Daan Oude Elferink



DAAN OUDE ELFERINK – Explore the beauty of decay

“My name is Daan Oude Elferink (Daanoe) and I am pleased to take you to the world behind the ‘no entry’ signs and the locked doors. It offers a glimpse of the beautiful, forbidden world of decay as I see it. You’d be surprised what people leave behind, often for unknown reasons. Beautiful villas, still fully furnished – everything covered in a layer of dust. Hospitals with patient files scattered in the hallways. Theaters and ballrooms, now empty of laughter. Castles where the family photo album still sits on the bookshelf. Memories of what used to be. How did these people live? Why is the place abandoned? What happened? With time, nature starts to take over. As the years pass, buildings and the secrets they keep crumble and decay. On first glance you may see a pile of moldy debris, but look at it with different eyes and you’ll find a breathtaking beauty. Decay ignites the imagination.”

Daan Oude Elferink is born 1978 in Nijmegen, Holland
This will be Daan Oudes first exhibition i Malmö.

During opening night at 19:30 and 21:30;
Daan Oude will present his work and pictures from different spectacular photoprojects.

The nearby Galleri 8 will be open 18-24 during Malmö gallerinatt exhibiting Lars Tunebo where we will show his mixed media work.

Henrik Johansson, “AB IMO PECTORE”

Öppet 29/4 – 4/6 alla dagar kl. 10:00 – 18:00, Välkomna!


HENRIK JOHANSSON – From heart to hand to canvas

Henrik Johansson calls his new exhibition “Abo imo pectore” – “With all my heart”. And, sure enough, he paints with his heart. It makes his hand that holds the brushes and his eyes that choose the colors to listen to the thoughts and obey the impulses that do not have their roots in an academy of art, but just in his heart. In the joy of painting. In the joy of being able to paint.

As it is the joy of heart that rules the art of Henrik Johansson it would be easy to believe that he is one of the so called “Sunday painters”, also known as “the Sacred Heart painters”. The nickname “Sunday painters” goes back to the naïve masters from the years around the former turn of the century, self-taught artists who only were free to paint on Sundays. Among them mainly the Parisian Costums officer Henri Rousseau (1844-1902), who also belonged to those who showed the way into surrealism, the multifaceted reality that hides behind the immediately visible world.

But even if the heart also has guided Henrik Johansson to realities that many times seem to be multifaceted och filled with mystery, it would of course be wrong to call him a naïve artist. That is naïve meaning untrained and childish. It is true that he calls himself an autodidact and by that places himself on the same level as the naïve painters, but he has not been left totally to himself. As a child Henrik Johansson belonged to those kids who always drawn, sketched and painted. When he later should start high school, the choice was easy: it became the craft line with art as the first choice. There he met the artist Thomas Holm, a figurative expressionist with a good eye to classic art. Holm quickly realized the young student’s ability of to achieve and reproduce a motif with an apparently intuitive look for anatomical abbreviations, perspective shifts and nuanced dialogs between light and shadow. He gave his adept a good advice: Study Caravaggio! All that Henrik Johansson was aiming for, this Roman baroque artist had driven to perfection, only 400 years earlier.

And Henrik Johansson followed his advice. Studied Michelangelo da Caravaggio (1571-1610) whose dramatic life and equally dramatic paintings created uproar already in his own time. With him disappeared the Renaissance’s refinement and love for exquisite details. Caravaggio, a homosexual rowdy and fighter with a very short fuse, told in sweeping, yet blood-dripping brush-strokes about violence. About beheadings and crucifixions. With a dramatic headlight light, called tenebroso, he focused the essentials in each work and put the remains in half-light and shadows. He painted flirty androgynous angels. Boys from the streets were used as models for the young Bacchus. Dirty foot soles were placed literally before the eyes of officiating priests when they were exposed on altar paintings. In prolongation Henrik Johansson also adopted two of Caravaggio’s later, contemporary, admirers: the Norwegian Odd Nerdrum and the Dane Michael Kvium, who both have a preference for realistically painted absurdities with domicile in the more obscure outlaying lands of the baroque.

