Meet the sculptures in Slagelse Kommune

I stand here, with my head in the clouds and gaze down. The viola flowers in my hand are called viola tricolor in Latin - a language the gifted Jens Baggesen from Korsør had, of course, mastered. I am an artistic interpretation, cast in bronze. My creator was the sculptor Julius Schultz. He travelled to Paris in his youth and returned to Denmark a naturalist.

Like his French role models, the sculptor wanted to depict his subjects with the utmost precision. Unfortunately, Baggesen had long lain in his grave in a cemetery in Kiel. Schultz, therefore, had no true model, but luckily there were portraits he could refer to. The clothes I am wearing were common in the poet’s time. The shoes with their buckles also seem to be authentic. If Baggesen could see me, he would surely recognise himself. My weight rests on one leg, with a bend at the hip, it makes me look lifelike. This technique is known as contrapposto and is known from ancient times.

Julius Schultz sold the original casting to the National Gallery of Denmark in 1901. Korsør later ordered one, and that became me. I am neither a copy nor an original, just Jens Baggesen number two. Peter Lausen the master cobbler came up with the idea, and donations were collected amongst the town’s citizens. I believe that this would be known as crowdfunding today. The now-defunct weekly Illustreret Tidende (The Illustrated Times) reported from the festivities at my unveiling. The chairman of the Monument Committee, Mayor Charles Nanke, thanked everyone who had contributed to the erection of a statue of Korsør’s famous son. He also thanked those who had honoured the unveiling with their presence.

I was hidden under a great cloth. The photographer took a picture just after it fell. I can still hear the applause. I have been standing here in Havnepladsen square since 1906, more years than the eldest Korsørnian could ever achieve. I could be regarded as a citizen of a sorts. The old iron fence and some young trees keep the surroundings at bay. My area resembles an isolated island. At times, I feel more like a stranded Robinson Crusoe than Jens Baggesen in the centre of Korsør.

Jens Baggesen. Julius Schultz (1851-1924). Bronze. Erected in 1906.

Text by author Gitte Broeng.

My cane is cast in bronze and my hat is carved granite. I’m standing in front of the beautiful church barn, which was built from monk bricks more than 500 years ago. There’s a marble plaque built into the gable with the inscription: “THAT THE SLAGELSE LATIN SCHOOL HAS PRODUCED SUCH MEN AS” and their names are listed underneath. I will suffice with naming Hans Christian Andersen. He arrived in Slagelse on the 26th of October 1822.

Girls were not allowed to attend the Latin school. Poor boys didn’t have much of a chance either, but support from a foundation helped the 17-year-old Andersen to achieve an elementary education. Important people around him believed that he should develop his talents. Slagelse Latin School at this time was no longer located in the church barn but had moved to Bredegade street. The house where H.C. Andersen and his much younger classmates were educated was demolished long ago. He lived in the town until the summer of 1826. His school life was, apparently, quite bothersome: “…soon lay the old Slagelse, that I, not just for the sake of rhyming, call Plagelse, behind me” he wrote in a letter to his friend, the author B.S. Ingemann in Sorø.

A top hat and cane are now heavily associated with H.C. Andersen. In his day and age, these things were quite common. Many fine gentlemen wore a top hat and carried a cane in public. During the 1800s, men and women never left their homes without some kind of head-covering. It would be like strolling down Rosengade street today, without trousers or a skirt - just wearing underwear. Customs and practices change over time. H.C. Andersen’s texts, however, stay much the same. His words are preserved on the books’ pages and have been translated into countless languages.

There are statues of H.C. Andersen all over the world. Many depict him in imposing pieces with a top hat and cane. I, on the other hand, am an underplayed interpretation who has found a place in the townscape. A portrait, without face or body. The sculptor Olaf Manske Andersen only focusses on the two items – the hat and the cane – which symbolise the writer. The placement of the sculpture near the memorial plaque provides more historical layers. Nothing more is needed for H.C. Andersen to be conjured up. I contribute discretely to the town’s identity.

With hat and cane. Olaf Manske Andersen (1957- ). Granite and bronze. Erected in 2005.

Text by author Gitte Broeng.

We are three sculptures in my group. Created by sculptor Erik Varming for the Slagelse Savings Bank in 1988. The bank no longer exists, but we do. Until recently, I and the two others stood on Nytorv square in a triangular formation, that people could freely walk through. Varming cut our organic shapes from granite. They look like something from the inside of a body. We resemble bones, joints and other anatomical parts.

