Category Archives: Why I Love Denmark

Love in the Air in Copenhagen

Every Saturday, couples in love keep appointments in Copenhagen’s beautiful and romantic City Hall.

It seems to be THE prime wedding venue in Denmark.

Possibly a formal tour would include the actual wedding hall.

But we were there on a busy Saturday, and without an invitation, we got only as far as a beautiful anteroom where friends and relatives gather.

Romantic frescoes cover the walls.

What’s this story about? I can’t read Danish, but I’m pretty sure it’s a love story.

Kids run around on the intricate tile floor.

Families gather, anxious to take their parts in the back-to-back ceremonies scheduled all day.

Happy couples pose for photos in the stairwells and hallways.

That great Danish Romantic, Hans Christian Anderson, watches couples come and go. (Sadly, the great love of his life was unrequited and he died a single man).

Maybe the newly married leave with some design ideas for their new homes? I certainly would. The City Hall is grand, yet most of the design elements look handcrafted. I’m going to copy some motifs myself.

Happy Valentine’s Day from Copenhagen!

Copenhagen’s Romantic City Hall

My new favorite City Hall is in Copenhagen.

Why do I even have a favorite City Hall? In most cities, it’s about the last place I’d care to visit. I remember a long-ago trip to Winnipeg, Canada, when I spent several frustrating hours in the City Hall dealing with a fender-bender. (The only consolation was that I got to see an actual Canadian Mountie in his spiffy red jacket).

But Scandinavian countries like Denmark are proudly secular societies. City Hall is front and center in people’s lives, much as cathedrals are in other cities.

Martin Nyrop designed the building in National Romantic Style. To me, it looks distinctly Jugendstihl, Art Nouveau, or Arts and Crafts. This is not surprising for a building inaugurated in 1905, the heyday of these artistic movements. In Denmark, the movement was called “Skonvirke,” meaning “aesthetic work.”

A gilded statue of Absalon stands grandly above the main entrance. Absalon (also known, maybe to his buddies, as Axel) lived from 1128 to 1201. He was a warrior, politician, and archbishop–a Renaissance man before there was a Renaissance. He conquered pirates who plagued early Denmark, expanded its territories, built the first fortifications of what is now Copenhagen, and began untangling Denmark from the Holy Roman Empire. I don’t know whether he was also a kingmaker, but King Valdemar I leaned on him for counsel.

Just inside the main entrance, I think Absalon is dispensing good advice. (Or maybe this is the king–I couldn’t find any information and there was no tour going on).

In early December, the great central hall was being set up for an event. Another time I visited, there was a fascinating exhibit about immigrants to Denmark. (I wouldn’t mind emigrating to Denmark myself).

Inside on a weekday, city workers walk up and down beautiful staircases and go calmly about their business in hushed corridors.

Visitors are free to wander, taking in the beauty everywhere.

Some doorways are carved and fitted with elegant hardware.

All the other doorways have colorful painted decoration. No two are the same.

Even a janitor’s hallway slop sink is a thing of beauty.

The great and good are featured in murals, but so are working people. Tycho Brahe, above, lived from 1546 to 1601. He was a Danish nobleman and a great astronomer, but in this most egalitarian country, machinists and laborers are also honored.

Carved workmen trudge up a staircase. I especially like the man carrying a sheet of glass for a window.

Other spaces are more grand, with murals and ceilings celebrating Copenhagen’s history.

An owl stands at the doorway to the city archives. I have a feeling that important papers don’t get lost here in this most civilized City Hall. It’s no wonder that Denmark’s citizens line up at their beautiful City Hall every Saturday to celebrate their weddings. More on that on Valentine’s Day!

Happy and Hopeful 2018 to All

Carefree children dancing: a nice image for the New Year.

These large relief panels by Luca della Robbia were commissioned in 1431 for the organ loft in Florence’s Cathedral.

I’d never get near the organ loft, so I’m glad somebody made the decision to install them in the newly-renovated Museo dell’Opera del Duomo, just across the street.

