The sad violin, the fire, the darkness and the starless sky

By Morten Priesholm, guest

It is all over now. The wind has gone. The fire has burned out. The house has elapsed. The island is dressed in a grey and misty weather.

 I am driving my car alone on Låningsvejen, which at low tide connects Mandø to the mainland. In the CD player is the album African Marketplace. For some reason this jazzy, African music fits the present situation. Beneath Abdullah Ibrahims busy and playful melodies  is a sad and melancholic flow, which I can slide through – in the same way as my car slides through the quiet rain in the remote landscape between island and land.

 There has been a party on Mandø these days. All the new have created smiles and joy and surprise and laugh and cheerful togetherness. There has been bowling and giggling and laughing and singing, when artists and inhabitants met in the inn or in the café in Peter Withs house.

 But some how there has also been a grey tone from the events on Mandø. For me music, performances, installations, sculptures and all the rest came together in a silent poetry, a minor scale, a serious come together.

 I don’t know: Maybe Mandø inspires you to reflection and melancholy? Does the nature? Does the landscape? Or is it an autumn mood? A September colour?

 Last night a group of young girls sang the Danish song Mørk er november (Dark is November) at the bonfire on the beach on Mandø. The girls stayed the weekend over in a cottage, and by chance they arrived to the bonfire and the closing event at the beach.

 The tune for Mørk er november is moody but also has a dramatic, heroic touch. The text written by the Danish poet Thorkild Bjørnvig (1918-2004) is dark but also coloured with a strong hope. Last night Tomas Machs violin accompanied the song with a crispy and firm C-minor.

 The spontaneous song, the sad violin, the fire, the darkness, the starless night, the obscure sea. That is how Any Question? also was.