Nature has been Varming’s preferred subject over the years, especially people and animals. To begin with, his style was more true to life, but his modes of expression later evolved in an abstract direction, with a more relaxed approach to the theme. I and my group are one of the results of this development. Our grouping only seems to underline the uniqueness of each individual sculpture and the opportunities for transformation each shape holds.

It still feels unfamiliar to stand on soft grass, just a few metres from the banks of the lake in the park. There were stones here before. Charming older buildings with shops and cafés on the ground floor were familiar neighbours. Moving from Nytorv square has provided us with views of swimming ducks. The approximately 220-year-old toll booth stands on the opposite bank. Until the late 1700s, farmers and traders paid a toll to bring goods into town to sell at the market. The booth was originally on Smedegade street but was moved and reconstructed on Parkvej street in 1928.

We all agree, in our group, that the little red and yellow half-timbered house provides a lovely contrast to the towering flood lights above Slagelse Stadium. The soundscape here is characterised by an abundance of animals, they weren’t present in Nytorv square. Perhaps our organic shapes fit in better with the park’s natural setting. I still haven’t made up my mind about this or discussed it with the others. Today, art is created in public spaces more and more as temporary projects with defined goals – like to assist with the development of a town. The artist facilitates social meetings between people, instead of creating pieces. Who knows, perhaps there won’t even be room for permanent art in urban spaces in the future.

Sculpture Group. Erik Varming (1942- ). Granite. Erected in Nytorv square in 1988 and later relocated to the park.

Text by author Gitte Broeng.

Justitia and I are goddesses. She is blindfolded and holds a set of scales and a long sword. The sculptor Rasmus Harboe made her out of maiolica – a special kind of Italian pottery with designs painted over a white tin-glaze. Perhaps he learnt the technique on one of his many study tours in Italy. For many years, Harboe worked in the earthenware pottery factory ‘Aluminia’ where he created, amongst other things, Christmas reliefs and children’s welfare plates. The sculptor originally came from Skælskør.

The colourful Justitia stands in her niche and decorates the façade. She matches the architecture of F.C.C. Hansen’s neo-Gothic town hall from 1896. Under her feet is the inscription: “OBEY THE LAW”. Even though the Goddess of Justice cannot see, I still feel her looking over my shoulder. My back is turned to her and I only caught a glimpse of Justitia when I was placed in the square in 1946. She, and the town hall, had already been her for half a century.

In contrast to the clothed Justitia, my voluptuous body stands completely naked. I am the original Pomona, by Johannes Bjerg, I am cast in bronze. Pomona was the goddess of orchard fruits and gardens. Some will perhaps recognise her from the Roman poet Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Pomona was a wood nymph, “She cared for neither forests nor rivers, loving instead tilled fields and trees bearing lush and abundant fruit.” In his interpretation, Bjerg predominately adhered to a neo-Classical mode of expression, clearly inspired by Greek and Roman art. In one hand, I hold an apple, and in the other a branch from a pear tree, my hair is entwined with fruit tree branches. Beneath my feet is a wreath of leaves with pears and apples.

In this place I, of course, symbolise the fertile area around Skælskør, which has a rich tradition of fruit production. But I also know of a Pomona in Odense, and one in Reykjavik. None of the others have been placed above a fountain like me. That is why I am known as The Pomona Fountain. My surrounding park, with its benches and lovely proportions are often empty. The Skælskørians would rather visit the harbour, and the newfangled Svanetorv square. They seem to have forgotten my fertile presence.

Pomona. Johannes Bjerg (1886-1955). Bronze. Erected in 1946. Rasmus Harboe (1868-1952). Justitia, maiolica. Erected in 1896.

Text by author Gitte Broeng.

I am meant to portray King Christian IX on a horse. We equestrian statues occupy a particular genre within sculptural art that can be traced back to ancient times. Historically, we have celebrated rulers or victors, and have stood in public spaces and served as symbols of power. These days we are an endangered species. Mostly because cars have replaced horses and democratic societies refrain from setting powerful people up on pedestals.

