enormous blonde herring-scented nauseatingly fair-minded nymphomaniacs in clogs

When I lived in Paris, no­body ever said “Paris? Why Paris?” But now they in­vari­ably ask, “Swe­den? But why?” I am called on to de­scribe Swe­den and the Swedes, and ex­plain what I’m do­ing among them. To that end, here goes:

If you’re from Tope­ka, you can go to Kansas City. If you’re from Kansas City, you can go to Chica­go. If you’re from Chica­go, you can go to New York. If you’re va­pid, show­bizzy, or good-look­ing, Los An­ge­les. But if you’re from Man­hat­tan, where can you go?

By the time I was 30, I had to go to Swe­den just to calm down. There’s been some con­fu­sion. These are not a fon­due peo­ple, nor do they yo­del. Their trains are oc­ca­sion­al­ly late, their moun­tains are unim­pres­sive and their choco­late is ad­e­quate at best. No. These are the peo­ple who brought you The No­bel Prize, free day­care, ram­pant sui­cide, and full frontal nu­di­ty. They brought you your Karl­stad sofa and your H&M leg­gings. These are the blondes. Enor­mous Blonde Her­ring-scent­ed Nau­se­at­ing­ly Fair-mind­ed Nympho­ma­ni­acs in Clogs.

In New York, I have mar­velous friends, but un­for­tu­nate­ly, many of them like to make lunch dates for three weeks from next month and things like that. They then have to can­cel, resched­ule and can­cel again. Everybody’s just “crazed” all the time.

Or pos­si­bly, I am wild­ly un­pop­u­lar.

Crazed! What does this even mean? Don’t email. Don’t text. Just walk right in and say “Hey, did you eat yet?” I prob­a­bly did, and I’ll still go with you. Life is too short not to waste it. When asked why I love Gothen­burg, I’ve been known to re­ply, “Be­cause no­body there has any­thing bet­ter to do than to chat with me!”

I’m an artist. There, I said it. For the arts, New York is just so … ob­vi­ous. New York is for ex­po­si­tion, but Gothen­burg is well known as the “ar­be­tarstad,” a worker’s city. It’s a good place to pro­duce. Volvos, Has­sel­blads, and, in my case, paint­ings, an­i­ma­tions, books. To work. In laugh­able ob­scu­ri­ty. My Stock­holm friends are shak­ing their heads, rolling their eyes, (which are most­ly blue, but not al­ways!) When I de­clare my love for Gothen­burg, it sounds to them like I’m say­ing to a New York­er, “Tren­ton! Tren­ton, New Jer­sey is the place for me! It’s the best! Be­hold, Tren­ton! Glo­ri­ous epi­cen­ter of ur­ban cul­ture, ro­mance and so­phis­ti­ca­tion!”

In Swe­den every­one works, near­ly all have kids, but they still seem to have time. Com­pared with New York, rents are low, though tax­es are high. But ed­u­ca­tion and health care are free. Many of the painters I know there earn their liv­ing ex­clu­sive­ly by sell­ing paint­ings.

How many in New York can say that?

—lau­rie rosen­wald

Flom­mist Lau­rie Rosen­wald is an Amer­i­can il­lus­tra­tor, au­thor, artist, and de­sign­er. Copy­right © 2018–20 Lau­rie Rosen­wald.

MOR D’ARTÍCULOS  MOR FLOMM !

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