When Henrik Johansson last exhibited at Galleri Final in the beginning of 2014, masterly performed replicas of paintings by Caravaggio were used as backgrounds for different, most often surrealistic, events. In the new exhibition the Italian master only plays a minor role. Fragments from some of his most famous paintings can be seen, but most often as an underlying dimension. As a sort of reference to a zero where all started, in any case for Henrik Johansson. In layer by layer where faces, bodies, parts of bodies, parts of clothes partly overlaps each other, Henrik Johansson plays with our fantasy and our perception. Also here it deals about fragments that are glued together to collage with use of illusory painted pieces of yellow masking tape. He paints a story. An incoherent story and we have to fill in the words ourselves. He gives us a clue, the word HOPE. It reappears as a mantra in quite a lot of works. But hope of what? The answer is with the viewer.

It is like this Henrik Johansson works. No answers are given in beforehand. The paintings are omitted for the viewer’s mindsets, which turns them into barometers. They can swing between hope and despair, between tangible reality and untouchable dreams. Not even the titles of the paintings are to any help. Most often they have no names at all and the fantasy wanders helpless between interpretations that disappear before they were transformed into words. In other paintings Latin quotes confuse. “Dum vivimus, vivamus” – “While we live, let us live”. Let us live with different identities in an all-time changing life where the only move that counts is the move of the body. Or…? And the paint “Persona non grata” – a person not desired. To whom does it refer? To the labourer who in a painting by Caravaggio is helping to rise the cross of St. Peter? To the well-dressed man with a whipped-away face? To the tattooed girl whose body-language is so rejective? The question marks accumulate. As already mentioned, the art of Henrik Johansson leaves no answers, in return it trigs the curiosity.

Britte Montigny

Bertil Warnolf

4 March – 9 April 2017



The artist Bertil Warnolf, living and working in Malmoe, is an illusionist. Ever since his debut at Galerie Holm almost half a century ago, he has enchanted his growing fan base with seemingly photographically precise depictions of objects we usually find around us: a burnt matchstick. Small birds with forest colored plumage (such as can be seen in every bush in a park). A fish. A simple wooden chair. But the illusion scrapes, creates uneasiness. The paintings’ eye deceptive perfection is disturbed by illogical elements. The sense of escapism is interrupted. The fragile matchstick is subjected to undue pressure.  Deprived of the hiding places offered by the bushes, the birds perform equilibristic balance acts. The fish is not only humanized, it is also carefully covered in bandages. Disturbed by “not being more” than a wooden chair it changes shape as a chameleon… The paintings lack of logic houses a surrealistic dimension which clearly indicates that their task is not only to entertain by making the boundary between reality and fiction liquid, but that they also have something to say about the actual reality we live in.  About our earth as fragile as the burnt matchstick. About the birds whose habitat is decreasing for each day that goes by. About the fishes which are torn to pieces by garbage and suffocated by plastic. About the intolerance with everything that is dull and boring. About the accelerating demands of changeability. Behind the naked and coloristically gentle compositions in the paintings by Bertil Warnolf there is hidden a deep seriousness and a great commitment with our time and our earth.

Britte Montigny


Malmökonstnären Bertil Warnolf är illusionist. Ända sedan debuten på Galleri Holm för snart ett halvt sekel sedan har han förtrollat sin växande skara fans med till synes fotografiskt exakta avbildningar av föremål vi oftast finner runt omkring oss: en avbränd tändsticka. Småfåglar med skogsfärgade fjäderdräkter (sådana som kan ses i varje parkbuskage). En fisk. En enkel trästol. Men illusionen skaver, oroar. Målningarnas ögonbedrägliga perfektion rubbas av ologiska skeenden. Känslan av verklighetsflykt kommer av sig. Den sköra tändstickan utsätts för orimliga påfrestningar. Berövade buskagens gömställen utför småfåglarna ekvilibristiska balansakter. Fisken har inte bara förmänskligade drag, den är dessutom omsorgsfullt bandagerad. Trästolen ändrar skepnad likt en kameleont i olust över att ”bara” vara en trästol… I målningarnas bristande logik finns en surreell dimension som entydigt signalerar att deras uppgift inte endast är att roa genom att göra gränsen mellan verklighet och fiktion flytande, utan att de också har något att säga om den faktiska verklighet vi lever i. Om vår jord, lika ömtålig som den avbrända tändstickan. Om fåglarna vars habitat minskar dag för dag. Om fiskarna som skärs sönder av avfall och kvävs av plast. Om ofördragsamheten med det alldagliga. Om tidsaccelerationens krav på ständig föränderlighet. Bakom Bertil Warnolfs avskalade och koloristiskt varsamma kompositioner döljer sig ett djup allvar och ett stort engagemang med vår tid och vår jord.