They no longer erect new equestrian statues. I have, though, heard of a modern version, a permanent statue standing in front of the Arken art gallery, it has also been on display in Trafalgar Square in London, near the monument for the war hero Lord Nelson. The bronze statue depicts a boy sitting on a rocking horse. As an elderly equestrian statue, I feel a little as if I am being made fun of. Here in Schweizerpladsen square, I am taller than all the other sculptures around me. Everyone can see who was here first.

The sculptor Ludvig Brandstrup had the assignment to create me. There was already another equestrian statue of King Christian IX in Esbjerg that Brandstrup had made. A collection was made amongst the citizens of Slagelse and surrounding area after the king’s death in 1906. It took many years to raise enough money, and during this time, critics complained that the funds could be used for something more sensible. But I was created and unveiled on the 9th of June 1910. The Danish royal family attended the festivities, their platform was just a few metres away from me.

For many modern people, King Christian IX was just another number in the sequence of kings. I can tell you that he was enthroned in 1863, as the first Danish king from the Glücksborg lineage. He was quite unpopular for most of his reign. First there was the great defeat of 1864 and the loss of the duchies to Germany. Later came the extended constitutional battle ending with a change in the political system in 1901. The king then, finally, desisted from trying to appoint the government himself without a parliamentary majority. Sometimes I wonder why I have been erected as a monument to celebrate him. Perhaps the equestrian statues in Esbjerg, Odense, Copenhagen and Aalborg think the same. But by all accounts, King Christian IX was loved in his later years and I am still the king of Schweizerpladsen square.

Christian IX. Ludvig Brandstrup (1861-1935). Bronze. Erected in 1910.

Text by author Gitte Broeng.

In Slagelse I am known as The Slagelse Girl. My original title was Seated Girl. There are other girls like me elsewhere in Denmark. The sculptor Gerhard Henning modelled the original figure in 1936 and the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek immediately commissioned a sculpture of Bremen sandstone. Seated Girl was completed in 1938. She can be found at the Glyptotek museum in Copenhagen. The rest of us are later versions, cast in bronze or artificial stone.

As for myself, I was donated by the Slagelse Beautification Committee and erected in front of the town hall in 1963. In my current location, I am slightly protected from the wind and rain by the modern entrance. But my face and body are disintegrating. The repairs disfigure me. At times, I dream of a new existence, in bronze, which is a stronger material. On the other hand, my granulated and pale figure has, until now, been an essential part of me. If someone asked all the versions of Gerhard Henning’s Seating Girl about who felt most at home where they sat, I would probably win. I am not aware of any others who have been named after their town. The name is even inscribed on my pedestal

Gerhard Henning’s favourite subject was the female form. He created numerous variations on the theme. Figures in seated positions, lying or standing as in, for example, Modern Girls from 1930, which stands in the Glyptotek’s garden. His mode of expression was both modern and classical. The sculptor’s efforts to depict dynamic bodies in balance can be clearly see. Even though I am static and sitting, my shape conveys movement. The placement of my hands on the ground creates a turning of the torso, and one knee is lifted as if, at any moment, I might stand up. At the same time, I convey a mysterious calmness.

Sitting here at the Slagelse Town Hall, I witness newlyweds stepping out into a shower of rice. The ritual confused me to begin with, but rice is a symbol of the seeds of a new life. Under the right conditions, grains would surely germinate between the stones in the Town Hall Square. I regularly play with the thought of a fresh casting of myself. Imagine being able to sit without any cracks and congratulating the people of Slagelse.

Slagelse Girl. Gerhard Henning (1880-1967). Artificial stone. Erected in 1963.

Text by author Gitte Broeng.

Svanetorvet - the Swan Square is named after me. Before I arrived, this was just a space between the row of houses and a carpark. My title is The Ugly Duckling Fountain, but I am also known as The Swan Fountain. Not many fountains have given a name to their surroundings like I have. Look at The Stork Fountain in Copenhagen, it must suffice with Amager Square.

The water-jets spray into my pool and form ripples on the surface. Hans Christian Andersen’s tale about the cygnet who hatched in a duck yard, was the inspiration for the American sculptor Marshall M. Fredericks. Standing on a short pedestal, the ugly duckling spreads its short, bronze wings. Its beak is open, and its neck is stretched towards the swan, which is also made of bronze and stands at the opposite end of the pool - high in the sky with air beneath its wings. In the tale, the cygnet sees a flock of adult swans while escaping from the duck yard, and it sets out towards them, not knowing they are of the same kind. Fredericks captures this moment. At the same time, he portrays the transformation from ugly duckling to beautiful swan. The sculptor is behind many public works and even has a museum named after him. If I could, I would visit the Marshall M. Fredericks Sculpture Museum in Michigan, it contains more than 200 of his works. I am, in a way, related to them.

