by You Jin
Upon reaching Oslo, I found that the Vigeland Open Air Park was well advertised and prominent, as expected. It was clearly treated as a national treasure.
This park covered an area of 0.3 hectares with the one hundred and fifty intricately sculpted nude stone and bronze statues sited in an orderly manner around the grounds. Gustav racked his brains to design and create his statues, with the hope that it would express the full range of human emotions, and also their pleasures and desires. His approach to creative work was very serious, and it was said that in order to accurately express a child’s simplicity, innocence, mischievousness and liveliness, he had spent months standing in the park, beside a school, quietly studying a child’s every movement. Since he had a deep understanding of life and was an artistic genius, all of the sculptures in the park were very lifelike.
I remember the morning that as I was walking in the garden, I was overwhelmed with pleasant surprise and exhilaration, because what I saw was not a bunch of cold stone carvings, but every one of them was a familiar person—a flesh and blood person! The ignorance of childhood, the liveliness of youth, the composure of middle age, and the helplessness of old age were all concretely displayed before my eyes. As I observed then, I felt that I myself was passing through the various stages of life.
What was most remarkable was the sixty-foot Tower of Humanity that had been built in the middle of the garden. It was an intact granite cylinder that Gustav had covered with layer upon layer of images of humans, men and women of all ages in various forms to depict the different stages of life. No matter which angle you viewed the cylinder from, the people on it seemed to come to life in a vivid portrayal. Looking at it more closely. I saw that the facial features were clear and distinct on all the images. Every hair and crease in the skin was visible, making each face startlingly lifelike. This was truly the work of a master.
After spending the whole morning in the Vigeland Open Air Park, I ate a quick lunch and set out for the travel bureau to find out how to get to the Emanuel Museum. Contrary to my expectations, the staff at the tourist bureau said to me blandly, “It’s not worth going to that place.”
She was not inclined to point the way, and I didn’t want to insist. The museum was in Slemdal District, and after flipping through many of the timetables for different modes of transportation, I finally found a train that would take me there. Looking at the time, I thought I could just make it, so I rushed over.
It took about twenty-five minutes to reach Slemdal District on the train. When I came out of the station, I felt a bit lost. The travel magazine had not given an exact address for the Emanuel Museum, so which way should I go?
As I paced back and forth, I suddenly saw a gentlemanly fellow in his fifties walking in front of me. I hurried over to him and asked, “I’m sorry, do you know the way to the Emanuel Museum?”
“The Emanuel Museum?” He stopped, and with a kind expression said, “It’s not open today. It only opens on Sundays.” After he had said this, he went on his way.
I was disappointed. Having come so far, it seemed I would not have the good fortune to see it, and I felt both helpless and unwilling to give up. Thinking this, I decided I would pursue it just a little further, so I asked, “Can you give me the directions? Even if I can’t go in, I’d like to take a look at the outside.”
“Oh,” he said, smiling. “My house is just beside the museum. Follow me.”
What a coincidence! I followed cheerfully along. We chatted as we walked, and from our exchange I was surprised to learn that though he was born and bred in Norway, he had lived for most of the past thirty years in Johor in Malaysia. He was a biologist employed by the Johor Garden Research Management Centre as a consultant. He only spent each summer holiday in Norway.
“I’m more Malaysian than a Malaysian,” he said self-mockingly. “My home in Norway has become just a holiday resort for me.”
We walked to the end of the main road and turned into a small lane, which inclined up a hill. When we were halfway up the slope, he pointed to a big house surrounded by trees and, stopping there, said, “There it is.”
It was not an eye-catching house. The gate was locked and a sign hung there read “Emanuel Museum”. The words on the sign seemed to be asleep.
I stood on tiptoe and peeked wistfully through the iron gate. The gentleman beside me suddenly said, “If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll go in and arrange it so you can have a look.”
I really did bump into the right person! I was very grateful and happy. Before long, he brought a bunch of keys out and opened the door.
The Emanuel Museum was separated into two parts. In the first gallery, different sorts of paintings by Emanuel covered the walls, both landscapes and portraits. There were realistic and abstract pieces, and though there were several nude paintings, all were very artistic and without any hint of obscenity. I could not understand why his work had received so much criticism. Any question was finally answered in the museum’s second gallery, which was huge. The lighting in the room was gloomy, with lights shining up from the floor onto the walls, illuminating countless images of naked men and women in all sorts of poses, covering every inch of the four walls. Emanuel had mainly made use of the wall paintings of men and women engaged in all sorts of sexual positions to express life and its pleasure and contentment. On the wall were also horrible scenes of human skeletons, depicting the terror and sorrow of death. Many people had violently attacked the paintings on these four walls, believing that the images did not depict humanity, but barbarity.
What is certain is that this wall painting was Emanuel’s wholehearted creation. Even though the subject matter was very daring, my own feeling was that it should not be looked upon as obscene work. The choice of subject matter does not negate the value of a work of art. To a creator, this did not seem fair.
The gentleman waited for me to come out, then locked the door and invited me to his home for tea.