Britte Montigny

Recension av Carolina Söderholm Sydsvenskan 11 Mars 2017


Anna Clarén

28 January – 26 February 2017



Anna Clarén’s photo art is highly autobiographical. After having seen her latest works I’m tempted to say skinless. Given the title Under, they differ from everything she has built so far on her career. Under might refer to under the surface but could also – in Swedish – be understood as a haul between then and now. Butterflies are responsible for the transport. Nameless butterflies who flutter in the tepid air in Fjärilshuset (The Butterfly House) at Haga. The butterflies bring her back to square one. It was with the butterflies she almost unconsciously entered her photographic path, a couple of decades ago. Then life and success interfered and the butterflies disappeared, maybe because she never was very interested in them to begin with. However, when life demanded a restart they returned. In Under – to borrow from her own words – she merely uses them as symbols of resurrection. I myself even understand them as the artist’s alter ego, the final stage of turning yet in a fixed manner. This time it doesn’t begin with a young girl’s dream of a fulfilling career as a photographer but instead at a  turbulent life crisis that leads to something new and unexplored.

My first encounter of Anna Claréns photographic art took place at Fotografiska in Stockholm during the spring of 2013.  The museum showed Close to Home, an exhibition which has since then reached far and wide and generated a photo book with the same name. It made an immense impression. The motifs were trivial and self-biographical, collected from her closest environments: her kids and husband, her parents and their parents, nature sceneries from Biskops-Arnö, Stockholm or Skåne, places where she had lived during longer or shorter periods. Clean pictures, minimalism stripped off everything but the most essential. Exquisite. What had them differed from all I had seen so far was however, the light and the shimmer of fragile happiness that radiated from it. But it was also alarming. Almost every photo was so filled with light that it seemed to be overexposed. Just a bit more light and the motif would fade and fly away as the morning mists in early summer, as the memories of the past.

The stillness and silence in Close to Home is total and leads thoughts towards artists such as Jan Vermeer van Delft and Wilhelm Hammershøi, both known for creating big and unforgettable art out of trivial acts and empty rooms. But there ends all similarities. Both Wermeer and Hammershøi are quite neutral when they approach their motifs; Anna Clarén loads her poetical and beautiful photos with a minor sued sadness emanating from the understanding of the fragility in life and the moment. It is an understanding that gradually has matured after her award winning debut book Holding, a sort of photographic diary starting from the summer of 2006.  The book awoke the curiosity of the journalist Christoffer Barnekow. He wanted to learn more about her life and the art and met her for an interview in 2009. It was published in Konstkatalogen No 1 the same year. Talking about how her photos had become more and more pale and almost ethereal she answered: “I fear the catastrophe. I’m afraid it will come before I even know it is a catastrophe. I see an accident in slow motion. It will blow, but I don’t know where. Maybe it is this pale. Soon it’s over. Soon it’s gone”.

In 2009 Anna Clarén also started the project Close to Home – all in all about 60 pictures. As an epilog she writes: “Most pictures are taken during 2009 to 2012, during a period when an immense lot of beautiful things were given to me. I have had three children and a husband. We are living in a house in the middle of the beautiful Swedish nature”. And the photos are shimmering of light. And sadness.

In Under the tone is quite different. The tender sadness is transformed into a deeper minor and the color scale is much darker than in Close to Home. The evil forebodings seem to have come true. The family is no longer the focus, nor is the home. In some short lines Anna Clarén writes those grave disappointments a couple of years ago which made her life turn, made her disappear under the surface, blindly swimming. More concrete: She fled to Fjärilshuset på Haga where she more or less lived for six long months, delegating her emotions to her camera and filling thousands of photos with a new poetry. Touching, beautiful. Also this form of poetry is fragile but also darker, more troubled and evidently hunting a resurrection and a new life, a new light. And it is coming. In most of the photos there is, far away, a hint of light to be seen. A dawn. A new day and a new freedom wait outside the secured glass walls.

