The project PICTURE Budapest-Østfold: Investigating the Role of Artistic Interventions in (Post-)industrial Environments is positioned at the intersection of a myriad of interests and practices. The central focus is the site- or place-specificity for artistic interventionist practice. This is contextualised primarily by deindustrialised architecture, landscape, economy, and social structures. The field of play encounters a wide variety of stakeholders with regard to renovation and (re)development, including but not limited to urban planners, property developers, architects, politicians, cultural heritage officers, public sector administration, homeowners, sociologists, environmentalists, and engaged citizens. Beyond these local and/or national actors are the external influences imposed by the processes of planetary urbanisation.[1]
Precariously operating in this landscape is the curator-producer. While this role was not an explicit focus for our international research and exchange project, it nonetheless deserves greater attention and scrutiny as a stakeholder in its own right. As explained by O´Neill and Doherty, “By 2006, the curator-producer had emerged as the linchpin in negotiations between artist and place. At the point at which this research project began, we could distinguish the twenty-first century curator-producer from the museum custodian by their active involvement in the production of the artwork; by their consideration of the need to work from an informed, embedded position, and the responsibility to account for considerable expenditure of public funds on artworks that must be locally relevant but also internationally significant.”[2] Accordingly, the concern with duration was not only for a given project but for “an individual commissioner’s investment in maintaining a committed, long-term, durational approach to commissioning contemporary art in a specific place.”[3] The role requires a special set of navigational skills amid contextual complexities, inviting artists to manifest their work in a terrain layered with processes, agendas, alliances, and conflicts.
The PICTURE project has both obliged and enabled me to investigate a diversity of perspectives on these interrelated practices with a rigour that is generally denied by ongoing, seasonal cycles of production and presentation. While I have been producing and creating site-specific art off and on since my student days at California Institute of the Arts in the late 80s and early 90s, until recently this has focused on singular projects. It is only during the past few years that my curatorial activities have included site- and place-specific work whereby the public realm is the overriding framework, as well as the opportunity to work in long-term perspectives.[4] The particular circumstances in the provincial towns of Moss and Fredrikstad have provided fertile ground, inviting me to explore deep mapping[5] processes of not only an archaeological, historical nature, but also those of becoming. Here there are a multiplicity of narratives available at any given time and site.
It may be worth noting as well that my personal inclination is to focus on thematic and phenomenological experiences of place. In my own artistic practice, creating immersive, site-specific installations,[6] I have been primarily investigating existential questions about the human condition, exploring transformational processes concerned with consciousness, creative mythology,[7] and the numinous. When I began to work with site-based art in a curatorial capacity, with the primacy of the public realm as context, I was naturally drawn to sites that are themselves undergoing transformations. This is due both to the metaphoric value for individual and society, and to the significance of the moment.[8] Beyond the temporary, aesthetic experiences of places with historic and future value, it was also important to extend an alternative invitation to inhabitants to take a broader civic ownership of these processes. However, the more I journey into these circumstances, the more my efforts are confronted by overtly political concerns and conflicting interests. This has created a tension that raises unsettling doubts, without any sense of resolution on the horizon.
One of my motivations for developing the PICTURE project as we did[9] was to explore questions related to artistic involvement in urban planning and (re)development processes for places in a heightened state of becoming. To be clear, this particular line of questioning is less about reactionary creative actions, which are the more common (authentic?) form of intervention. Rather: is it feasible to involve artists in these processes during earlier, germinal stages––not as a pseudo-urban planner or an exotic consultant but as an artistic practice? Paradoxically, interventionist practices in these contexts will largely be hidden from public view, as commonly understood, yet they may profoundly influence the evolution of public space in their place of engagement.
This may perhaps be naively idealistic. The spectre of instrumentalisation will always haunt these endeavours, and neoliberalism’s obsession with efficiency and capital gains will instinctively resist all challenges to its ever-expanding hegemony. Artists are not always rational or linear in their methods, which may tend toward the poetic, phenomenological, or confrontational, and their perspectives and values may not align with those of individual stakeholders. Yet the ‘revitalisation’ processes of the kinds now occurring in Moss and Fredrikstad are of a scale that will have significant impact on coming generations. Society as a whole will be healthier if artists become more involved in these processes on their own premises, efficiency be damned. In the spirit of Trickster,[10] how might the disruptive imagination of artists enlighten the prevailing methods for the production of space in the 21st century?[11] At the same time I should emphasise that, regardless of my personal line of questioning, interventionist practices from all positions, and with all variety of intentions, were relevant for our investigations.
