I still vividly remember that evening back in September 2020, when we first visited Magnus Fisker in his makeshift studio high up under the roof of the Royal Danish Academy buildings on Peder Skrams Gade - only a few hundred meters from the gallery. It was not yet autumn, but the evening was cool, and we pulled up our coat collars to cover our ears as we walked. I had seen some of Magnus’s works at a newly opened restaurant and had been struck by the effect they had on me despite their somewhat overlooked placement behind a sea of festive, talking heads — amid cooking fumes, flickering garments, and the all-to-familiar cacophony weekend nights. The colour-saturated, expressive canvases hit me physically in a way I rarely experience, and although we had a fairly clear agreement that, out of respect for the internal logic of the Academy, we would not go foraging among the students, I nevertheless managed to persuade Hans to pay a visit to the tall painter with the wild gaze and expansive gestures. Still, we were quite aligned on one thing: this would be it—a brief visit, an exchange of pleasantries, an expression of interest, and otherwise we would wait and observe from a distance; that was the sensible approach.

When we found ourselves back on the street, and the September light had given way to a milky dusk, neither of us said anything. Instead of taking the direct route back to the gallery, we wandered aimlessly toward Nyhavn, where the grain-yellow lamps of the restaurants swayed and pulsed on the other side of the canal. Hans was the first to speak: “Damn.” I remember glancing at him in confusion: “What is it?” He threw his arms up: “We have to work with him. I mean… it goes completely against everything we’ve agreed on, but we simply can’t let him slip away…”

And that was it.

In January 2021, during the COVID lockdown, Magnus Fisker took part in our first annual group exhibition with two paintings that were barely hung on the walls before being sold. We were only allowed to admit one pair of visitors at a time, and I remember how people lined up outside the gallery to see the works. That same year, we presented his first solo exhibition, “Let’s Swim in This River of Pain and Joy,” and since then Magnus has become part of the gallery’s DNA. We have, of course, influenced him, but Fisker has also pushed us and our way of seeing, as is only right in a healthy artist–gallery relationship. It has been symbiotic.  

This May, Magnus Fisker will graduate from the Academy. In the meantime, he has become a father, held numerous exhibitions in the gallery, and established himself as a clear and distinct voice on the Danish art scene. From time to time, he has had to endure various versions of the same rather unfounded criticism, as his abstract landscapes instinctively make people think of Kirkeby, Nielsen, and Eriksson., but for those of us who know Fisker’s practice, it is equally clear that his visual language and approach are entirely his own—and that, in any case, there is no shame in standing on the shoulders of giants. As the saying goes, that which isn’t evolving is, by definition, in decay.

In “forlader stemmen,” Fisker elegantly sums up the transformation he has undergone since his first paintings were shown in the gallery. The works take as their point of departure the now-adult artist’s experience of being a father, the blurred and flickering boundary between the artist’s ego and that of the child, the joys of everyday life, and what it truly means to be present in the now. The perpetual negotiation and renegotiation of the premises of one’s existence; the simple act of being in this world. Fisker sees his motifs as small, sonic impressions drawn from everyday life. It revolves around humanity’s place in nature and the sensory body in the world.

According to Fisker, there is a direct connection between the laws of nature and the inner life of human beings. When he observes how organisms grow in nature, how fluids move across states, or how treetops expand, he sees his own love — for his daughter and for her mother — shooting through him like wild-growing fractals or surging currents, breaking through his surface and flowing out into the world. And he sees their love flowing back to him. A kind of osmosis of emotion.

Magnus Fisker’s works are marked by a pronounced openness to interpretation. There is nothing dogmatic or didactic about his universe; rather, his practice is about conjuring states of mood and inner imagery in the viewer. As with sculpture, his works are to a large extent a distinctly physical experience. One is present with them in space, compelled to navigate in relation to them. The largest work in the exhibition, “Bredden (The Shore)” is a great example of this physicality in Fisker’s art. Measuring 230 x 498 cm, the work is imposing in itself and demands an almost reverential attention from the viewer—not only because of its scale, but also due to the explosive gesture that binds the four individual canvases together as one move along the full length of the painting. The work is inspired by Joan Mitchell—one of Fisker’s favorite painters—and, like several other works in the exhibition, it is defined by large, almost monochrome surfaces that disrupt the underlying figuration. This is a deliberate strategy, serving to underscore the indeterminacy of the motif; the space for interpretation is intentionally left open. 

In other works in the exhibition—including the title piece, “forlader stemmen (leaving the voice)” —Fisker surrenders to an entirely new palette and technique. A tangle of delicate strokes barely suggests the motif in compositions that are almost meditative, simultaneously glowing towards the viewer and threatening to dissolve themselves altogether. These works stand in stark contrast to their color-saturated and more classical counterparts in the exhibition, while also demonstrating the artist’s range—not only in terms of subject matter, but also in color and technique. 

Magnus Fisker’s new exhibition is a dreamlike journey through outer and inner landscapes, a tour de force of the potential and effects of abstract painting, and an impressive summary of more than five years of hard work and dedication. No two visitors will experience this exhibition in the same way.