, in seeing the Modern Museet (the modern art museum) and a minor interest in the architecture museum. I also knew I could catch the ferry from there across to Djurgarden, another island of museums and the fun park, which was my big plan for the afternoon.
The modern art museum is terrific, and there were several works which took my breath away.
In particular, there’s a terrific work by an artist called Magnus Bartus. Over eleven years, we’re told he cut images out of newspapers and magazine, and then treated them in a special way with wax. He then arranged them hanging inches away from the wall (thus leaving a shadow under each image) in a very large installation piece. I’d estimate it was about 10 metres wide by four metres deep. It’s a truly amazing work and I spent ages looking at it. And in case you’re wondering what it’s about, and what all those images mean, it’s about the collective consciousness.
The other works that really impressed me were by the artists and photographers, Paul and Damon McCarthy. The photographs in this series based on the Disneyland exhibit, “Pirates Of The Carribean” are both spectacular and quite shocking. I noticed one nearby parent moved her children on when she realised just how graphic the works were. I loved how challenging they were.
I thought it was a great little gallery/museum with lots of interesting works. And I feel proud that I stopped myself from tripping up the stupid American woman in front of me who I overheard saying, “You know, it’s not as good as the one in New York”. Grrr.
ABBA GIrl has a new love, according to this Swedish tabloid.
Mono Music is where Benny Andersson, formerly of ABBA, has his office.
Stockholm water tour
Sami people in the Nordiska Museet.
Although now a very prosperous nation with a high standard of living, this is only a recent phenomenon and Swedes were, for many years, very poor.
A ship inside a museum. The Vasa Museum in Stockholm.
A ship inside a museum. The Vasa Museum in Stockholm.
Brolle performs in rehearsal at Allsang pa Skansen.
The national Swedish singalong tv show, Allsang pa Skansen.
Julius Kronbergs Atelje at Skansen in Stockholm.
Reindeer Meal at Skansen
Skansen open-air museum in Stockholm.
Just metres away is the architecture museum which emphasises Scandinvian design. At the moment there’s also an exhibition of 12 works by a bloke called Gert Windghardh. Originally from Goteborg, he has designed buildings all of the world. As challenging as they also are to conventional architecture – in terms of shape and form – he says his buildings are all about people.
There’s a quote where he says something along the lines of architects being only able to make recommendations, that it’s people who make choices. My favourite work was an office building which had a great wall of greenery inside.
The island is also home to “Mono Music” which is Benny Andersson’s record company, and the studio where he often creates much of his work. A nice surprise, indeed, to stumble upon it while wandering home. No one was home, by the way.
In contrast to the peacefulness of Skeppsholmen, I was surprised at how busy things were at Djurgarden. You know how there’s about 300 million people who live in America and about 70 million who live in Germany? Well, this morning, most of them seemed to be in the queue for the Vasa Museet, a museum which houses a giant sailing ship. Yes, really…
You know how Australia commemorates the military defeat at Gallipoli. Well, the Swedes have done something similar, building a giant museum based around the sinking on its maiden voyage of what was to be Sweden’s greatest military vessel, The Vasa.
The boat remained preserved for hundreds of years after it sunk, thanks to the unique properties of the local water. The ship was raised in 1961, and since then a museum has been built around the vessell. It’s amazing. Truly amazing.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t really able to appreciate it due to the large crowds there.
Far more enjoyable for me today was the Nordisk Museet (Nordic Museum). Less obviously “touristy”, the museum offers quite a deep insight into Swedish life over many hundreds of years.
I was particularly touched by the Sami exhibit, about Sweden’s indigenous people. I noticed there were similarities with Aborigines in the way in which they self-identify, and in the issues they feel are important. “Swedish is my nationality, Sami is my identity”, was a memorable quote from one of the people featured in the exhibition.
I also found it interesting to read a quote somewhere about how Swedes had gone from being one of the poorest people in the world to one of the richest in a short period of time. With that thought in mind, I began to understand a little more about the Swedish psyche, and particularly their interest and desire in the collective.
It’s also evident when you go to Skansen, the nearby open-air museum. They have community singing on a Tuesday night over summer called “Allsang Pa Skansen”. Can you think of anywhere else in the world where they televise community singing?