Peripheral perspectives
One of the advantages of working in the periphery is that you may have most of the fundamental characteristics of any urban setting, yet on a scale whereby a more complex yet detailed view is discernible. Access to key players is also more readily available, with degrees of separation more modest than in a metropolis. Moss and Fredrikstad are considered cities by Norwegian standards, with 30,000[12] and 80,000 inhabitants respectively, and both are within a short train ride to Oslo. Moss was developed as an industrial centre, officially incorporated nearly 300 years ago, whereas Fredrikstad was originally established 450 years ago as a fortified town with military significance for the Danish crown. The overriding conditions of both Moss and Fredrikstad are characterised by the deindustrialisation that has occurred during the past three decades. Proud industrial enterprises of international format have dissolved or departed one after the other, leaving the ruins of outmoded infrastructures in their wake.
Initially this had a devastating impact upon both economy and identity. Yet recent years have seen a remarkable revitalisation, with new infrastructure developments of impressive scale.[13] The process is currently accelerating in spite of their size and the inevitable uncertainties in a world desperately seeking alternatives to petroleum, while robots and digitalisation are expected to replace a substantial part of the workforce in the near future. The enormous levels of investment in infrastructure and property development beg the question of whom these new urban spaces are for, and what social values will be reflected in the choices that are being made. Aside from the details, the critical characteristic is that these are not static situations. These places are undergoing major transformations, it is happening now in real time, and the ramifications will be felt in a profoundly personal way by generations to come.
These circumstances highlight some of the contextual complexities facing the artist and the curator-producer. The stagnation of industrial ruins has limited long-term value, even if they are aesthetically seductive. Yet their conditions and the goals for their revitalisation raise myriad questions of a moral and ethical nature. Artist and curator-producers need not serve one or another of the spectrum of stakeholders involved, but the first must account for the presence and intentions of the latter.
Deconstruction
The seminar activities for PICTURE Budapest–Østfold were designed to deconstruct some of the relationships and possibilities for interventionist practice in these contexts. The contrast between Csepel in Budapest, and Moss/Fredrikstad is enormous, which provided a rich series of juxtapositions.[14] For the Norwegian seminar we selected four places to be used as case studies. These places were selected to compliment one another, with both similarities and important differences. They are all large-scales sites located within the town centre, which means that their transformations will greatly impact the social and civic fabric of their respective places. Each has historic significance and is connected to waterways (the river, the sea, or both). Yet they are all at different stages of their respective renewal processes, facing distinctive challenges, and comprising three different ownership models. The intentions for the subsequent workshop was to have these places be available for mapping exercises and discourses that would explore various artistic strategies and methods.
Verket Moss
Verket Moss is a former industrial area established in 1704 by the source of Moss itself: the Moss river and waterfall that provided power to the grain mills and other local industry. Verket was originally an iron works producing munitions for the Danish king, but was transformed into paper factory more than 200 years ago. It remained a cornerstone of Moss industry, with the powerful aroma from cellulose production (Mosselukt) contributing to the town’s national identity, until bankruptcy in 2012. Then the fully automated factory was disassembled, piece-by-piece, and shipped in 400 containers to Egypt and Indonesia. What remained was a surreal ghost town of exotic industrial ruins.
The entire area is owned by Höegh Eiendom, a family-owned real estate developer with a background from international shipping, who is transforming the area into a mixed residential and non-industrial business neighbourhood.[15] The new regulation plan has been politically ratified, with several buildings demolished and new construction under way. However, Höegh’s intentions and practices have generated several conflicts with local residents. These have involved conservation of the river, building techniques, and criticism of the scale, balance, and aesthetics of the development.
My first production there was in September of 2014, following initial contact in April that year. A large-scale, wandering performance installation by the French collective G. Bistaki,[16] consisting of 3,000 terracotta roof tiles, video and sound installations, and incorporating 13 local amateurs as animated tableaux along a 1,5 km route. Questions of instrumentalisation were not a concern. I invited myself into the site without any knowledge or neither concern for who owned the site nor their intentions for it. The irresistible yearning to share this site, during its limited period of ghost town conditions, with local artists and a deliberately selected performance ensemble, outweighed any other considerations. The ripple effect from this project upon my relationship to the town cannot be overstated.