Whilst we were drinking tea, we exchanged ideas about the way of life in Norway and Singapore, and it was a pleasant conversation. But since there were still many sites I had not yet seen, when I had sat for about twenty minutes, I bade him farewell. Before I left, I wrote down my address in Singapore for him and asked him to get in touch when he was back in Johor. He took out a name card and handed it to me. On it was written “Imm Vigeland”.
“Imm Vigeland?” I took the name card and, half-jokingly, asked, “Are you related to the Vigeland brothers?”
He stood with his back straight, smiling as he answered: “Emanuel Vigeland was my father.”
Lament of a Nomadic Tribe
“In a thousand mountains, no birds fly; in ten thousand
miles of roads, no traces of men.”– Liu Zongyuan
THE SKY WAS deserted, and the lake was quiet. All year round, pure white snow covered the lonely mountain peaks. The leaves on the trees beside the road had all fallen and withered, the bare branches drooping wearily in the chilly wind. The birds did not come to this place, and the flowers did not open. It was a lifeless world. Occasionally a few reindeer, unique to these Antarctic regions, would be spotted nimbly romping in the snow, breaking into the barren world with a little life and bustle.
The train I was on passed the Arctic Circle. We crawled through the desolate scenery for one hundred and forty kilometres before arriving at Kiruna.
Kiruna is Sweden’s northernmost city. I had travelled such a long way to the place specifically because I wanted to see the nomadic Lapp tribe.
The worldwide population of the Lapp people has been dwindling for many decades, currently numbering less than ten thousand people. They are spread out over northern portions of Norway, Sweden and Finland in an area known as Lapland.
In the past, the Lapp people were purely nomadic, their livelihood depending completely on the reindeer, whose migration patterns they followed year round. In spring, they pitched tents on the mountain plains, and in the winter they moved to flatter forest lands where they built grass hut
s to live in. In both winter and summer, the reindeer have an ample food supply, and therefore, so did the Lapp people.
A portion of the Lapp population still lives a nomadic lifestyle, but many have also “been baptised into civilisation” and are now city dwellers. In Sweden, for instance, of the eight thousand Lapp people, six thousand live in the city, whilst only two thousand continue to follow the reindeer and live a migratory lifestyle.
In Sweden, Kiruna is the place where modern Lapp culture originated a hundred years ago. In recent years, because Kiruna is rich in mineral resources, it has gradually become a city built on the mining industry. At present, it has a population of 27,000, about ten per cent of whom are Lapp people. Within fifteen miles of Kiruna, there is a little village called Jukkasjarvi, a town through which many Lapp people pass.
The morning I went to Jukkasjarvi, it was overcast and rainy.
The whole village seemed to be asleep. It was oddly desolate and quiet. There were very few people on the road. The way that they dressed was no different from anyone else. There was no obvious “Lapp style”. Later, when I went to the Lapp Museum in the village, I finally reaped some small rewards.
The museum had collected related artefacts and materials from all areas, bringing them together to display the history and lifestyle of the Lapp people. These kinds of dull, static displays gave a passable introduction to their culture, but it was not what I was looking for. What I wanted was to probe the mind of the remaining Lapp people.
Next to the museum was a shop selling all sorts of Lapp handicrafts, such as deerskin shoes or rugs, and wood and bronze carvings. This shop also doubled as a beverage stand. The person in charge of the shop was a girl of about twenty with dark brown hair loosely falling round her plump face. Her full cheeks brought to mind a ripe, juicy peach. She was an extremely polite girl, her broad mouth open in a smile.
I sat at a table and ordered a cup of coffee, then sat slowly sipping it. Business was quite slow in the shop, and the amiable girl smiled at me several times. I put down my coffee and said, “I’ve heard that this town is the Lapp base camp.”
“That’s right,” she said, nodding. “Most of the town’s population are Lapp people. If you came here on Sunday morning, you would see them dressed in traditional wear, going to church.”
“I would really like to find a few Lapp people to talk to. Maybe you know where I might find them?” I asked.
She giggled, and I looked at her in surprise. She gave a slightly embarrassed smile and said, “I am Lapp.”
I was shocked. I had formed in my mind a picture of a Lapp person through the descriptions found in various books I had read. They had rough skin and were of brawny build, their voices loud and feet large. But here before me was a girl who, though she could not be called a beauty, was gentle-looking and seemed quite cultured.
I told her frankly what I was thinking. She laughed softly and said, “Many people have the mistaken idea that the Lapp people are a backward tribe, but in fact, we are a community with our own unique culture, and strong sense of adaptability and independence. Do you know that whether you are talking about a nomadic or city-dwelling Lapp person, not only are they good at the Lapp language, but they also speak at least two other Nordic languages?”
“Did you learn them at school or at home?”
“Oh, the government’s educational system takes special care of the Lapp people, establishing schools both in the mountain plain and flatland, offering us free education so that those children who follow their parents’ nomadic lifestyle will not be deprived of a proper education because of the demands of the road. I myself was educated in this system for primary and secondary school for the past ten years.”
