Louche life at Louisiana Literature
- C-print
- 2 hours ago
- 14 min read
A crew of five friends; curators, critics and writers, and literary aficionados head out to Louisiana Literature for a Dua Lipaesque end to the summer. Here’s what they report back.
There is a particular kind of cultural event that desperately wants you to know it is a cultural event. There are lanyards, branded tote bags, VIP areas, panels about “the future of storytelling”, and people whose job seems to consist mainly of standing near other people who are more famous than they are.
Louisiana Literature, thankfully, appears to have missed the memo. Held every August at the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, some forty kilometres north of Copenhagen, the festival has the kind of setting that would normally encourage unbearable levels of self-importance. There is the museum itself, all discreet modernist architecture and world-class art; the sculpture park sloping towards the Øresund; Sweden shimmering vaguely on the other side of the water. Then there is the programme: major international writers appearing alongside Danish and other Nordic authors, poets and thinkers. On paper, the ingredients are there for a formidable concentration of cultural capital. Instead, people sit on the grass.
This is perhaps Louisiana Literature’s greatest achievement. It has prestige without behaving prestigiously. There is no separate festival compound to penetrate, and no expensive pass required to prove the seriousness of your literary intentions. The festival programme is included in the ordinary museum admission. Once inside, you simply wander between readings, conversations, performances, exhibitions, trees and the sea. This produces a pleasantly confused relationship between literature and leisure. You might listen to one of the world’s most celebrated novelists discuss collapse of Western civilisation, then five minutes later find yourself eating something on a lawn while a child rolls down a hill nearby. Nobody appears to find this contradiction troubling. Quite the opposite: it makes literature seem unusually welll-adjusted. Literary festivals can sometimes reproduce the least attractive characteristics of literature as an institution: hierarchy, professional networking, reverence disguised as intellectual seriousness. At Louisiana, the physical environment keeps puncturing all of that. However important the person on stage may be, there is still a sea behind them. There are trees moving in the wind. Someone is trying to find their friend. Someone else (yours truly) has abandoned the programme entirely and gone swimming. And somehow none of this diminishes the conversations.
Perhaps seriousness simply works better when nobody insists on looking serious. The intimacy of the festival makes even very famous writers feel temporarily detached from the machinery that usually accompanies literary celebrity: publication cycles, publicity campaigns, prizes, rankings, discourse. Here, a writer can simply be a person talking to a few hundred other people in a circus tent. Of course, Louisiana Literature can afford to be relaxed partly because Louisiana itself is such a formidable institution. This is not an anti-institutional utopia improvised in a field. The beautiful lawns have gardeners; the museum has donors, ticket income and an international reputation. “Effortless” cultural experiences tend to involve a considerable amount of invisible effort. Still, there is something almost radical in what the festival chooses not to add. It does not build an unnecessary second world around the literature. It does not confuse exclusivity with quality. It does not appear embarrassed by pleasure. You can come for a particular writer and accidentally spend three hours looking at art. You can come for the art and discover a poet. You can take the programme very seriously or barely follow it at all.
In an era when cultural institutions are increasingly encouraged to behave like brands, Louisiana Literature feels refreshingly uninterested in turning the encounter with literature into a lifestyle product. Its greatest luxury is permeability: between museum and festival, art and landscape, concentration and idleness, the famous person on stage and everybody sprawled on the grass below. By late afternoon, after several conversations, too much coffee and a walk down towards the water, we realised that Louisiana Literature had achieved something that should not be particularly difficult but increasingly feels rare. It had made a gathering around books feel desirable. Which may, in the end, be one of the best things a literary festival can do for literature. Kasia Syty • • •
When you finish a physical copy of a book, there's a sense of accomplishment, you reward yourself for the dedication and having slowed down time around you for it. There's no such thing with streaming even quality shows, it all just caters to a FOMO effect of what's next for your visual consumption. I’ve always been reading Joan Didion, even at times I did not get much else read due to the staggering amount of work as a curator, doubling as a writer in art. Joan Didion not just for the stories and shrewd observations but for the measured and economical language, and sentences you fall in love with that improve your own writing. Katie Kitamura is the first novelist in a while I personally can think of in the same breath as Didion, for that specific reason. Her characters, some interpreters or translators, remind you of the agency of words and the impact of judiciously refining the nuances. I can’t read her without stopping over and over at some of her impeccable sentences. The quest of rushing to finish her five novels was on ahead of Louisiana.