There were other, unanticipated developments that emerged. Höegh’s director of development admitted that he did not take us seriously beforehand, and elected not to invite anyone from headquarters in Oslo; instead accepting two free tickets in order to bring his daughter. Afterward he said it was one of the most extraordinary cultural experiences he ever had, which impacted his understanding of the role artists could play in his own place making. The following year we were granted more or less carte blanche with regards to access and use, and Höegh Eiendom contributed financially to infrastructure costs, which can be substantial for technically sophisticated works in what are functionally ruins.
In 2015 I curated and produced an IN SITU Focus[17] program-within-the-program of NonStop International Theatre Festival, with five performances, two experimental interventions, and a professional seminar. Running parallel to the goal of sharing these artists’ transformations of this place with local inhabitants, the Focus program aimed to inspire the establishment of Norway’s first national residency centre for art in public space.[18] This was partly in response to Höegh Eiendom’s invitation for proposals for long-term cultural activities. It was also important to share a broad range of artistic strategies for urban, industrial, and natural landscapes together with a variety of professionals in the region from both public and private sectors. This is because there is extremely limited exposure to and experience with experimental approaches to art in public space in Norway, and especially in Østfold. Here, art in public space is primarily still conceived as sculptures, or as commissions for architectural accents paid for by a modest per cent of entrepreneurial budgets. Alternative artistic undertakings predicated on the artists’ motivations and intentions are rare, which stands in contrast to places like France and The Netherlands. In spite of seemingly genuine interest, nothing has yet become of this unique opportunity for a pilot project, although it is not realistic to expect Höegh to pursue such an ambitious and exotic enterprise on their own.
Moss harbour / Nyquistbyen
Moss harbour[19] is primarily for large container ships and the ferry between Moss and Horten, on the other side of Oslofjord.[20] It is soon to be demolished and rebuilt, just to the south of its current location, in connection with a new train tunnel and station.[21] Also slated for demolition is Nyquistbyen, en entire neighbourhood that is home to many of the oldest houses in Moss.[22] Still to be confirmed is the construction of a second tunnel, to move the harbour and ferry traffic under the city centre. The size of the entire area is formidable and will take on a different character of public space as a result.
The plans for the new train tunnel and station have been ratified, politically, following more than twenty years of anticipation. Yet there is currently a local initiative to reverse the plans in favour of an alternate solution. While it does not appear likely that this initiative will succeed, it illustrates just how contentious developments of this kind can be. The emotional impact and its possible consequences cannot be underestimated.
The harbour is symbolic of the contemporary European industrial economy, which is still based upon industrial production and consumption, but where the manufacture is largely relocated elsewhere. The containers are no longer exporting much from Moss or Norway, but rather importing all variety of goods and materials, which are then stored in robotic warehouses just outside of town alongside the freeway. As such, the new container harbour will provide few jobs locally, yet is a critical node in a regional and international network for the movement of global commodities. The ferry pier alone would require a more modest footprint while serving decidedly local interests. It is therefore not surprising that local inhabitants are conflicted about the future of their waterfront, especially when the partnering train tunnel will require that a neighbourhood of historical value will be erased from the map.
In 2016 we occupied the south end of the harbour for one of six site-specific performances during two artistic urban walks that consciously focused on these areas undergoing transformation.[23] The harbour director welcomed us openly and supported us with a team from his staff, while Green Carrier, the container operation company, built a three-story acoustic amphitheatre of containers to our designs for a performance of choir and solo saxophone. The work did not problematise the circumstances of the conflicts, as these were already ubiquitous for local inhabitants. And feedback was largely positive from supporters and detractors alike.[24]
Fredrikstad Mekaniske Verksted (FMV)
Originally a workshop servicing sawmill machinery, Fredrikstad Mekaniske Verksted (FMV) was established as a shipyard in 1870. FMV grew into a cornerstone company that contributed more than any other to Fredrikstad’s industrial identity for generations. They built some of the largest boats at sea,[25] with nearly everything, including motors and interior furnishings, fabricated on site. As was the fate with many shipyards around Oslofjord in the eighties, the company was dissolved in 1988. The enormous area on the island of Kråkerøy, at the confluence of the rivers Glomma and Seut, ended up divided between Værste,[26] a consortium of local owners, and Jotne Eiendom,[27] a family-owned real estate development company with a background from offshore industries like Höegh Eiendom.