“Oh, you mean you were living a nomadic lifestyle in the past?” I asked with great interest.
“Yes. Two years ago when I graduated from high school, I decided to try to stay in one place and get a job to support myself.” She paused, then continued, “My eight other siblings are all still following my parents as nomads. My family has six hundred head of reindeer, and we need people to look after the herds.”
“Then where have they driven the herds now?”
“It’s summer now, and the slopes are green. They will be staying in the tents there.”
Having spent more than ten years as a nomad with no fixed dwelling, and then moving to the flatlands to work a nine to five job, what had she had to go through in order to adapt to such a completely new lifestyle?
“At first, it really was difficult. Being accustomed to a nomadic lifestyle, I felt like a wild horse, free and easy, all the mountains and plains belonging to me. But after coming here, my whole life changed. Everything was subject to human regulations and restrictions. I felt like someone had tied me up!” She exposed her gleaming, pearly white teeth in a broad smile. “Oh, and when I was a nomad, I worked all day long. I was very fit and never needed to see a doctor. In the two years since I’ve been on the flatlands, I’ve got fat due to the lack of physical work. Now, my whole family says I’m a potato!”
Looking at her short, squat figure, I could not help but laugh. Potato was a perfect nickname for her. What I didn’t get was, if she was so attached to the nomadic lifestyle, why did she want to leave?
“I have my dreams.” She lowered her eyelids, and her voice flowed as gently as water. “I want to go to university. I am very interested in the study of languages. The closest university from here is in a city called Umea, six hundred miles away. I need to work hard for a few years to earn the money for tuition fees.”
This girl really was full of vitality and idealism. Was she considered unusual in the Lapp tribes?
“There are many Lapp people who come to the city to work, but there are not many who hope to go to university. Many Lapp people have not built up enough self-confidence. At the same time, the local society had not yet fully accepted us—”
Saying this, she suddenly stood up and said apologetically, “I’m sorry. It’s time for me to get ready to close the shop. There’s a hotel in Kiruna established just for Lapp people. You can go there and have a look. Oh, let me write down the address for you…”
Taking the slip of paper on which she had jotted down the address, I said thanks and bade her farewell. On my way back to Kiruna, my ears kept ringing with her words filled with regret. The local society has not yet fully accepted us…
I decided that I would go early the next morning to the hotel she had mentioned, hoping I could find more relevant information there.
This Lapp guesthouse was not at all difficult to find. It was right in the centre of Kiruna in a square building like a matchbox. All the staff members were Lapp people, and most of the lodgers were Lapp people from Norway, Sweden, Finland and other Nordic regions.
There were two staff members at the reception area, both women. They sat chatting, but when they saw me pull the door open and come in, they both stood up politely. I let them know why I had come, and the younger one came out from behind the counter warmly clutching my hand and saying in a friendly tone, “Come, let’s go to the reception room and talk.”
In the reception room, this bookish-looking girl, Kristin, frankly poured out the frustrations she felt as a Laplander who had left her nomadic life and moved into the city to work, telling me all the struggles and bitterness she had experienced.
Kristin was eighteen years old and of mixed race. Her father was Swedish, her mother Lapp. They met when they were in secondary school, and when they got together, the couple encountered great opposition. Their friends and family tried to keep them apart, and they were ostracised from society. Though in the end they decided to bravely—and recklessly—face the discrimination and get married, after eight years of marriage, they parted ways.
From her expression, it seemed there were some things Kristin could not bear to look back on. Furrowing her eyebrows, she said, “After such a long time living such vastly different lifestyles, my parents had formed different ways of thinking. Be
ing accustomed to the nomadic lifestyle, my mother reveres nature, likes big families, and takes a hands-off approach to her children’s education. But, my father was more accustomed to an urban lifestyle, so he likes enjoying material comforts, a smaller family, and implements a stricter form of education for the children. But these differences could be resolved through adapting to each other’s ways. To tell the truth, their marriage failed only because it could not withstand the ever-present, but invisible, social pressures.”
Having said this, she bit her lip tightly between her teeth, as if she could hold in her feelings that way. After a long pause, she continued. “Marriages like my parents’, which are not accepted by society, are really too hard. Basically, the Swedish look down on the Lapp people, believing that all of them are uncultured country bumpkins, so they make things difficult for them. At work, they are shunned. In speech, they are insulted. After my father married a Lapp woman, he was almost completely cut off from society. Because he was often the object of ridicule when he was out, when he came home, he became quite intolerant of many little things that he had always been able to accept before. From the time I was old enough to remember, there was not a single day my parents did not argue. Don’t you think that’s pathetic?”
This young woman assumed a very tired expression at this point.
Many “naturalised” urban Lapp people had found that the result of their hard work was that they were not accepted, that they could never receive recognition. They began to feel inferior, even falling into a pattern of self-loathing. Some weak-willed people found that they just could not fit in. Some, becoming dejected, turned to alcohol and got into fights, which just made the local people even more biased and resentful toward them, creating a vicious cycle of conflict.