Britte Montigny


I’m not very interested in butterflies. I do not know the latin names of the different species, how long they live or what they eat. I am after the feeling of being in a state of transition. Of being in-between the old, the ingrained and the safe life behind you and the new, without knowing what the new will be like.  Some might call it a crisis. I think most of us have been there. Maybe in having to go through a divorce or having to say good-bye. In moving away or in changing jobs. This gap in-between can be scary and lonely place.

In the winter of 2015 life took me back to that gap. A series of disappointments forced me to change path, to give up much of what had been my identity. Nothing was the same. In search of something familiar or in search of comfort I went to Fjärilshuset in Haga in Stockholm. During 6 difficult months I took pictures almost every day. One hundred rolls of film were exposed in my camera.

Often I had the feeling of swimming under water. I held my breath and focused on swimming. I told myself –almost there, just a little more, you can do it. Maybe you have to sink, to touch bottom before life can turn into something else? I want to tell a story   about rebirth. A larva that becomes a chrysalis and finally a butterfly.

Anna Clarén
2017-01-12, Biskops-Arnö

Anna Clarén was born in Valje and grew up in Lund in Skåne in the south of Sweden. Her breakthrough as an artist came with the series “Holding”. Her book with the same name was awarded “Photo-book of the year” by the Swedish Photographers Association in 2006. She has also produced the series “Puppy Love” and “Close to Home”. The latter project was exhibited in 2014 in Malmö Museum. Anna Clarén also formed a part of the exhibition “A way of life” on the Moderna Museet (Museum of modern art) in Malmö and Stockholm the same year.

Her latest photo-series “Under” is now exhibited in its entirety for the first time.


Thomas Wågström Photo

17 November – 18 December 2016


Thomas Wågström – In Heaven on Earth

In 2013, photographer Thomas Wågström, based in Stockholm, visited Fabriken Bästekille where he exhibited a selection of his photos and multi-award winning photo-books.

Now he has returned to Scania and Galleri Final with the exhibition “In Heaven on Earth”. A universal dimension but also a summary of the photo-book trilogy “All that is in Heaven” (2012), “Necks” (2014) and “On Earth” (2015). Photos that stop me in my tracks, enticing me to enter them, or rather to enter the trilogy’s different motifs.

Consequently, I do as Thomas Wågström does and look up at the sky. Some clouds are hunting each other. They seem to be having fun. For a couple of seconds my eyes follow them, but soon they have forever disappeared from my horizon, my memory and my life. In the photos by Thomas Wågström, I retrieve my memories of the clouds, of the stories they told, the images they created.

Once again, I do as Thomas Wågström does and I see a neck in front of me. There is nothing beautiful to see. It is aged. Pale. Wrinkled with coarse pores and stray hairs. Anonymous. Uninteresting. But seen through the lens of Thomas Wågströms camera, the necks lose their anonymity. Suddenly they become interesting. Living and almost beautiful. Worth exploring.

I live in a house built steadfast to the ground. When I get the chance to look at the world as birds do, I’m happy to take it. I do as Thomas Wågström does and allow myself a moment of fascination when I notice the proportional displacements caused by the birds perspective (imagine looking up at the

paintings on a ceiling of a 16th century Roman church, but the other way around). But the

moment is short, the distractions too many and soon my eyes are looking in other directions. And as a matter of fact, there is – as far as I can see – nothing special to see. Thomas Wågströms photos tell the contrary.

The “every day” view, the one that notices the abovementioned clouds, necks and proportional displacements, is less about seeing and more about understanding. Continuous realisations that intuitively provide orientation in daily life. It takes more for those negligible motifs and perspective anomalies to get stuck on the retina, as if they were engraved on a copper plate. Something more.

It is this “something more” that Thomas Wågström has the ability to bring out in his exhibitions and photo books. Eight so far. The first, “The Inner Side of Earnest” was edited in 1994. It depicted a group of young men during their rigorous training for the Swedish Coastal Rangers. The camera froze the movements, choked the sound. Only silence remained and a nakedness accentuated, not only by the imagery, reduced to a minimum, but also by the absence of colours. In the black and white pictures, there is nothing that softens, nothing that distracts. Nothing but the rare and compelling beauty of the different shades of grey. The beauty in what is small, in what is almost ugly, in the trivial every day. A suggestive force urges the eyes to see what Thomas Wågström sees through a camera lens as sensitive as a seismograph.

