presents:

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VENI, VIDI... VIGGO VICIT
or Confessions of a Twice Converted Fan

Disclaimer: This is a story of my visit to Ephemëris exhibition in Odense in July 2003. Although persons and events described below are real, I don't claim to be objective at all. I'm describing them from my very subjective point of view.

Prelude

From the beginning it was obvious, that if decided to travel alone, I would find thousand excuses not to go. So in my very first post on VM discussion board I asked (almost rhetorically) if there is someone from Germany going to see the Odense exhibition after the first wave of fans is over. One person posted back. Toffee from Bremen. Bremen is far away too, it is actually the other end of the country from where I live, but it lies in the right direction and to get there is much easier than to get to Odense. Oh, well, let's give it a chance.

We managed to fix a date. I get days off my work, so there is no need to hurry and to make the whole trip during one weekend. We both want to take a closer look at Denmark, so the journey won't be only a two fans' pilgrimage. There is a chance for a nice, interesting trip.

To make the waiting more bearable, we exchange emails with reports from those lucky ones who got tickets for opening and poetry reading. I send a very emotional report from Susanne from Holland, found on the "Many Faces" web site (go there); in exchange I get another one, very thoughtful and calm, written by Maike from Berlin, found on Antipodean Viggophile (go there). Meanwhile Toffee looks for an accommodation and soon we have a place to stay. We also get to know that the museum store has Viggo's books. Well, I'm taking a look at its home page. The prices are very high, about 10 Euro higher than at Perceval Press, but at least we can take a look inside, before ordering them from US. And we are going to meet a third Viggofan in Odense, another Susanne, this time from Sweden. It gets more and more interesting...

There is one line in Maike's report I have to think about all the time: at the opening some people were lucky to get background information on some photographs from Lis Steincke, the curator. Unfortunately I can't find Maike's email address, so I write to Viggophile asking to forward my question: are there any information beside titles attached to the pictures? Does the museum make guided tours? No answer. Surely Maike has left for summer holidays.

When I got this fantastic idea to ask people at the museum, it's Wednesday and there are 3 days to leave. The answer comes next day. Yes, there is a possibility of taking a guided tour, but it costs 300 dkr (some 40 Euro) and we have to make an appointment in advance. Above that, Lis Steincke is on vacation and someone else would be our guide.

Well, anybody having something interesting to say is ok for me, but 40 Euro is quite a bunch of money. It wouldn't kill me, but I'm not SO MUCH a fan. On the other hand, divided by 3 it becomes interesting... The only problem is, the whole day Toffee and Susanne are out of rich, so I cannot ask them if they're interested and willing to pay.

I have to wait until Friday evening, to get "go" from them both for Monday at 1:00 PM. I mail to the museum with a bad feeling that it is much too late now, and that we missed a great opportunity. The museum staff doesn't seem to make tours every day.

Saturday, 26th of July
Heilbronn - Bremen

Is there something more annoying than a sound of a pouring rain when you wake up at the morning? Especially in the morning you're going to leave for a journey? All joy and excitement of the last days disappears at once. Suddenly the whole expedition seems totally senseless. But I have a ticket in my pocket and everything is arranged, so I don't have a choice.

There is still time before I have to leave, so I take a look at the weather forecast for Odense on Yahoo! Sunday: rain. Monday: showers. Tuesday: rain. And more rain. I pack some warm clothes. Then I look for new messages in my mailbox. Nothing but spam.

When I find no answer on Saturday noon, I have to fight the idea to unpack my stuff and stay at home. At least the rain stops before I have to go, so I get to the railway station without getting wet.

Somehow my first train manage to come on time, so I can catch my InterCity Express from Wuerzburg to Bremen. Only that I have to stay in the smoking compartment. And there is this awful kid screaming and whining all the time, so I cannot concentrate on articles about Viggo and another Odense reports that I printed and brought with myself. Instead I look at the heavy clouds outside and worry how me and Toffee will get along. We don't know each other at all, and we're going to be close together for at least three days. Isn't it crazy? I was never a fan of anyone, and suddenly at 36 I decide to travel two days long only to see some photographs!

I don't have to search for my companion at the station in Bremen. It is enough to look for a redhead, and I see her from the train already. It's Toffee - she looks exactly like the picture she send me yesterday.

