The necessity of refreshing one’s boy or girl scout knowledge of latitude and longitude in order to find the sculpture is crucial to the piece’s impact. What makes Järnpojke special is the intentionality with which the viewer must begin his or her trek to Liss Eriksson’s hidden sculpture, paired with the way in which the observer chooses to interact with the piece. Järnpojke, literally meaning “iron boy” in Swedish, features a figure sitting on top of a table with his knees pulled up into his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. He looks upwards and through the canopy of late-August leaves. In Stockholm, it has become a tradition for visitors to create a piece of clothing for the boy, whether it be a raincoat, tiny knit scarf, or pom pom hat. For those who are less adept at sewing, leaving coins, foodstuffs, or other nicknacks is also common. This practice is arguably problematic, however, in that visitors often make artistic additions to Järnpojke not out of tender affection for the boy but rather for individualistic gain.
Järnpojke has become a quasi wishing well. Travelers traditionally rub the boy’s head in the hope that touching his iron crown will allow them to return to Stockholm at some point in the near future. Others believe that caressing the boy will bring five years of good luck (something I learned from a passing tour guide). One of the dangers of Järnpojke becoming a popular pilgrimage locale is that the original artistry of the piece could easily get overlooked. After visiting Liss Eriksson’s sculpture myself, however, I found that there were three whimsically artistic features that make it a must-see: its intricate detail, the reverberations of the surrounding space in the microcosm of Järnpojke, and the human odyssey that is visiting the iron man.
Alternatively titled “Little Boy Looking at the Moon,” the tiny art piece seems to be tackling fairly banal subject matter at first glance. The figure is indeed looking upwards at what could be the moon. He sits uncomfortably, however, on top of the table. The viewer is left to question whether or not he has climbed to higher ground for safety, pulling his legs into his chest for warmth. The small table upon which he sits is also located on the right side of a huge slab of marble that further minimizes the sculpture. The boy is in an isolated dream-state, unable to see what anyone has placed under his table nor around his body, and looks upwards for answers.
Left: Husband helping wheel his wife into the courtyard of the Lutheran Church to visit Järnpojke
Right: Family interacts with Järnpojke while a man walking his cat looks on
Aside from the interesting proportions and miniature vastness portrayed in Järnpojke, the sculpture infallibly reflects the vibe of its surrounding courtyard each day. During my late-afternoon visit to the sculpture a golden sunset bounced light off of the pale orange homes across the street and gave the little iron boy a faint orange glow. Someone had noticed the color and brought three huge, ripe oranges to leave by the boy’s side. Paired with the glow of bronze coins, peach cookies, and Korean candies with orange wrappers, Järnpojke, in part, became a shrine to tangerine fluorescence.
The third reason to venture to this tiny sculpture is to witness other human interaction with the space. Meticulous placement of coins, gentle pats of the iron man’s head, and careful re-adjustments of the boy’s cap are what bring Järnpojke to life. Visitors tend to look at the sculpture from across the courtyard before moving up close to it. Then, realizing that staring down upon it does not do the tiny piece justice, they crouch down and often mirror the iron boy’s exact pose. To engage fully with Järnpojke means to come away with a newfound appreciation for the minuscule and a consciousness of the power of the petite.
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