“The Inner Side of Earnest” might be the first of Thomas Wågströms photo books but it is a mature piece of art, created by an artist who had already found his calling. A road that winds away through an unexplored world in black and white. During the years, the nature of this world has changed from the Coastal Ranger’s laborious existence to a shabby boxer that retreats to abandoned cellars, to his grandfather’s workshop on an isolated island in the archipelago of Stockholm and further to clouds, necks and the view from his own balcony on the 13th floor of an apartment building in Stockholm. Thomas Wågströms photos allow me to travel through these worlds. And they teach me how to stop. How to see. How to look upwards. Downwards. All around. A lesson to absorb and to take with you.

 Britte Montigny


Thomas Wågström  – In Heaven on Earth

Sommaren 2013 visade stockholmsbaserade fotografen Thomas Wågström ett urval av sina fotografier och flerfaldigt prisbelönade fotoböcker i Fabriken Bästekille på Österlen.

Nu har han vänt åter till Skåne och Galleri Final med utställningen ”In Heaven on Earth”. I himlen på jorden. I himlen så ock på jorden. En alltomfattande dimension men också en sammanfattning av fotoboktrilogin ”Allt som är i himlen” (2012), ”Nackar” (2014) och ”På Jorden” (2015). Fotografierna får mig att stanna upp och tvingar mig bildligt talat att gå in i dem, eller snarare, in i trilogins motivkretsar.

Jag gör som Thomas Wågström och tittar upp mot himlen. Där leker några molntappar tafatt. De ser ut att ha rätt kul. Jag följer dem med blicken några sekunder, men sedan är de för alltid försvunna ur min horisont, mitt minne och mitt liv. Och även jag har legat på rygg på en sommaräng och läst in en hel zoologiskt trädgård i sommarmolnen. Kvar i minnet finns inte molnens formationer, bara doften av ängens gulmåra och känslan av välbefinnande. I Thomas Wågströms foton återfinner jag mina molnminnen.

Jag gör som Thomas Wågström och ser en nacke framför mig. Jag kan inte se något vackert i den. Den är halvgammal, höstblek. Veckig med grova porer och några förlupna hårstrån. Anonym. Ointressant. Men sedda genom Thomas Wågströms kameralins förlorar nackarna sin anonymitet. Blir plötsligt intressanta. Levande och nästan vackra. Värda att utforska.

Jag bor i ett hus med ständig markkontakt. När jag någon gång får chansen att se på världen med fåglars blick tar jag den gärna. Gör som Thomas Wågström och låter mig för ett ögonblick fascineras av fågelperspektivets proportionsförskjutningar (ungefär som när man tittar upp på  takmålningarna i en romersk 1600-talskyrka, fast tvärtom). Men ögonblicket är kort, distraktionerna många

och ögonen söker sig snart åt annat håll. Det finns ju- såvitt jag kan se – egentligen inget speciellt att se. Thomas Wågströms foton berättar om motsatsen.

Det vardagligliga seendet, det som registrerar till exempel ovannämnda moln, nackar och fågel-perspektivets förskjutningar, handlar egentligen mindre om att se och mer om att registrera. Fortlöpande registreringar som sker automatiskt som en slags orienteringshjälp i tillvaron. Det krävs något mer för att dessa i sig försumbara motiv och perspektiviska anomalier ska fastna på näthinnan, etsa sig fast som vore de graverade på en kopparplåt. Något mer.

Det är detta ”något mer” som Thomas Wågström har förmågan att förmedla med sina utställningar och fotoböcker. Åtta har de blivit genom åren. Den första, ”På insidan av allvaret”, kom ut 1994 och skildrade ett gäng unga grabbar under den tuffa utbildningen till kustjägare. Kameran frös rörelserna, kvävde ljudet. Kvar fanns bara tystnad och en hudlös nakenhet som accentuerades inte bara av bildspråket som reducerats till ett minimum utan också av frånvaron av färger. I de svartvita bilderna finns inget som mildrar, inget som distraherar. Inget utom en sällsam, betvingande skönhet förmedlad av gråskalans schatteringar. Skönheten i det lilla, i det nästan fula, i det banalt alldagliga. En suggererande kraft som tvingar ögonen att se det som Thomas Wågström ser genom ett kameraobjektiv lika känsligt som en seismograf.