Elle Fanning sporting a “Joachim Trier Summer” T-shirt at last year’s Cannes Film Festival as a nod to Charli XCX? For me, ending the summer at Louisiana Literature, manifesting “Katie Kitamura Summer” on a shirt should and could very well have been in the cards. (I opted for the second and third best: Acne and Prada.)
A big takeaway for the whole crew from Kitamura’s talk with Sigrid Adamsson (a book reviewer for Politiken) was learning how, for the author, getting her pen on another woman’s art, integrating the Dutch Golden Age painter Judith Leyster into the plot of Intimacies, had the effect of catching her breath while in the process of fleshing out a novel.
Interestingly for us, the conversation opened up a channel to think of Kitamura’s most recent novel, Audition, through the lens of our relatable cinematic references. No spoilers, but the book’s structure sees a twist on “the voice” and its lead character, which brings to mind Buñuel’s That Obscure Object of Desire, where Ángela Molina and Carole Bouquet share and play the same character on screen. A reminder of how the “different embodiment” of the same character can instantly change the reader’s and viewer’s gaze on the same.
On the note of cinema, I’m extremely curious about any details of what seems like will be the first film adaptation of one of Kitamura’s five novels. The news hit already last fall through Variety and has high-profile written all over it, with Lulu Wang set to direct, following her noted The Farewell of 2019 and the Nicole Kidman-starring series Expats. Full disclosure: Knowing that Charles Melton and Lucy Liu are shouldering the lead roles, I vividly have them in mind reading Audition, and it felt so right. It’s a lovely thought, the idea that Lucy Liu possibly will be playing the role of a lifetime in material stemming from Kitamura.
Kitamura as many other of the luminaries of this year’s festival have evidently been out on the literary festival and book talk circuit, touring around. It’s easy to see how moderators will be focusing primarily on Audition, obviously been her latest, and stretching it to Intimacies and A Separation, which form a certain trifecta of being of very similar fabric. However, Kitamura might surprise you with her versatility once learning about her interest and dedication to MMA. Could be worth noting that her debut The Longshot of 2009 follows the subtly tendered rapport between a fading MMA fighter and his coach. It might not be her strongest work, but for someone like me interested in fight sports, it was right up my alley, and a keen study of how her work style has developed since.
Having failed at the quest of finishing all five, the remaining Gone to the Forest will provide plenty evening hygge a few evenings now when post-summer blues kick in, ahead of her talk in Stockholm in two weeks from today at Kulturhuset Stadsteatern.
Copenhagen has Christmas-keeps-coming-early-many-number of art institutions displaying a great blend of contemporary art at any given time. For a Stockholm-based curator, it’s almost unbearably frustrating and thrilling at once (when getting to immerse in it). Perhaps it’s a question of the grass being greener on the side, although the grass is awfully green in Humlebæk. A visit to Louisiana whenever in time is, what we say in Swedish: Extra allt. Extra everything. Sophie Calle, Lucian Freud and Arthur Jafa in solo exhibitions, next to a great permanent collection, in a wonderland-like scenic exterior natural disposition. Because of the crew being five we could strategize together on how to cover as much of the festival while getting much else in too.
Sophie Calle describes her project What Do You See? with the following:
On March 18, 1990, six paintings by Rembrandt, Flinck, Manet and Vermeer, five drawings by Degas, one vase, and one Napoleonic eagle were stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. The frames of the Rembrandt, Vermeer and Flinck paintings were left behind. In 1994, after being restored, the empty frames were hung back in place, further emphasizing the paintings’ absence. I asked the curators, guards, other staff members and visitors to tell me what they saw within these frames.
I first saw the project when it was exhibited at Perrotin in Paris in 2013, and got to revisit it alongside other projects where concepts revolving around perception and optics are materialized with often immediate, affective and profound effect. Whether her project taking residents of Istanbul to see the sea for the first time and letting the viewer absorb and observe that experience, or inviting people born without sight to share what their image of beauty is, a retrospective of Sophie Calle is bound to remind the audience of how moving her conceptual art is, drawing from universally resonant experiences, while sometimes amping up the endearing and clever humour. Something Missing? is showing in its final weeks at Louisiana. Ashik Zaman
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One measure of a conference or festival’s success is the degree to which cross-pollination occurs. Another is the degree to which its content feels relevant. While far too much happens during Louisiana Literature for any one person — or even five voracious individuals — to absorb it all, a few themes hung in the late-summer air, like puffy clouds did over the seaside campus. Both Flesh author David Szalay and classicist, essayist, playwright, professor, translator, and deadpan performer Anne Carson fielded questions about revisiting past work. Szalay, Perfection author Vincenzo Latronico, and the suddenly everywhere Katie Kitamura spoke to direct and knock-on effects of the Schengen Convention and, specifically, about how the characters in their work, and the decisions those characters make, are in part products of freer movement throughout Western Europe this century until recently. (I caught only some of French-Moroccan journalist Leïla Slimani’s presentation but it, too, seemed to address the migratory patterns of humans and how they navigate around obstacles erected for political purposes.) Carson, Szalay, and Peter Hujar resurrector Ben Whishaw drew laughter from listeners with their observations about comedy. None of this surprised me. Who among us isn’t looking back, discussing immigration policy, and cracking jokes these days?