I was there for the dress rehearsal this afternoon and both saw and heard Swedish singing legend, Little Gerhard, as well as current pop sensation (and spunk) Brolle.
Also wandering around the park I saw Swedish comedian, Bjorn Gustafsson. I’d first become aware of his work due to Melodifestivalen, the Swedish finals for Eurovision. His comedy is both wordy and physical, and he has developed a bit of a fanbase amongst some of my ABBA-loving friends.
He was sitting with two friends having lunch in the park, and I had just about summoned up the courage to go over to him and say hello. Unfortunately, a bunch of fifteen year old girls beat me to the chase. He then moved quickly away. It’s probably just as well, as I’m not sure how he would have responded to me informing him there’s a bunch of mid 40’s gay ABBA fans in Sydney who also think he’s fantastic. Actually, he probably would have it enjoyed it.
Minutes later, he was standing next to me as I was looking at one of the exhibits, and for a moment I wondered if I should have said hello then, but the moment had passed. I assume he’s going to be appearing tonight as a special guest on Allsang.
Oh yeah and there is an ABBA connection. Well, quite a few actually, including the artist studio for Julius Kronberg which I visited today. A giant painting inside the studio was used as the backdrop for ABBA’s final studio album, “The Visitors”.
This is my last night in Stockholm, before heading off to Kiruna and then Narvik (in the far north of Norway) tomorrow. A plane then a train will take me to the land of the midnight sun, where I intend to relax for a bit. After the last few days I’m gonna need a holiday. My feet ache!
I’ll be writing regularly, though I’m not sure how often I’ll be posting. You might end up with half a dozen posts at once. After the crack-a-jack pace of the last few days, I’m looking forward to a few days of doing nothing, relaxing. Maybe watching the birds, going bushwalking, all that kind of palarva…
At first I thought it might have been an LGBTQIA+ rally. On the stage in the nearby park, they had just rehearsed “We Are Family” (by Sister Sledge), and then it was “What’s Going On?” (by Four Non-Blondes). Respectively, they are anthems you might normally associate with gays and lesbians. As I got closer, I spotted the word “family”, further reenforcing my thoughts that it might have been a “rainbow family” event. But I was wrong, it was an anti vax rally. Suddenly, I was a lot less sympathetic to the disruption it had caused to the light rail service that would have brought me home.
I had spent the morning at Sydney’s “Museum Of Contemporary Art” (MCA) checking out some of the works on display. Due to COVID, there have been quite a few interruptions to my regular visits to the MCA. Heading back for the first time in a while, I was surprised at how friendly and pro-active the guides were. I couldn’t decide if it was because they’d received training, or if it was because there were so few people, so they had more time to spend chatting. As my face-mask dropped down below my nose, a guide came over to me asking me to pull it back up. I suspect they’re just as nervous about things as we all are right now.
Though there’s a “big ticket” exhibition on there right now, I was more interested in checking out Primavera (the exhibition which celebrates under 35s), and an exhibition of permanent collection works focussing on time and place.
I really loved these works by Sam Gold, as part of Primavera at the MCA.There’s a bunch of great bark paintings by David Malangi Daymirringu at the MCA. This was my favourite.This work by Louise Bufardeci re-imagines the world as a “floor plan”.This work by Louise Bufardeci re-imagines the world as a “floor plan”. And here’s Australia.I’ve seen this work before, by Justin Trendall which re-imagines Darlinghurst 2010.Though I’m not sure why, the small village of Grong Grong (near Wagga Wagga) gets a mention.
Also, this weekend, a couple of friends and I took in a movie, “Ring Mamma” which is part of the Scandinavian Film Festival.
“She’s a bit of a fuck up” one of my friends commented, as we chatted afterwards.
Without too many spoilers, the film tells the story of a 30-something woman who faces some life dilemmas: she has relationship problems, she becomes unexpectedly pregnant, and her mother is diagnosed with pancreatic cancer (a quick death). Despite these dramas, the film is also a comedy, and there are lots of laugh-out-loud moments.
There are also many moments of great intimacy in the film.
Interestingly/amusingly, a couple of our “favourites”, Viktor Frisk and Björn Gustafsson get “star billing” but utter only a few words of dialogue.