A large portion of the FMV area owned by Værste has already been redeveloped, converting the former administration building into a university college, constructing new housing, a health services complex, and transforming former welding halls into the spectator tribunes for a football stadium. The area owned by Jotne Eiendom has remained undeveloped, an industrial ruin closed off to inhabitants due legal requirements as an international shipping area. There are still some industrial activities in the area, which includes 930′ dry dock, a gigantic slip, three large welding halls, and four remaining crane towers, yet these are a shadow of its heyday, and largely invisible from the outside. It is the area owned by Jotne, which is currently undergoing a new regulation plan process, which was a focus of our case study.
The relationship between Jotne, Værste, and the municipality, which has a minority ownership stake in Værste through the local energy corporation, has been contentious. Jotne has been critical to the regulation process, raising questions of unfair treatment and conflicts of interest, delaying their plans from 2001 while Værste has developed the area continuously.[28] Now Jotne and Værste are actively cooperating on regulation for the remaining territory.[29] This historical context is nonetheless critical, and something of which I had to be sensitive during my own negotiations over access to the site for an artistic intervention.
The autumn following the PICTURE project I produced a large-scale wandering through the area as a contribution to Fredrikstad’s 450-year anniversary. The Night Sea Journey of more than a kilometre included a series of site-specific installations and performances by three contemporary circus ensembles.[30] Jotne welcomed us to use the site but was unwilling to contribute financially. Any concerns of passive instrumentalisation were outweighed by the importance of opening the area to inhabitants and offering a unique experience of a place with great historic significance before it is demolished. There were no intentions to problematise the future developments. The focus was a poetic celebration of place, both the immediate site and the town, in a poetic and irrational manner. Yet those who journeyed through our temporary wonderland are now invited and enabled to engage themselves more actively if they choose.
Denofa / Hydrogenfabrikken / Fredrikstad Innovasjonpark
Denofa was a factory that did pioneering work in the hydrogenating and food oils and margarine. Its historic building mass was built during World War I with elegant use of bricks and windows, though the current industrial footprint is much larger, positioned at the end of Norway’s longest river, the Glomma, just before it empties into Oslofjord. While the old factory buildings have been decommissioned (and many already transformed), a substantial industrial activity remains, with large-scale food storage in gigantic cylindrical tanks, and experiments with land-based fish farming operation among others. Fredrikstad Innovation Park (FRIP) owns the entire area as a real estate management and development company.[31] At the time of PICTURE, FRIP was owned by Orkla, one of Norway’s largest industrial concerns, though it has since been sold to a consortium of local owners in an interesting development.
FRIP has extensive plans for a multi-use zone, constructing a new residential area at the north end of the property that borders a charming old neighbourhood called Vaterland. The old factory-building complex remains as a buffer between the heavy industrial and the residential. They originally wished to demolish many of the old brick buildings but were denied by the regional cultural heritage officer. In response to this they developed Hydrogenfabrikken, a business cluster for visual artists and ‘creative industries,’ including a kunsthall (large-scale art exhibition hall), artist studios, and offices.[32] This was developed in partnership with Østfold kunstsenter (ØKS), in a process that included an Innovative Alliance cooperation whereby an artist was engaged as a consultant to investigate future use possibilities. ØKS was initially responsible for programming and operating the kunsthall, though this proved unsuccessful and its subsidiary company was dissolved following roughly two years with minimal activity.
In advance of the PICTURE seminar I was sent a copy of their Master Plan 2023 for the future development of the residential and non-industrial business areas for the park to share with the participating artists. FRIP gave us a detailed presentation and tour, and solicited input for use of the un-renovated buildings and areas. While this fell outside of our investigations into interventionist practice, it demonstrated a genuine curiosity for how artists may contribute to long-term solutions in revitalisation processes, even as their overall interest is unquestionably a significant return on capital investment.