Monuments in public spaces usually commemorate a historical event. I am a more personal kind of monument. The Danish-American Karl Larsen donated me in 1984, in memory of his childhood in old Skælskør. He was originally educated as a salesman but emigrated at a young age and apparently would rather draw. Larsen lived most of his life in the USA and worked as a self-taught advertising and caricature illustrator with his own studio in Detroit. After becoming a pensioner, he also took up painting. The Skælskør local museum owns several of his paintings.

I believe that Karl Larsen donated me to the town, because he could relate to the tale of finding his true identity a long way from home. But everyone knows my famous subject from the story. I, therefore, see myself as a personal monument, that is also universal.

The Swan Fountain. Marshall M. Fredericks (1908-1998). Bronze. Erected in 1984.

Text by author Gitte Broeng.

As the old saying goes: “Honesty is the best policy”. The sculptor Torben Kapper made me out of bronze. Despite using a traditional material, his chosen subject challenged the public’s expectations about what kind of sculptures should be displayed in Gammeltorv square, at least if you go by my reception.

Part of me is lying down, providing a view of my hollow insides. Plaster is used in the process to cast a sculpture like me. The powder is stored in bags, which are soft and easy to stack. Torben Kapper has chosen to feature these otherwise invisible art-production items as my theme. The tallest stack appears to have fallen over. The interplay between vertical and horizontal lines create movement in my composition. I am also spreading out into the square. The entire piece resembles a foundry, full of work and mess.

Bronze sculptors don’t normally invite people to peek into their workshop. They are too busy portraying famous people, legendary figures and abstract forms. Instead, I depict how I have been created and what I look like inside. My solid forms are in fact empty shells. The bags seem soft but are actually hard. The hands of passers-by regularly brush my surface to feel my texture. I see myself as an honest sculpture that explains my own creation and challenges expectations.

Every now and then, I think of the opera Carmen. The world premiere in Paris in 1875 really didn’t go well. The critics were outraged about the realism of the work. A few months later, the composer George Bizet died with the impression that he had created a great fiasco. But Carmen quickly gained popularity, which it retains today. Art isn’t just about popularity, but it is still worth considering, as attitudes and tastes can change over time. The Little Mermaid sat all alone on Langelinie for the first decades of her life, because the Gefion Fountain stole all the attention. Danes at that time were excited about Norse mythology and legends. It was only after the Second World War that she finally became famous, especially with the tourists. That story has taught me many things.

Untitled. Torben Kapper (Born in 1965). Bronze. Erected in 2010. A

Text by author Gitte Broeng.

The sculptor Keld Moseholm failed to give me a name. There is a freedom in being Untitled, for me and my spectators. I am regarded as more open. Every now and then, however, I do envy the boats in the harbour for their names…

Skælskør is connected to the rest of the world through the seaways. At the bottom of my pedestal, the four corners of the world have been marked. To the north is the bridge between the east and west parts of town. The fence has curlicues and a colourful town’s arms depicting the town’s unique geography. The architect P.V. Jensen-Klint designed the milestone in the square. His model of the milestone won a competition in 1910 and the design has been used in other areas of Denmark. Jensen-Klint is probably most famous for designing the Grundtvig Church in Copenhagen, and for inventing the pleated Le Klint lampshade. He was born in Mineslyst at Holsteinborg, about 13 kilometres from here.

My pedestal is cut from granite, as is the milestone, but it resembles more an obelisk erected as an ornament or memorial. In the year 37 AD, the Roman emperor Caligula shipped an obelisk from Egypt to Rome. The monument stands in the centre of St Peter’s Square. Like other obelisks, it has four sides that narrow to the top, ending in a small pyramid. On the top of my round column, on the other hand, you will find a plump windsurfer. The man is cast in bronze and has a simplified shape, which emphasises his comical stature. The same kind of man can be seen in several of Moseholm’s other works.