Soon a small talk becomes more intensive conversation. We are extremely different, but there are many surprising similarities between us. Like us both being Gemini, like the preference for instant coffee, the same cereal bars, and the same (rather unpopular) music; and even how we became aware of Viggo after seeing documentations to FOTR on DVD. Somehow along the chaotic discussion, we manage to fix our route and plan the next days. I go to sleep with an aching throat. It's long time since I had a chance to talk so much.

Sunday, 27-th of July
Bremen - Odense

It rains all day, exactly like the forecast has told us. We have still stuff to chat about. Toffee's memories from many SF-Fan Conventions she attended make me feel more... normal.

I'm so much in talking, that I mix up south and north on the highway exit and instead of going toward Odense we take the other direction, making an unintentional sideseeing before we notice the mistake and turn. Once on the right way, we can easily find our "Bed & Breakfast" using a map from the internet.

Our room is bright and arranged with the obviously typical scandinavian purity, but nicer then all hotel rooms I saw before. In the guest book we can find notes left by people from the whole world, among them some lines from two ladies from Germany, that came here for the opening. One of them recommended the place to Toffee.

We decide to walk to the city almost immediately, because the rain has just stopped. We choose a route through a park along a river. Odense seems to be a quite small town, so soon we find Brands Passage and the museum. There is no way to oversee it. We pass the Magasinet entrance and I have to laugh, because there is a hole in the glass door, and it looks like if somebody very tall had smashed it with his/her head. Surely I'm wrong, but it is hard NOT to connect the damage with the fan rush before the poetry reading a month ago.

We go to the museum's shop to take a first glance at Viggo's books. Toffee buys "Recent Forgeries" that is out of stock at Perceval, I want to look at it more closely first. I find two nice posters of another artists and decide to buy if I'll be still wanting them tomorrow.

We have a dinner at a nearby restaurant and then go to look for some internet café. We find one soon and I check my emails again, founding nothing but spam. It looks like we're not going to have this guided tour tomorrow. If we had an appointment, they would let us know already, for the gallery is open on weekends too. Sigh... Good ideas always come too late. At least my good ideas.

I change my mailbox preferences to get an SMS notification about each new email, and than we send some greetings to Yahoo! groups. Toffee writes about a guy working at the bookstore who grinned at her, as if he wanted to say "well, the next weirdo's here". He must have seen things during last weeks...

Our B&B room is very quiet, but somehow I cannot sleep this night.

Monday, 28th of July
Odense, Museet for Fotokunst

A cup of excellent coffee and equally excellent breakfast bring me to the realm of living. This time the weather forecast failed, because it is already warm and patches of blue sky can be seen among the clouds. We walk again trough the park. Toffee tries to reach our fellow fan from Sweden, but there is only a speaking machine on the other side and it speaks Swedish. We send an SMS asking for a call ASAP, and soon there is Susanne on the phone. She is in the gallery already awaiting us.

When we approach the city my mobile phone gets an SMS. I'm sure that somebody tries to sell me Viagra again (as it went on and on since yesterday), but this time I see an museum's email address on my display. A little late, I think. Now we can go and personally ask Brandts' employee what she's written in her last message.

So we do as soon as we arrive at the museum. A nice lady tells us we have an appointment for 1:00 PM. But there is even more: the tickets are for the whole day so we can come and go as we want. So we can take the first glance at the exhibition now, find Susanne, then make a lunch break and come back at 1:00.
I think I love Denmark!

Susanne recognizes us immediately. We chat a while, before me and Toff start our own tour through the exhibition.

Along with being a Greek word for "Diary", "Ephemëris" is an astronomical term and means "a collection of tables giving the positions of the sun, moon and planets at regular intervals during the year". Somehow this second meaning works better for me, because it emphasizes the aspect of space. For me Viggo's pictures seem to be more like coordinates on some time-space map than a story. And the term "ephemeral" suits them equally good.

Actually, I'm not good in analyzing art. I like a certain piece or I don't and I seldom can find arguments for it. Maybe I lack some kind of sensitivity that would let me dig deeper. Surely I lack patience, sometimes even to pay attention to my own thoughts. Viggo's pictures intrigue me, but please, don't ask me why. I am more a practical person and in some cases I wonder how the photographs were made. I've read something about broken camera and lose lenses, but it made me even more curious. Years ago I was developing my own negatives and prints, so I can call myself an interested amateur, and processing pictures (although digitally) is a part of my job now, so instead of searching for meanings, me and Toffee soon find ourselves discussing focus, grain or "effects".