”På insidan av allvaret” må ha varit Thomas Wågströms första fotobok men den var ett fullgånget konstverk skapat av en konstnär som redan funnit sin väg. En väg som vindlade sig genom en outforskad värld i svart och vitt. Under åren har den skiftat karaktär från kustjägarnas slitsamma vardag till sunkiga boxarmiljöer i övergivna källarlokaler, till farfaderns snickarbod på en isolerad ö i Stockholms skärgård och vidare till moln, nackar och utsikten från den egna balkongen på trettonde våningen i ett hus någonstans i Stockholm. Thomas Wågströms fotografier gör mig till medresenär på resan genom dessa världar. Men de lär mig också att stanna upp och se. Uppåt. Nedåt. Runtomkring. En lärdom att ta till sig, att ta med sig.

Britte Montigny

Johan Petterson

20 October – 13 November 2016



After five years, Johan Petterson is now back at Galleri Final with a series of New Paintings. On the one hand, they focus on flowers, and on the other, they focus on birds and frogs. This is a new and different world in Johan Petterson’s universe, where human beings, who are often part of his artistic properties, are not welcome. The flowers greet us in their still life composition of artistically moulded garden urns, filled with airy bouquets. At times they conjure up images of flaming roses, but most often they seem to be gathered from an imaginary flora. Linnaeus would have been amazed, but on the other hand – and as Johan Petterson has also asked himself – what do flowers care about their names in Latin? In floral bouquets, everything is a dance between colors and forms (underlined by the balanced encounters between acrylic and oil) as well as variations in textures and shades where names and even species are indifferent.

In these paintings, created as variations on the Flora theme, the brush strokes are rapid, the shapes are implied rather than clearly stated and the colors are carried out by a luminous intensity when they stand out against the backdrops, neutrally maintained in black or gray. In the larger flower paintings, little birds can be found, most often tree sparrows, making their way into the picture, creating a link to the exhibitions’ other dominant motifs: birds from the Nordic fauna. As seen in the Flora paintings, Johan Petterson quite deliberately builds a bridge to 16th century Netherlands, the classical period of big floral compositions. To connect tradition to his art is a typical way for Johan Petterson to work. Not because he believes that “it was better before”, but because tradition is highly useful in looking forward to the future. In true post-modernism spirit, he does not attempt to build walls between “now” and “then”. On the contrary, he wants to preserve, renew and create ways into the future. And that does not only concern his updated floral still lifes, where he seems to capture the fleeting moment in flight. This applies equally to both the landscape and animal paintings, as well as those genres that stem from 16th century Dutch art.

But in Johan Petterson’s studio in Stockholm, landscapes as well as groves of trees and shrubberies sometimes transform into ornamental “no-mans lands” where magpies rest and blackbirds sing on silent summer nights and where small birds play hide-and-seek among the twigs and the majestic necks of white swans materialize out of the black water of a forest lake. When drawn out of their natural environments, we are forced to look at them with new eyes, to experience them as guests in a world that is becoming more and more urban. An owl, who could have been taken from a work of Hieronymus Bosch, sits on a closed gate, a border between two worlds that Johan Petterson leaves to us to define. And the owl, in turn, looks at us with eyes that no longer can be surprised or amazed. In Johan Petterson’s art, the owl acts as a messenger between different realities. A surrealistic trace that is even more accentuated in the painting entitled Mitt i Malmö (In the Middle of Malmö). A title that confuses since there is no connection to Malmö in the painting at all. It depicts a frog – a Scania tree frog, but it can also be a bewitched prince or a princess awaiting that liberating kiss. In Mitt i Malmö , the frog sits on an opalescent circular disk, an oversized dewdrop in the ornamental no-mans land – or is it on a full moon in a distant galaxy? Like the owl, the frog raises many questions, but once again Johan Petterson leaves it to us to find the answers.

