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This is the story of a boy. A boy who followed his urge to do something. Not something big, but something that felt important, at least to someone he didn't know.
Yet…
Eleven years down the road, it might be time to admit that none of this started with a grand spreadsheet, a big business plan or any real idea of where it would end up.
I just wanted to create a place where ideas could live a little longer than usual.
Back then, I think I was mostly reacting to a shift in the culture around me.
The familiar social platforms were changing, the way we communicated was changing, and as an artist it could be surprisingly hard to figure out where you were actually supposed to go if you wanted to meet people, show something, start something or just have a conversation that didn't disappear into a feed.
I knew that feeling myself.
At the same time, I also had this growing thought: where the hell do you look if you want to experience something outside the usual high-culture machinery?
I figured I probably wasn't the only one asking.
So in 2015 I started what was then called Novam Artem.
The first event was Kunst i Kaffen, an art walk around Nørrebro.
It was basically built from people I didn't really know, places I had mostly visited because I was thirsty for coffee, and an idea that somehow seemed worth trying.
Nothing particularly grand, but enough to get things moving.
That feeling has probably followed Art Monday ever since.
LIKE WRITING A SONG WITH A BAND
One thing I definitely brought with me from earlier creative work was the idea that you don't always need to arrive with the finished version.
If you write something together, the interesting part often happens when other people enter the room. Someone brings a starting point, someone else changes the direction, and suddenly you're building something that none of you would have made alone.
That was very much how I approached Art Monday from the beginning.
I could find a venue, make a basic plan and create some kind of frame, but I didn't want to arrive with a finished answer. The point was to find out what could happen when other people stepped into it. Maybe that is also why I have never really fitted neatly into one role. Gallerist, curator, publisher, organiser, practical sparring partner, artist.
Probably a bit of all of it.
With projects like this, you can't really separate the romantic part from the practical part anyway.
At some point somebody still has to move the table, hang the work, write the text, answer the messages and figure out why the fucking extension cord isn't long enough.
Sometimes you simply have to jump in at the deep end.
_to be continued!
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