Norway Travels - Vigeland's Oslo
Our second day in Oslo wasn’t as fortunate as the first, weather-wise. We had already prepared for this though, as had our hostel room mate, Peggy. She had been in Stockholm before coming to Oslo and the rain over there had apparently been as common as Ikea. We all wanted to see the Vigeland Sculpture Park so we decided to go together, under the cold and rain. We had heard from different sources that the park was bizarre, mysterious, sexy, amusing, so we couldn’t resist the temptation. Little did we know that we were to be transported to one man’s immaculate dreamland.
The Art Deco main gate was impressive with its granite and wrought iron columns holding up gigantic square lamps. The elegant straight lines, the repetitive symmetry and the whispers of industrialization were strong stylistic elements of the 1920’s when this gate was erected. Beyond the gate, the faint but annoying drizzle created a milky curtain over the park making it a haunting and peculiar. We could make out the ghostly images of the far away sculptures lining a bridge, like terrible guardians in their contorted and exaggerated positions.
 When we got closer we could admire the dark bronze figures of nude men and women embracing, dancing, posing, and conversing with each other. In their physical prime, the bridge sculptures almost seemed a celebration to life, youth and beauty, and the crossing of the bridge like a material timeline of our own beauty and youth. Statues of babies were also incorporated in some of the 58 sculptures along this bridge, particularly the famous Sinnataggen or the "angry baby boy", whose little tantrum-clenched fist had been rubbed bright yellow by the millions of visitors throughout the decades.
The bridge was flanked on each opening by the marble images of draped men fighting, embracing or sleeping with what seemed like a huge reptile. We later learned that this represented the struggle of mankind and his animal nature. After crossing the bridge, the statues changed from adults in their youthful conditions to children and babies at play, some crying and driving their parents crazy. Such was the case of the sculpture of a man shaking off an army of screaming babies from his body, as if they were alien creatures attacking him.
 Soon we reached the great fountain we had discerned from far away. In the center of the circular basin, six giants hold up a huge vessel aloft and from it a curtain of white water spills down around them and into the basin. Much like Atlas holding up the weight of the world on his shoulders, these six men seem burdened with this weight; their muscles contracted and tensed, much like we are sometimes burdened with our adult preoccupations in life. Water, a symbol of fertility, rushed down towards their feet and spread out along the edges of the basin, where bronze statues of trees and forests stood tall.
These clusters of trees were like awnings from which within were human figures, in all stages of life, from birth to death, merging together in a beautiful expression for man's relationship with Nature. The granite basin was decorated with bronze plaques depicting images of humans and their relationships to animals. Some images were amusing while others were a little scary. The light drizzle and the water that flows from the basin makes the fountain seem as if it was lying beneath a silver laced veil. continue...
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