Written by Emma Roberts, Images sourced from Simon & Schuster
I’m not quite sure if there’s a word for being nostalgic of a past that never existed. It’s an interesting feeling, a mix of hopefulness, intrigue and in some cases, dread. It’s fascinating to think of a world that could have been, one that never existed, but could have. That is what I see when I look at the works of Simon Stålenhag.
I found his work many years ago, in a Tumblr post that has almost certainly been lost to time. The first drawing depicted a man, carrying a computer home, while a large floating craft hovered far away from him. Immediately, I was captivated. Maybe it was the mix of old, 90s era tech with something that seemed so futuristic, maybe it was the grand yet small scale of it. Either way, I was hooked. I loved his art, and I wanted mine to depict the same mix of emotion.
I wanted to see more, see what he had made, and ended up buying his book, “Tales from the Loop.” In the pages was the story of a small Swedish town, and the experimental research facility that ran underneath. Some of the drawings were of robots walking nearby a family home, others were of a strange sort of craft, floating at a docking station. The stories in the book told not of world-ending events or epic quests, but of growing up. Family drama, exploring the town you live in and falling in and out of love. The world was one that felt lived in, one that seemed real.
Seeing his artwork, and the ideas behind it made me think of my own art. Oftentimes I reached far higher than I could ever accomplish, and in doing so hundreds of projects of mine were left unfinished. I thought my art always had to have some profound message, that my photographs had to exist on an epic scale. In truth, they didn’t. My photos could tell small stories, ones that most people could relate to and experience. Not everything had to be a matter of life and death.
I think his art also paints a picture of worlds that are not dystopias or utopias, but something different. Being bipolar, I often view myself thinking in blacks and whites: things will either turn out great, or we will face oblivion. In looking at Stålenhag’s art, it’s almost calming. The world may be complicated, beyond understanding, but those connections we form with others matter. Our small stories, our experiences, triumphs and falls, are just as important.
I often wonder about what drew me to Stålenhag’s art. Maybe it was a perfect storm of trying to discover my identity, my desire for escapism, wondering and hoping for hope in a world I thought was utterly devoid of it. Maybe I just really like the art style and think it’s cool. Whatever the case, Stålenhag’s art affected me in ways I likely will not understand for a long time, if ever. I now look at the world and imagine what could be, or what could have been. My art may not be of an epic scale, rivalling myths of old, but they’re just as important.