There are ten of them, with the overall title “Cantoria.” They’re designed to reflect the joy of music, and they make me think of the joy of new beginnings.

In our world, of course, being a child is not all sweetness and light. It never was.

I loved this very large painting by the French artist Jules Bastien-Lepage, 1880. He was not as well known as other French painters, but he was a leader in the developing Naturalist school, where the point was to see the world as it really was. He influenced later painters like Claude Monet. This painting is in the wonderful French collection in Copenhagen’s Glyptotec.

The title is “The Beggar.” In it, an elderly beggar dressed in rags turns away from a doorway. Did he receive something in his bag? Maybe, but nothing that would change his life. The woman in the background is already occupied with something else, finished with the encounter one way or the other. But the little girl in the blue dress would like to do more for him. Her face registers shock and profound sorrow and reluctance to see the old man leave. She hasn’t yet learned any of the rationalizations adults use when we turn away from someone else’s suffering.

I hang out with kids every chance I get. I love their energy and open minds. I don’t want them sitting quietly in rows–I want them up and moving and laughing.

I’m often “the teacher” and therefore the one presumably imparting wisdom. But children are the ones with wisdom. Kids are the true Superheroes who ALWAYS come out in favor of honesty, fairness, generosity, and including everybody. And they always manage to create their own fun, no matter how intent the adults are on a serious lesson. They’re our future.

I think a good beginning for 2018 would be to talk to our children about what they’d like for our world, and then follow their lead. What if we put them in charge for awhile? Happy and hopeful New Year!

Child Portraits in Copenhagen

I love portraits of children. One of my favorites was in an exhibit in Frederiksborg Castle outside Copenhagen. A child with a chicken: “Noa,” 2012. She’s the daughter of the Danish artist Dennis Mogelgaard. The chicken looks a lot more confident and happy about posing than the child does. I’m thinking that as far as the child was concerned, the chicken was a non-negotiable part of the deal with her dad.

C. W. Eckersberg painted his daughter, Emilie, shortly after the death of her mother. She’s in black, but there are no other reminders of grief. Her rosy cheeks and brave smile are an affirmation of ongoing life, but I wouldn’t know that without the museum’s commentary. In this portrait, I can see echoes of my Scandinavian ancestors who made their way to Minnesota: face adversity with a smile, and don’t let anyone know what is really going on inside you. (This is both the good part and the bad part of a Midwestern Scandinavian upbringing).

In Rosenborg Castle, I liked a series of portraits of the young prince who grew up to be King Frederik VII.

I privately liked him much better as a child than as an imposing king.

His famous ancestor, King Christian IV, is featured in a delightfully sober childhood portrait in the castle. (Christian deserves at least one post all his own).

This portrait, in Frederiksborg Castle, shows three royal children in exile in Germany, in 1526. They were the children of King Christian II, exiled mainly because their parents were followers of the upstart Martin Luther. Their mother died in exile. The artist, Jan Mabuse Gossaert, was probably commissioned to paint the children to show that they were still promising marriage material for European royal houses elsewhere. Aside from being royal pawns, these were real children with real names: Christine, Dorothea, and Hans.

Jens Juhl painted “A Running Boy” in 1802. He looks wistful, not really intent on getting anywhere. He’s caught in action at the Danish National Gallery, frozen in time.

Paul Gaugin, “Two Children, 1889, in the Glyptotek. (All of the photos in this post are mine, taken of the paintings in close-up. They don’t really do the paintings justice, but at least they remind me of what I found compelling).

This is an early portrait by Claude Monet, “The Artist’s Son,” 1868, in the Glyptotek.

Christen Dalsgaard, 1870, “A Convalescent,” in the Glyptotek. I think the blossoms she is holding have a sad connotation, especially the one that’s fallen from her hand. Children very often died from common childhood illnesses–and still do, when they live in poverty anywhere in the world.

