Adjusting to "The Swing of Things"

Designmuseum Danmark aims to be an archive for art that embodies the principles of Danish design—minimalism, functionality, and beauty. Upon first glance, the museum accomplished this goal. Rooms were filled with bright colors and whimsical furniture complemented by sleek ceramics in soft pastel tones. However, the more time I spent exploring the museum, the more I recognized a lack of logical flow and cohesion between various rooms and among the artifacts themselves. One minute I was looking at Danish fashion, and a few steps later I was attempting to appreciate the architecture of wooden desks from 17th century England. That a design museum would be so poorly designed was so ironic it was nearly comedic.

As a result of the careless layout, the museum as a whole failed to convey a compelling narrative. There was, however, one piece of art that I found intriguing. It was a white pillow case that had a grayish-brown dusty film over it making it look as though it had not been washed for months. In the middle of the pillow case was a facial imprint that could have been mistaken for wrinkles had the description not stated “Pillow with facial imprint.”

Though the facial imprint was odd, eerie even, the true horror of the art piece was the the embroidery at the top of the pillow case. Artist Pernille Egeskov stitched the words “The swing of things” using fine brown human hair as the thread. Egeskov completed a few stitches with each piece of hair and left the rest to hang freely on the pillow. She used a small chain stitch that, though uneven, showcased a greater level of care and detail than the rest of the piece. Like the facial imprint, the embroidery could have easily been overlooked. It resembled a matted hairball that had dried on the bottom of a bathtub: there was a concentrated center made of chaotic strands that curled outwards in free-flowing, haywire patterns. Seeing this caused my whole body to wince in disgust and triggered a gag reflex. I noticed other viewers had similar reactions. Human hair, especially when detached from the scalp, is commonly considered to be unhygienic. This thought stems from the fact that hair traditionally serves as a carrier for unwanted critters such as lice and nits. Perhaps this is why seeing large quantities of hair on a pillow—a sacred space for the face—was far more appalling than seeing the hair on a different object.

Despite my negative reaction to the art piece, I harbor respect for Egeskov’s creativity. I am also impressed by the intense, though negative, reaction her work was able to quickly evoke. However, The Swing of Things did not belong in Designmuseum Danmark. It clashed with the museum’s aesthetic of clean, simple, and traditional design. Egeskov’s work was displayed in the Sustainable Design room, but even the curators seemed to be hiding it. The pillow had been placed in a glass cabinet that was shoved to the side. There were no lights above the glass cabinet to illuminate the artifacts inside. Instead, all of the lights were situated above the grand display of chairs and sculptures in the center of the room; the rays emanating from these sources barely hit the cabinet, causing the pillow to be dimly lit. To make matters worse, large shadows fell on the pillow at strange angles, masking the artistry.

The Swing of Things was most certainly nauseating, but it was also the most curious and enticing artwork in Designmuseum Danmark. It added energy and emotion into an otherwise bland atmosphere. Perhaps it is the museum’s hidden gem saved for the observant eye.