Saturday 10 June 2023

Thor Sørheim: 'Plogfurer Stubbmark'




I walk along an autumn stubble field and let my gaze glide

along the plough furrows that give me perspective where they meet

on the far side of the field. The vanishing point is there,

not only in large landscape paintings in well-known galleries

but also here on the outskirts of a suburb that people

leave at daybreak and return to when everning is

drawing near. Most has been done, but some still have enough energy

to take part in a choir practice. It must be a coincidence


that right in front of the field is a row of folding chairs surrounded by

dry twigs. Are threads of fate being spun between choir and corn?

I look at the plough furrows that press together. There is

no vanishing point in the force that rises from the corn.

A song can be sufficient to halt a war before the soldiers die

in vain. I sit down on a chair and pick up a stick from the ground.

It may have belonged to the conductor of the dance of the five senses.

He caused me to gaze in wonderment at this work of creation.


For a picture by Anselm Kiefer:

‘Urd, Werdandi, Skuld (The Norns)’

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