What Andreas Eriksson adds to this space is a sparsely composed structure, at once both reinforcing and dissolving the architecture. His artistic design emphasises yet slows down the room’s invitation to move along. Andreas Eriksson utilises the underlying structure of the entrance hall and exposes visitors to a serene yet overwhelming turbulence. With small adjustments to the space, down becomes up, and up becomes down.
Two large pictures of landscapes, a painting and a textile tapestry, touch on the boundary between the upper and lower levels of the entrance hall. Here, where two artistic media meet, is where Andreas Eriksson most directly upturns the room. The gentle friction between the pictures sizes up the stratifications of the room, in their reflection of each other. The tapestry is an inverted reproduction of the painting. This is how we read the pictures – the upper image is right way up and the lower one a reflection. Maybe that is truly how it is, but it could also be the other way round. Ultimately, this notion prompts us to question the entrance hall’s own spatial relationships.
In addition to the vertical oscillation, the pictures also convey an inward movement, a sense of depth. A paler section indicates a narrow opening into the pictures. We see the contours of a strip of land, which itself generates a movement away from the room, from the surface, into an illusory depth.
Directly inside the doors, there is a small circular inlay in the floor. The round shape in pale Kålmården marble stands out against the darker surrounding slate. The shape can easily be read as a moon. Suddenly, we are walking on the night sky, in a space beyond the room. The veins and markings in the marble could also be interpreted as the topography of our earth, seen from an aeroplane window. With simple means, Andreas Eriksson stands our habitual perspective on its head.
On the upper level, a few small shapes protrude from the floor. These are mole hills, cast in bronze. Moles are often regarded as a nuisance by us humans. These near-blind creatures dig wherever they want, making holes in our lawns and leaving traces. The earth piles echo the verticality of the landscapes, but also mark the invisible activities taking place beneath the surface.