Britte Montigny

Malmö Gallerinatt

24 september kl. 18.00-24.00


Malmö Gallerinatt lördagen 24 september kl. 18.00-24.00

Performance av konstnären och musikern Damali Young under hela kvällen.
My concept this evening is “Echoes from another world.”
I grew up in NYC a midst a music and art explosion.
In my style as an Artist and musician this perhaps can be felt.
My sound and style that is steeped in visual aesthetic fuses pop with the avant-garde
when this balance is met, then there is something harmonic happening, something that is very Damali.

Damali Young var Galleri Finals debutant 2016.

Ralph Nykvist Karnevalen i Venedig 1987

Ralph Nykvist The karneval in Venice 1987

POP UP Galleri 31
Retrospectiv Photo exhibition with Ralph Nykvist

Autumn Collection # 1

22 September – 16 October 2016


Groupexhibition with Jean Pierre Amar, Daan Oude Elferink, Camilla Eriksson, Allan Friis, Elna Jolom, May Lindholm, Ralph Nykvist, Gunnar Smolianky, Christer Strömholm, Johan Thunell, Lars Tunebo, Damali Young och Karl Valve

DAMALI – The debutant of the year

14 May – 5 June 2016


Damali Rashawn Young
Born 1972 in Brooklyn, NYC
Lives and works in Malmö

Studies in history of Art at Brooklyn Museum
1987-91 Art and Design High school

This year’s debutante at Galleri Final


Echoes from other worlds
Damali Young, this year’s debutante at Galleri Final, grew up in Brooklyn, NYC, in the 1980s.

The red-hot 1980s, when the young art created a before or since experienced boom.

Warhol sowed the seed when he legalized the mass produced litographies. The lito-art became “in”; became an item of speculations of the same caliber as the tulip bulbs in the 16th century. Artists liked the idea. A growing number of gallery owners rode the wave. Soon they dictated the conditions for “their” artists and made themselves rich – generally at the expense of the artists, who found them-selves reduced to productive tools. Concepts as “artistic freedom” were transformed into myths.

The reaction was not long in coming. In the wake of the graffiti wave of the 1970s a neo-expressive, rebellious and naivistic street art was growing. Young revolting artists as Keith Haring (1958-1990) and the Afro-American Jean-Michel Basquiat (1960-1988) joined in, turned their backs to the galleries and made the street their home. Rappers blared their messages, the hiphop culture blossomed and reached its “golden age”.

It is here Damali Young – wide open to everything that moved on NYs avant-garde art scene – has his roots. And he was torn between visual arts and music. Studies in the technics of art at the school for Art & Design alternated with studies in drum and guitar playing.

To begin with, the music draw the longest straw. Bringing his drums and guitar he came to Europe, to Norway, in the beginning of the 1990s. Got to know Odd Nerdrum (whom he some years later would guide at the museums of New York), before he continued to Paris, London, Berlin eventually to land in Malmö.

The music brought Damali Young to Europe, but art – the need of express himself in images – did not leave him in peace. Through his father, painting artist and photographer, he had art in his blood. Cheered on by his aunt who was interested in art and had noticed his talent, he made drawings, visited museums, created pictures. Made collage where fragments of arts from museums and close up portraits of “femmes fatales” from the previous century mixes with butterflies och nebulae exploding of colors, texts and chemical formulas.

The nebulae lead away from earth, to other worlds, other planets. It is here Damali Youngs robots enter the scene. Robots at one time frightening and friendly painted on old refrigerator doors. Robots are “hot”. On one of his paintings Damali notes: “25% of young people would be ok with dating a Robot. Would your Robot cheat you? Would there be Robot romantic comedies starring Jennifer Aniston? Will your Robot partner protect you in the inevitable Robot uprising?” The answer is given. You can trust your robot. It is programmed to be your friend, your pal, your company, your helper. And it was so it started. Around the age of 12, Damali got a vintage robot – an icon from the 50s- as a gift. A she-robot who only needed two batteries to get moving. In a fit of nostalgia Damali brought her with him when a couples of decades later he moved from Brooklyn to Manhattan. The roof lamp in the combined kitchen, drawing room and bed room worked with a string that ought to be drawn down if it should work. It became the robot’s job to keep the string down. It became a part of the interior, a useful Boris, Camille, Bella, Ken, John… Imaginary guests from Mars. Personalities brought to life on old refrigerator doors.