Szalay’s interviewer, editor and journalist Kathrine Tschemerinsky, expertly navigated her own obstacles, namely Szalay’s recurring aversion to conclusions. Still, the pair touched on a few of the big-picture topics one expects to encounter during an international survey of contemporary writing. Szalay did seem convinced that life, for most people, is an alternation between making decisions at somewhat primal levels, mainly in response to existential pressures, and making what one can with the outcomes of those decisions. Later in their conversation, Szalay echoed that construction, saying that, in life, there are “vivid bits” that “burn themselves into” one’s memory, each becoming part of an accrued sense of self, and “quieter areas” of time during which it’s “not quite clear what happened.” As a dance artist, I could easily click into the meat of their exchange, into their analysis of Flesh, into its proposals about physicality and being-as-body-continuously-changing as it charges toward its inevitable expiration. Szalay declared some resistance to imagining people “as minds, hearts, and souls” only secondarily to bone, muscle, and other, more easily verifiable components. He also resisted how The Discourse dragged Flesh into self-serving debates about maleness and masculinity. (I, too, have lost patience with and am doing my best to avoid those debates.)
As a preview of what’s next from the Booker Prize winner, Szalay said, thus far, half of it builds on the ideas in Flesh and the other half does not. Tschemerinsky closed their conversation with a perfectly timed callback to how they began. Zachary Whittenburg
• • •
As anticipated and judging by the endless serpentine line formed by festivalgoers to secure tickets, Anne Carson’s performance of Autobiography of Red was one of the highlights of the festival. The scarlet lighting of the Concert Hall and the lava-like brushstrokes of the painting projected onto the canvas hanging above the performers complements the tone of the enactment whilst effectively blocking out the imposing Per Kirkeby painting which otherwise visually dominates the stage. The performance, or rather workshop as we were informed towards the end, saw Carson accompanied by actor Ben Whishaw, musician Kjartan Svensson and a choir consisting of four vocalists enact passages from the work.
The performance begins and ends with Carson and Whishaw sitting across from each other in dialogue. “Have we had this conversation before?” he asks at some point. This part of the performance is re-read (workshop-mode), adding a comical element to the rendition. At some point, Ben Whishaw is lying on his back on the floor of the Concert Hall stage. He reads aloud passages from the pages of a post-it marked copy of the book. Sometimes still, then his legs will sway, his hand upright will form a gesture — a bodily articulation of what he is reading. As if Geryon, the work’s protagonist, was lying in bed muttering in solitude. Whishaw’s ability to verbally “move” with the text, to seamlessly go from a dry comedic delivery to a more sober dramatic tone adds a sense of vivacity to the work. This stayed with me.
Literary works, released from the hand of their author, most commonly than not, enter a trajectory of their own. And it is a common fate of many such literary works, in particular those continuously endorsed by many, critics and readers alike, to find their fate attached to a rather stagnant interpretation of what they are about, how they are to be read, etc. This workshop could be interpreted as an attempt to work against such a fate. Once uttered, Carson’s words re-awake from that slumberous state of perception. Another perspective, a relevance or urgency is uncovered. In response to our question of whether she had come to any insights into her work which surprised her in preparation for the performance, Carson replied that she was relieved she didn’t hate it. Have we had this conversation before? Yes, but the conversation hasn’t stayed the same.
Corina Wahlin
• • •
As expected, Katie Kitamura’s talk with Danish writer and literary critic Sigrid Adamson was an early highlight, setting the bar high for the rest of the day. Though young, Adamson proved to be a very worthy moderator for the eloquent and charming Kitamura, whom parts of the team had caught in a talk at last year’s Edinburgh International Book Festival. While last year’s conversation focused solely on Audition, Kitamura’s latest novel, Adamson brought some of Kitamura's previous novels into the conversation, including Intimacies, which has been one of this summer’s top reads for yours truly.
