Understanding Our Times Through Controversial Art
Dismiss too quickly, and you'll miss the point – and fall behind.
Art tells us something about the people who create it—but even more, it reveals something about those who observe it, interpret it, accept it, or reject it. That’s where its real relevance lies. If we want to understand our own era on a deeper level, we’d do well to look at art—and at how we respond to it.
That’s why art should never be banned or censored. It must be free—free to create, to exhibit, and thus free to debate. To be praised or condemned. Sometimes, it provokes reactions so visceral that it’s attacked by outright iconoclasts. That in itself says something. As I’ve said—our reactions teach us just as much as the works themselves.
The real danger is when we react without thinking. As some do—those who act before they’ve reflected. When instinct wins over insight, and reflex over reflection.
And even if reactions are revealing, it’s still discouraging when the same old troglodyte shows up yet again, flanked by their “burn it down” gang. I say this sharply—deliberately so—but it’s aimed, first and foremost, at myself. Because that troglodyte has, at times, been me.
I both give and take—even when I’m both sender and receiver.
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I should have listened to the people behind the period art movement.
It mattered when it arrived, and the lines for Period Pieces in Gothenburg in 2014 wrapped around the block. The work said something about the moment, about the movements surrounding it—the political party Feminist Initiative (Feministiskt initiativ), feminism itself. Art involving bodily fluids was nothing new; that kind of expression emerged (guess when...) in the 1960s.
But Sweden’s take on period art said something particular about the Swedish condition. It wasn’t only about unhinged feminists running wild—it was also about a feeling many women shared: that something as natural as menstruation was still shrouded in taboo. Liv Strömquist’s radio monologue on the history of menstruation threw a spotlight on that.
The truth is, meaningful issues surfaced in the aftermath of period art’s arrival. Above all, it brought attention to the physical and emotional toll menstruation can take. Then and now are worlds apart—and I’m glad to hear women say they can be much more open today about what they go through during this recurring ordeal, which they endure for all of us.
And honestly—we likely wouldn’t have tampons and pads available in the women’s restroom at Svenskarnas hus if not for what happened back then. At least I don’t think we would.
I should have listened to the people behind the period art.
But I didn’t. I scoffed and wrote it off as feminist absurdity. That wasn’t entirely wrong—but even absurdity has its source. Feminism wouldn’t have gained traction without legitimate grievances behind it. And period art wouldn’t have made the mark it did if there hadn’t been something real beneath the surface. It can’t just be dismissed as attention-seeking.
It came and went. Today, it’s so far removed from the spotlight that Esther Arndtzén recently called for its renaissance in Göteborgs-Posten. That hasn’t happened. And frankly—I’m relieved. Aesthetically, it wasn’t pleasant. It wasn’t beautiful.
But:
I should have been curious. The fact that I became curious later is thanks to people I admire who encouraged me to dig deeper. Liv and the “period crew” weren’t among them. But personal taste should never be allowed to stand in the way of understanding our time.
So—was it right to display period art in the subway? No, I don’t think so. It was in poor taste. And in public space, different standards apply than in private. To me, that line is clear. But in art galleries, of course.
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Politics flows downstream from culture.
It’s tedious to keep repeating—but it’s still true.
And yes, politics can push back against culture. That’s true too.
So we roll with the punches and take personal responsibility:
to stay curious
to explore
to listen
to try to understand
and—
to grow a thicker skin.
Culture is no place for the easily offended.
Let that sink in.
This text was first published in Blommor i Ruinerna, where Dan Eriksson and I write about art, literature, philosophy, and pop culture — always with an eye toward the eternal, always ready to find life in the broken, the dirty, and the unexpected.