In Untitled, which is me, the windsurfer contrasts with the column’s stability, with his discordant body and sweeping movement. The pedestal contains a discrete metal sign. The inscription reads that I was donated by Skælskør Bank on the occasion of the bank’s 125th birthday in 2001. Just like the collapse of the Roman Empire, the bank ceased to exist. It happened during the financial crisis. I stand here, unchanged, but can be regarded in a different, shadier light today.

Untitled. Keld Moseholm (Born in 1936). Bronze and granite. Erected in 2001.

Text by author Gitte Broeng.

Isenstein has signed his name on my uppermost right corner. His first name was Harald. He named me Youth. I am a relief, cast in plaster. Unlike the sculptures near the entrance, I am not a free-standing statue, I hang on the wall of the library. Two young people emerge from my surface, a woman and a man. Their faces are in profile. They are both naked and seated. A cloth hides their genitals. He is holding her hand, and their legs and arms are entwined. I sense a hesitant intimacy between them, that will develop into something more.

The German-born sculptor and art teacher, Harald Isenstein, studied at the academy of art in Berlin and was part of the city’s artistic community until 1933. As a Jew and member of the Resistance, he fled to Denmark. His mother’s family came from Copenhagen. His early works were almost totally lost in Nazi Germany. After the war, Isenstein became a Danish citizen and created portraits of, amongst others, Niels Bohr, Karen Blixen and Queen Margrethe. His most famous piece, however, is a bust of Albert Einstein from 1924, which can be seen at Einsteinturm in Potsdam. The Nazis renamed the observatory after their takeover and removed all traces of Einstein. The bust only survived because some staff members managed to hide it.

Apart from his work as a sculptor, Isenstein was also a proficient art teacher. He taught art to children and adults, wrote papers and regularly appeared on the radio and television. As the years progressed, his rate of exhibitions decreased, but his desire to interpret the world visually never vanished. He left behind more than 7000 pieces, mostly watercolours and sketches.

Isenstein’s widow gave the collection to Korsør Municipality, and Kongegaarden has been home to the Isenstein Collection for more than 30 years. I have been kindly lent out from Kongegaarden and was installed here in 1988 to decorate the library. The overhang protects me from wind and rain, but I still often feel vulnerable and exposed, like other outdoor artworks in public spaces. Not everyone will leave us alone. The birds and animals can be forgiven. Humans ought to know better.

Youth. Harald Isenstein (1898-1980). Plaster. Erected in 1988.

Text by author Gitte Broeng.

Day in and day out, I carry a vessel which is always full of water. The weight of it curves my back. But still, I don’t seem weighed down. My youthful strength doesn’t allow those kinds of associations. I am The Water Bearer from 1929, the sculptor J. J. Bregnøs’ interpretation of the Greek legend of the Danaids’ barrel.

Myths and legends are oral accounts about events that are said to have taken place. In Korsør, Athens or anywhere else on the globe, stories are passed from generation to generation, and some are even written down. It is said that the Danaids were forced to marry their cousins, but they murdered their husbands immediately after the wedding. As punishment, the Danaids had to fill a perforated barrel with water, in Hades in the underworld. The task was futile, like the myth of Sisyphus and his wasted efforts.

My work in Caspar Brands’ Square is a closed circle. Though it looks more like a game than anything else. The water flows from the vessel down my naked body and then to the open animal mouths on the levels below. It’s as if I am providing them all with water. Bregnø had a talent for sweetness and harmony. The developer H.J. Henriksen covered all expenses. They say that he was a tax cheat, and that I was a kind of plaster on the sore. It is also said that he despised the municipality’s tax-collector and ensured that my backside filled the view from his office window. But maybe that is just a myth.

Amongst the pavers in the Town Hall garden, is a small stone laid in memory of an ordinary citizen and popular employee of the municipality: Stig Hansen, Executive Officer of Korsør Town Hall. I knew him well. We were colleagues of a sort, both kinds of water bearers. In 2004 he bequeathed his life savings to Korsør Municipality through a trust fund for general and cultural purposes. Korsør and Halskov have since donated several works of art. Amongst them, a sculpture in memory of Hansen, which is hidden around the corner. A few years ago, I got a new lease on life after a thorough restoration. I hope that this might happen again around 2100. My potential for eternal life depends on the goodwill of future generations.

The Water Bearer. J.J. Bregnø (1877-1946). Bronze and travertine. Erected in 1929.

Text by author Gitte Broeng