We talk a little too loud, giggling and fooling around like two teenagers. At the picture of a dead animal (a cat?) lying on the roadside we try to figure out, how it was made, and we end with an image of Viggo driving around and stopping at every dead animal to make a photo. Crawling on the ground to get the right perspective and holding his nose. I'm not drunk but I feel like this. What is it? Mix of sleep deprivation, endorphines and adrenaline? Am I excited? Am I nervous? Why?

When we enter the section with the circular pictures I want to tear them off the walls and take with me. Some of them I've never seen before. All of them are, eh... just... beautiful. At the same time the practical part of my mind wonders how it is possible for a lens to get loose in a way that causes this "fisheye" effect and still let the motives stay in focus.

And again, we jokingly discuss that every other "normal" person would throw the camera away or fix it, but Viggo - well, he uses the chance. Actually that attitude is what I like about him, but somehow my thoughts and my tongue go out of control. "One could call him an ignorant with a broken camera and a lot of luck" slips away from my lips. God, I hope nobody except Toffee has heard that, because she knew I wasn't serious!

Finally we join Susanne and go out for a lunch. Of coursee, there is more chatting then eating. I'm the youngest in this company that's quite comforting. And Susanne is one of these converted- after- seeing- FOTR- documentation fans also!

At five for one we are in the museum again and soon we meet a tiny young lady who will be our guide. We start the tour at the rear wall of the room with a big picture. It's obviously made on "Hidalgo" set and it is a horse, but one can guess it more from the colors (characteristic brown and white patterns) than any shape. Our guide speaks with emphasis, I think one could take her for just another enthusiastic fan. That makes me sceptic - somehow I have a problem to accept her explanation of "what the artist wants to say".

There are people in the room, but against my expectations, nobody seems to notice us, or at least to be interested. Do we look like VIPs or members of some art committee? It feels weird.

I have no time to think about it because we go to the next picture, and something that I took for an abstract composition suddenly gets a meaning and an intention. The same happens at the next picture. And the next... I can hardly follow and absorb the new information. The question how is not important anymore, why is much more interesting, because there is wits, and wisdom, and passion in there.

As time passes I feel smaller and smaller - finally I wish the earth would swallow me because of what I said before. "Ignorant"? Hell, who is the ignorant here?! Girl, you think you're smart, but compared to him you're a blind idiot!

Soon the hour is over. When we go downstairs I say it's a pity that there are no comments to the pictures. For we've seen two totally different exhibitions, totally different worlds - one before and another during the tour. God, I would like to talk to Viggo so much and hear his explanations. But this I don't say.

Cecilie leaves us at the store. We take a seat in the middle of the room and say nothing for a while. My brain is about to explode. "I think I underestimated him terribly", says Toffee. "I thought he is an actor who is also a talented artist, but he is great artist who acts to earn money for living".

I know. I read about it many times before, and I know. Or -- I only thought I knew. Because I underestimated him too. Phew, we were so close to miss it, and it would be "just another visit in a gallery"; We would hardly scratch the surface not even guessing the depth beneath. I feel like a Nobel Prize Winner for Great Ideas. I feel like a fool. I feel like crying and laughing, all at the same time.

After making some "we-were-here" pictures we look into "The Hole in the Sun" with images of Viggo's pool. Soon we discuss how badly this pool needs mending, nervously giggling again. Probably we are still in shock.

Toffee wants to write something into the guest book so we return to the exhibition room. Susanne goes to look at some pictures again, I take a sit in a chair near to the balcony exit. I watch Toffee writing and writing. I'd like to write something too, but there is a huge bubble of nothing inside my scull. I realize how bad the air is in this room. It must have been hell on that hot afternoon a month ago, crowded with excited people. I go out onto the balcony that is not much cooler, and try to imagine what happened here. I don't regret anymore, I wasn't here then. No kiss, not even thousand kisses, no photo or signed souvenir is as precious as what I've got today.

Finally we show the roadkill photo to Susanne, because she's missed this one somehow, and Cecilie haven't brought us to it (if she had to talk about all the pics, we'd need the whole day). Now we see that it cannot be a cat. There is a long leg sticking out of the cadaver, it must have been a deer. And it was winter so holding nose wasn't necessary. We slip again in this comforting triviality, but then in the upper part of the picture I notice a rear lamps of a passing car and at once I think I know why this picture was made. And "what the artist wants to say".