There was a feeling that Vincenzo Latronico, whose Perfection so accurately captured aspirational millennials in the 2010s through the story of a digital-nomadic couple in Berlin, would end the evening on a high note (it did, masterclass). Housed in the Villa Stage, an intimate tent setting in the gardens, Latronico shared the stage with Danish writer Mikkel Rosengaard and actor Simon Bennebjerg, who read a surprisingly long passage from the Danish translation, taken from the, surely for many, relatable section about the protagonists’ sex life. Latronico served up insight after insight about his own generation, while having the audience bursting into laughter and breaking into repeated applause, proving to be quite the comedian as well.
This year’s Louisiana Literature, however, not only delivered some of the finest moments of the summer, but arguably also the best swim of the year. Approaching the turquoise sea, located just a few steps below the museum grounds, parts of the team wondered if we’d somehow been teleported to a Mediterranean beach.
If you didn’t make it to Louisiana Literature this year, fear not. Many of the authors are part of the fall season’s literary stage at Kulturhuset Stadsteatern. For us, 23-year-old German wunderkind Nelio Biedermann, whom we sadly missed at the festival and whose debut, Lázár, surely will make many best-of-the-year lists, will be a priority.
One of the many great things about Louisiana is, of course, its proximity to Copenhagen, a city that never fails to deliver a wonderful time and, unfailingly, has us contemplating a move south every time. Just a mere 40-minute train ride away, the combination of Louisiana and Copenhagen, with its world-class museums and contemporary art spaces (SMK, Simian, Overgaden, etc.), makes for the perfect weekend getaway. The algorithms clearly picked up that a trip was underway, because “SoMe” had been serving up one urban swimming spot and lush bakery after another in the lead-up to the trip.
With limited time and Louisiana Literature being the main focus of the trip, staying in Vesterbro, adjacent to the central station, made for the perfect base, as it generally does.
For lunch, as recommended by a local, family-run Alle Tiders in Kødbyen, with its sleek homemade vegetarian tray lunch, is a gem.
We had been meaning to visit Sanchez, American-Mexican chef Rosio Sanchez’s hyped Vesterbro establishment, for ages, and its three- or five-course set menu of Mexican fusion did not disappoint. Sanchez’s signature carrot taco was a culinary highlight of the trip, as much a work of art as it was a dish, with its rainbow of sliced carrots. For a more budget-friendly option, the nearby taqueria Hija de Sanchez offers tacos at a more accessible price point.
For morgenmad, breakfast, or any other meal, Bottega Barlie is a wonderful little corner spot just north of Indre By, Copenhagen’s city centre. Do make a reservation beforehand, though.
For fellow art-loving mermaids, La Banchina on Refshaleøen, approximately 15 minutes by bus from the central station, is what dreams are made of. What is there not to like about a free, decked-out bathing zone complete with a bar and sauna? As also recommended by everyone’s literary guru and travel influencer, Dua Lipa. After a dip, head over to Copenhagen Contemporary, a former welding hall turned art space spanning approximately 7,000 m², with a permanent installation by James Turrell. Currently on view is Paper Planes, French contemporary art frontrunner Camille Henrot’s largest solo exhibition in Scandinavia to date. Koshik Zaman
• • •
C-print at the helm consists of curators Ashik and Koshik Zaman, who founded C-print together in 2013. Ashik Zaman serves as the artistic director of the contemporary arts institution Konstnärshuset in Stockholm and is a board member of Konstnärsnämnden. Koshik Zaman is an independent curator, and they are both regular contributors as critics to the international lens-based art publication Camera Austria.
Kasia Syty is a film critic, culture journalist, and translator specializing in film and contemporary culture. She has worked as film editor at Nöjesguiden and as a film critic for Upsala Nya Tidning and Filmrutan, among others. In 2023, she received the Filmpennan, awarded by Filmpublicisterna (the Swedish Film Publicists Association), in recognition of her ability to combine unexpected references with sharp cinephile observation and a distinctly personal critical voice. She has also served as artistic director of Bergman Week and as programme coordinator at Bio Aspen.
Zachary Whittenburg has been a journalist, administrator, photographer, and grantmaker in arts and culture since 2008. A regular contributor to Dance Magazine and former dance editor at Time Out Chicago magazine, he has written for numerous additional publications including Critical Correspondence, Critical Read, Dance International, Flavorwire, Pointe, and Total Theatre UK.
Corina Wahlin is a writer focusing on art and literature. She is a longstanding and regular team contributor to C-print as a writer and photographer. She has also worked as editor for the independent literary publishing house Aska Förlag.