Reclining Soldier 1929 - 1930

Paul Kiærskou’s stone sculpture of a Reclining Soldier sits here at the SMK, and I’m thinking about all the labor that went into it. Imagine the process of chiseling away at a solid block of stone, trying to find form, trying to release the figure from within. It's physical, it's slow, it's additive and subtractive at the same time. The weight of the stone, the soldier’s languid repose. Is he resting, or is he dead? Look at the stone – you can see every trace of the artist’s hand, every mark, every decision made. The rough texture of the stone lends a tactile quality to the scene, inviting you to reach out and touch it, to feel the weight of history in your hands. Kiærskou must have been thinking about Rodin. There’s a similar sense of movement and dynamism here, a desire to capture the human form in all its messy, imperfect glory. This is what artists do, they are in an ongoing conversation, exchanging ideas across time, inspiring one another’s creativity. Painting, sculpture, art – it’s all a form of embodied expression that embraces ambiguity and uncertainty.