We make an appointment for five o'clock for a dinner, then Susanne returns to her hotel and we try to take a look at the other museum's exhibitions. But there is still this red overload signal blinking in my head. Definitely we'd need a guide here too. Toffee says she don't know what she's looking at. I have a headache. So we leave for the shop. I buy my two posters and "Forgeries" and try to ask how many tours for Ephemeris they made before. But I have a little communication problem with the lady I asked. If she understood me well, and if I understood her - there were only two.

Till five o'clock I manage to get my senses together. We meet again at an Italian restaurant. Toffee gets vegetarian pizza that I immediately baptize a Viggo-tarian one. Obviously this fooling around is a kind of defense reaction. We talk about traveling, languages, about everything, less about the exhibition. It's hard to express deeper thoughts with my limited English, above that I need more time to think it over first, then for now, if somebody asked me what I was told during the tour, I couln't say anything coherent. Nonetheless, as we finally say good bye, my throat is in serious trouble.

We go back to our Bad & Breakfast totally exhausted, but this night I cannot sleep either. Thinking of Viggo each time I have to recall Jim Morrison - a man who (at least according to some sources) was a poet and became a rock star, and the crowd loved him for being a person he never was and never wanted to be. It makes me sad. Images are spinning around in my head, mostly blue images of the pool looking like a surface of another planet. Should I buy "The Hole in the Sun"? If only the pics were bigger... Would Perceval publish posters or a big calendar, I'd buy them, no matter what they'd cost.

Tuesday, 29th of July
The Day After: Odense - Egeskow - Karteminde - Nyborg - Odense

I can hardly get up. My brain starts functioning after two cups of coffee. The weather is a dream for a sideseeing. We visit a palace on the sea in Egeskow, walk through its garden, making some pictures. Each time I make a photo I feel guilty.

Luckily Fynn is a small isle and anywhere you go it's near. Instead of going south, as we planned before, we turn north to Karteminde to visit a big sea aquarium there, then we go to Nyborg to see the bridge connecting Fynn and Sjelland. If we hadn't to pay 30 Euro for passing, we would gladly take a ride for a pure fun of it. We talk about going to Copenhagen for a day, but somehow new impressions don't seem to be a good idea. So we stay on the beach, sitting in the warm sand and watching the blue horizon. My throat is better when we come home, but my legs are aching.

This night I finally catch some sleep. The bad news about it - I'm snoring! Poor Toffee. What have we to suffer because of this one Viggo Mortensen :-)...

Wednesday, 30th of July
Odense - Bremen

After breakfast we pack our stuff together and before we head home we pay a visit to an open-air museum with old Danish farms. The place is beautiful and I start to enjoy making "trivial holiday snapshots" again.

We leave Odense under blue sky. We hardly talk during the ride, I still try to figure out what's happened. For something has changed. I still admire Viggo, probably I admire him even more, but It feels different. There is less affection now and much more respect. As if the fan inside me grew up. I watch the fields we pass by, and feel... well, I feel happy I guess. There are more and more clouds as we cross the German border. When we arrive in Bremen it starts raining.

(There should be one more chapter here: Bremen - My Hometown, but I have nothing to say about it, except that I came home safe on Thursday afternoon.)

Epilogue

Even now some questions still leave me helpless: Am I biased? Do I like the pictures because they are his? I still don't relate to his paintings or music, but is it a proof? Would I go to Odense if the photographs were made by an old, ugly and arrogant woman? Really, I cannot say. I traveled to see some exhibitions before, but never so far. Would I find Viggo intriguing if he wasn't an artist? I doubt. It was not the actor who cought my attention, but the person behind - I think. Would I notice Viggo as an artist without Peter Jackson's Extended Version of FOTR? No. Well, in the end, it's the movie that brought this extraordinary person into my universe, and I'm glad about it, no matter how my inner motivation may be.

There must be a Dwarf among my close ancestors. A cynical dwarf with dwarfish suspiciousness near to paranoia. Sometimes he invades my thoughts saying: "Never trust a human, especially when there's money to be made." In general - I must agree: Interpretations can be very... elastic, and into works, as those of Viggo Mortensen, you can force any interpretation you want.

There is a chance, my inner Dwarf might be right. Maybe I am just another victim of some tricky PR campaign, creating Viggo Mortensen as a golden hearted genius to make more money on a certain part of population. Well, if I am -- If we all are -- this campaign is made so well, that its makers are worth each penny they earn. ;-)

And to hell with them. It's only money after all. With all the new impressions, friends, insights, thoughts and inspiration I've got, I'm still on the winner side.

Joanna P.
Gemany, August 2003