A happier image is this painting by Peter Hansen, “Playing Children, Enghave Square,” 1908, in the National Gallery.

The joyful faces remind me that as much as I love art, it’s time to get outside into the streets and squares of beautiful Copenhagen.

Children are playing out there! And because they’re fortunate enough to live in beautiful Copenhagen, they’re surrounded by art.

Join me next time for more explorations in the art and history of Europe!

Christmas Time in Copenhagen

Danish flags and paper cutouts are popular on Christmas trees.

The upscale Magazin du Nord department store is festooned with paper cutout garlands.

Tivoli Park is full of lights and people.

Right, I’ll be next on the carousel giraffe!

The snow is not real yet at Tivoli, but it’s cold. Pink and purple hyacinths are planted everywhere. Their scent fills the air.

Festive music fills churches.

The Christmas market at the Gustaf Swedish Church is the best weekend party. Church ladies all wear costumes of Swedish districts. I have shawl-and-apron envy!

There are only about 5 million Danes in the entire country. The pace is relaxed, even in Copenhagen. Art galleries are pleasantly uncrowded and stuffed with beautiful things. Above is “Mary with the Christ Child and the Infant St. John” by Maurice Denis, 1898. It’s in the fabulous French collection at the Glyptotek.

Copenhagen’s City Hall is a work of art in itself. I’ll cheerfully wander its hushed halls for an hour anytime.

Cafes are cozy and store windows full of temptations.

Buying a gift? A friendly elf in ruffled pantaloons will wrap it up for you.

Is Copenhagen expensive? Oh, yes. We rented an apartment, ate in a lot, took in free concerts and recitals, and bought Copenhagen cards, which cover all the sights and all the excellent public transportation. It’s manageable and worth it!

Prince Henrik: The Ungrateful (Royal) Dead of Denmark?

Now I’ve heard the ultimate First-World problem:  what if a man married a queen, naturally expecting that would make him  a king, and had to settle for being a Prince Consort? Not even a King Consort? That is what happened to Prince Henrik of Denmark. A few months before his death, the Prince made world news with his announcement that he would not be buried beside his wife, Queen Margrethe, in the royal tomb that is already prepared.  I wrote a snarky post, which I’m revising now to be slightly less snarky. Especially after reading that he suffered from dementia, I felt that my post was a little mean-spirited.  I do feel some sympathy for his plight, even though I don’t completely understand it. I find the whole concept of royalty in the modern age both fascinating and baffling.


Among other places, the Prince is prominently featured in the spectacular series of seventeen wall-sized tapestries created to celebrate the 50th birthday of Queen Margrethe II in 1990. They actually took ten years to make, so they were finally hung in the Great Hall on her 60th birthday, in 2000.


The Prince gets to wear any number of medals and attend elegant events in the Great Hall. The photo is from a poster in the hall. Snarky comment: Sadly, my invitation to the event must have been lost in the mail.

Another snarky comment: I wasn’t invited to eat in the adjoining dining room, either.


Among other royal perks, there’s a royal yacht. We happened to be in Stockholm last spring when the Crown Prince of Denmark, son of Prince Henrik and Queen Margrethe, sailed in for a visit.


We stood around for quite awhile so that my granddaughters could lay eyes on an actual Prince and Princess. They duly emerged and waved to the small crowd.


The Danish artist Bjørn Nørgaard painted the “cartoons”–the full-size color plans for the seventeen tapestries in the Grand Hall of Christiansborg Palace.


A gift from many Danish businesses plus the state of France, the homeland of the prince, the tapestries depict the entire history of Denmark. They throw in some guesses at the future to boot.

I spent a couple of hours studying and admiring the seventeen tapestries.  They’re by far the best reason to buy a ticket to Christiansborg Palace in Copenhagen.

All through 50 years of marriage, the Prince Consort groused about the slight he suffered. At age 83, a few months before his death, he made his shocking announcement.


As resting places go, Roskilde is pretty nice.


The medieval cathedral has been the resting place of Danish royalty for many generations.