Britte Montigny


Damali Rashawn Young
Född 1972 i Brooklyn, New York City
Bor och arbetar i Malmö

Konststudier på Brooklyn museum
1987-91 Art and Design High school

Årets debutant på Galleri Final


Ekon från andra världar
Damali Young, årets debutant på Galleri Final, växte upp i Brooklyn, NYC, på 1980-talet.

Det glödheta 1980-talet, då ung konst skapade en varken tidigare eller senare skådad boom.

Warhol sådde fröet när han legaliserade de massproducerade litografierna. Lito-konst blev ”inne”; spekulationsobjekt av samma kaliber som 1600-talets tulpanlökar. Konstnärer nappade på idén. En växande flora av gallerister red på vågen. Snart dikterade de villkoren för ”sina” konstnärer och gjorde sig förmögenheter – oftast på bekostnad av konstnärerna som reducerades till produktiva verktyg. Begrepp som ”konstnärlig frihet” förvandlades till myter.

Reaktionen lät inte vänta på sig. I kölvattnet av 1970-talets graffitivåg var en neoexpressiv, upprorisk och naivistisk gatukonst i antågande. Unga rebelliska konstnärer som Keith Haring (1958-1990) och afroamerikanen Jean-Michel Basquiat (1960-1988) hoppade på, vände gallerierna ryggen, gjorde gatan till sin. Rapparna smattrade fram sina budskap, hiphop-kulturen blomstrade och nådde sin ”golden age”.

Det är här Damali Young – vidöppen för allt som rörde sig på NY:s avantgardistiska konstscenen – har sina rötter. Och han slets mellan bildkonst och musik. Studier i konstnärliga tekniker vid skolan för Art & Design varvades med studier i trum- och gitarrspel.

Till att börja med drog musiken längsta strået.
Med trumma och gitarr kom han i början av 1990-talet till Europa, till Norge. Lärde känna Odd Nerdrum (som han några år senare skulle guida på NY:s muséer), innan han drog vidare till Paris, London, Berlin för att så småningom landa i Malmö.

Musiken förde Damali Young till Europa, men konsten – behovet av att uttrycka sig i bild – lämnade honom inte i fred. Genom sin far, bildkonstnär och fotograf, hade han konsten i blodet. Påhejad av sin konstintresserade faster som såg hans talang, ritade han, besökte muséer, skapade bilder. Gjorde collage där fragment av museikonst och närporträtt av ”femme fatales” från förra sekelskiftet blandas med fjärilar och färgexplosiva nebulosor, texter och kemiska formler.

Nebulosorna leder bort från jorden, till andra världar, andra planeter. Det är här Damali Youngs robotar kommer in i bilden. På en gång skrämmande och vänliga robotar målade på gamla kylskåpsdörrar. Robotar är inne. På en av sina målningar konstaterar Damali: ”25% of young people would be ok with dating a Robot. Would your Robot cheat you? Would there be Robot romantic comedies starring Jennifer Aniston? Will your Robot partner protect you in the inevitable Robot uprising?” Svaret är givet. Du kan lita på din robot. Den är programmerad för att vara din vän, din kompis, ditt sällskap, din hjälpbreda. Det var också så det började. I 12-årsåldern fick Damali en vintagerobot- en ikon från 1950-talet – i present. En hon-robot som bara krävde två batterier för att fungera. I ett anfall av nostalgi fick roboten följa med när Damali ett par decennier senare flyttade från Brooklyn till Manhattan. Taklampan i det kombinerade köket, vardagsrummet, sovrummet reglerades med ett snöre som måste vara neddraget för att lampan skulle lysa. Det blev robotens jobb att hänga i snöret. Den blev en del av inredningen, en ”hyresgäst” som gjorde nytta. Hon-roboten blev en person, fick ett namn, drog till sig likasinnade: Bruce, James, Boris, Camille, Bella, Ken, John… Imaginära gäster från Mars. Personligheter som väcks till liv på gamla kylskåpsdörrar.

Britte Montigny