Even though I’d experienced snow before, my visit to Sweden earlier this year was the first time I’d REALLY experienced snow. Not just a little bit of snow at an Australian ski resort, but snow that was sometimes a few metres deep. Snow that varied in colour and texture :)
It was also the first time I’d ever walked on a frozen river or lake. With an ever so slight trepidation I followed in the foot-steps of others and relished the liberating feeling of walking on snow and ice, and yet knowing and fearing that, if I’d taken the wrong step, I could have plunged to an icy, watery depth on the other side of the world.
For just a moment tonight I was taken back to my experiences with snow.
The other day, my fellow Scandophile, Liam mentioned in a comment on my blog a Swedish band, Hello Saferide, who sing in English. They’re the English language band of the singer, Annika Norlin, who I discovered through her Swedish language band, Säkert!
Liam described Hello Saferide in these terms…
The songs are wonderful, and she’s without a doubt my favourite lyricist: her words are poetic, with the sweet turns of phrase unique to Scandinavian speakers of English. Each song is a wonderful short story: hopes for the child she could have had with her ex, waiting for a new lover to come back from a holiday, wishing she was a lesbian because she loves her best friend so damn much. Playful, everyday, lovely stuff.
And so tonight I went online to find out a little more about them.
That’s when I discovered the song “Arjeplog” by Hello Saferide. It’s a song about getting out of Stockholm and spending time in the countryside at any place in particular, I assume, but in this song, it’s a small town in the Sweden’s north. Co-incidentally, I actually work with someone from this town who went to university with Annika, so discovering the song had a double poignancy for me.
It’s a lovely song, very pretty, with slightly melancholic, clever lyrics.
And the wind in the trees are all: sch-uuung, sch-uuung
And the trains that pass by are all: sch-du-dung, sch-du-dung
And you and me are like: let’s go out for a walk
And our feet in the snow are like: tsch-ooo, tsch-ooo
and the choir in my chest is like: oooo- oooo
And the Stockholm insecurity is like: I don’t exist
But what moved me most was the simple, single-shot video clip…
I’m beginning to understand how the Swedes think about snow. It’s maybe similar to how I feel about the outback and the desert. It’s a place where you can go somewhere truly alone, and experience the power of silence, and where you can really hear yourself think, if you know what I mean.
My mind went back to the Sunday night six and a half months ago, when I fell and broke my hip. I don’t remember much about it, except that I tripped on the footpath and then, after the trip, I blacked out briefly in a lot of pain.
That memory came back tonight because I felt a genuine fear of falling again, maybe breaking my other hip. I was at the Sydney Contemporary Art Exhibition, an event I’ve been going to forever. Usually, I go with my friend Kate, but she’s tragically dealing with a death in her family, so I went by myself.
I don’t remember the exhibition ever being so busy. Almost instantly, when I got inside and started walking around, this fear of falling just took over. There were so many people, and many weren’t even looking where they were going. A couple of people brushed against me, almost knocking me over. I found myself walking along, holding onto the walls, because of the fear. After only about 15 minutes, I realized I couldn’t do it. It was just too difficult to get around.
So, I decided to sit down and have a glass of wine to calm my nerves.
I only had a chance to look at some of the works on paper.
The guy at the front counter at Sydney Contemporary was really fantastic. I explained the situation—that I had bought a ticket but was too afraid of falling to stay—and asked if I could come back another day. He organized a ticket that will allow me to return on the weekend, early in the morning, when it’s quieter.
It’s funny how you can go from feeling awesome about the world to feeling so awfully scared. Yesterday, I was on top of the world because of the arrival my new mobility scooter. But tonight, I feel a little sad, to be honest, knowing there are some things I probably just can’t do anymore. The atmosphere inside—the soundtrack reminding me of 80s, 90s, and early 2000s dance parties—and the crowds were too busy.
The one thing I’ve learned about my journey with disability is that it’s not a linear progression. Things do get better, but feelings can go up and down. Tomorrow, I’m going to a big day put on called ‘No Limits,’ which is all about amputees and support. I’m sure I’ll emerge from that feeling great about the world again. And on the weekend, I’ll make a second attempt at Sydney Contemporary, and will use it as a maiden voyage for my mobility scooter.