There’s a King’s Door which can only be used by the King and/or Queen to enter. It’s not clear to me whether the Prince Consort was allowed enter through it. I believe anyone is allowed to LEAVE through this special door when it is used for a ceremony like a baptism, or possibly a funeral. Anyway, the bronze doors, polished and patinated to look like gold, replaced carved-oak ones from the late 1800s. They were newly designed and installed in 2010.


Royalty and nobles occupy beautiful chapels. I especially like the ceilings.



The memorial sculptures range from medieval times to the 1950s or so.


Bjorn Norgaard, designer of the magnificent Christiansborg tapestries, was commissioned some years ago to design a modern-yet-traditional monument for the future burial chapel of Queen Margrethe and Prince Henrik. Instead of the typical stone effigies of the great and good, it features their images sandblasted into a large gleaming egg of glass.


But Queen Margrethe will apparently occupy this resting place alone. Before his death on February 14, 2018, I wondered whether the Prince might still get a promotion, and if so, whether it would change his mind. That did not happen. If I had been in charge, I might have found some way to give him the title he wanted, in the interest of peace in the family. But I gather there were constitutional reasons why it could not be done. On the other hand, my egalitarian, practical mind has to wonder why a lifetime of royal luxury wasn’t enough. Wherever Prince Henrik rests, I hope he rests in peace.

A couple of articles about the situation are at:

http://m.startribune.com/denmark-s-french-born-prince-causes-a-stir/438498423/

http://www.theguardian.com › world › … › royal-snub…

Tivoli in Springtime


I’m not big on amusement parks. In fact, I’ve successfully avoided taking either children or grandchildren to Disney World ( bad grandma!)


Rides either terrify or bore me. But I loved Tivoli in Copenhagen. The park opened in 1843, just outside the west gate of the still-walled old city.


King Christian VIII was worried about social unrest at the time. Workers all over Europe were annoyingly demanding higher wages and shorter hours. The founder of the park, George Carstensen, convinced the king that if the people have a place to amuse themselves, “they do not think about politics.” As the city expanded, Tivoli became almost the center. That’s the tower of the City Hall in the background.


I visited at twilight because I wanted to see the fabled lights.


The daffodils were perfect.


So were the thousands of tulips. In fact, the flowerbeds were so perfect that I wondered if gardeners came in nightly and replaced them with fresh plants straight from a greenhouse.


A rock band was getting ready to set up at the Chinese theater. The theater dates from 1874.


The pagoda sparkled.


Families strolled and let cotton candy melt in their mouths.


A pair of peacocks wandered into a restaurant.


There are any number of restaurants, plain to fancy, plus food carts strategically placed.

Tivoli has many faces.


Raincoats for sale? Sure. It rains quite a bit in Copenhagen.


Hans Christian Andersen, 1805-1875, is pretty much the secular patron saint of Denmark. He loved Tivoli Gardens. In 1965, the city put up a bronze more-than-double life size statue of the writer of at least 125 fairy tales, just outside City Hall. He’s holding his place in a book while he gazes up at the bright lights of Tivoli across the street. His knee is brightly polished because everybody sits on his lap for a photo. The sculptor was Henry Lucknow-Nielsen.


Across town, the wistful sculpture of Andersen’s Little Mermaid draws rowdy crowds from the nearby cruise port. It may be all some people really see of Copenhagen.


Minus the crowds, the mermaid is lovely. She seems to ignore the busy harbor behind her. I’m sure she dreads the rowdy cruise-boat crowds, but maybe she’s off in her own world. Edvard Eriksen created her in 1913.

Tivoli in springtime did not disappoint. I loved Copenhagen so much that I’m going back in December (cheap off-season airfares helped).

Will it be cold? Afraid so. It was cold enough for mittens and wool hats in early May. But I expect Chrismastime in Scandinavia to be a fairy-tale experience. Plus there may be snow!

Join me next time for more explorations in the art, literature and history of Europe!