***
From a deep mapping perspective, these case studies offer a fertile terrain for mapping both backwards and forwards in time. If the space we produce is conceptual as much as real or virtual, then our capacity to imagine a broad spectrum of future possibilities is both valid and necessary. These case studies are equally fertile for a discourse about strategies and methods for artistic interventionist practice. We were provided a remarkable degree of access and were welcome to engage in experiments during the workshop that followed the seminar. Within the scope of PICTURE Budapest – Østfold we were only able to scratch the surface layers, yet the value of this should not be underestimated.
I will not reflect upon the workshop activities, as they are treated by others in this book. But I will acknowledge that we engaged in lively discussions during the seminar with the city planner for the town of Moss, who courageously faced a variety of critical questions regarding economic interests, aesthetics, development concepts and strategies, and ethical concerns.[33] His active participation provided useful insight into some of the bureaucratic mechanisms that underpin this processes, as well as the limits of his influence at the intersection between local politicians, whose mandates he is charged with implementing, and the concerns of local businesses, private developers, and inhabitants at large.
A dominating trend in Norway, which is touched upon in various ways by our examples, is the privatisation and commercialisation of public space. While this is a growing problem in many places in the world, I find it peculiar in a Scandinavian context, particularly in connection with the waterways. When I first travelled to Norway I was fascinated by ‘allemannsrett’ (public right of access). This is no moral or theoretical right to the city, but a legal right to nature, even if it is privately-owned property, and especially to water and coastal areas. This is an astounding notion for someone from the United States. Yet the coast along Oslofjord and its urban riversides are increasingly privatised as these towns remake themselves for a deindustrialised future. In fact, there appears to be limited focus on green spaces in general, especially in light of the anticipated population growth in coming years. Where are inhabitants to congregate, freely and free of charge? Are these new developments for the many or the few?
Yet any critical reflection upon this is muted. Coming generations may come to live in profound regret over some critical choices being made during this period of civic transition. What are the underlying reasons for this? Is contemporary society too obsessed with ‘social media’ that it cannot perceive the disappearance of corporeal public arenas that do not require payment for admission? Technically, it is possible to manoeuvre alongside the waterside. Yet the majority of recent and planned developments I am aware of allow precious little area where it is inviting to engage in social activities other than walking past, or conspicuous consumption at a rented table. In some cases this may be more a question of aesthetics and/or proportion. Yet what happens if and when the growing populace awakens from the fog of digital interface and rediscovers a deeper need for genuine collective contact?
Questions like these were inevitably directed toward the urban planners among the participants, since they have a more direct responsibility for, and understanding of, these processes. However, it should be reiterated that their influence is curtailed as they navigate this complicated terrain of stakeholders with varied and often conflicting interests. Furthermore, our examples may not be exemplary in some respects, as it is uncommon to have large, deindustrialised zones located within the city centre (in the case of FMV, its total area was twice the size of the existing city centre). There is also a risk of drawing an inordinate focus toward the physical landscape at the risk of obscuring the economic and social concerns of our post-industrial realities.
Where, then, does this leave artists and curator-producers who are sensitive about the character and qualities of public space, and who utilize it as concept and material inasmuch as an arena? Where my personal lines of questioning above are concerned, I cannot say that I emerged with any palpable sense of optimism. It is still an open line of inquiry, yet as Arve Rød relates in his reflections upon the seminars, it is easy to feel a sense of powerlessness and doubt.[34] Artists are generally on the outside of these processes, or instrumentalised when invited to operate on the inside. From an interventionist position, oblique and/or provocative strategies are more likely to remain faithful to artists’ intentions, and more likely to achieve a deeper resonance among those who encounter them. These need not be confrontational, although we must allow for this as well. Even if this may be inconvenient for some, it is imperative that we protect and promote both the rights and opportunities for artists who, in the spirit of Trickster, can operate as mischievous boundary-crossers that “keep our world lively and give it the flexibility to endure.”[35]
[1] Andy Merrifield: Planetary Urbanisation – The Whole and the Remainder (andymerrifield.org, blog essay, 2016). Merrifield examines Henri Lefebvre’s ideas about planetary urbanism from a contemporary perspective.
[2] Locating the Producers: Durational Approaches to Public Art. Ed. by Paul O´Neill and Claire Doherty. Amsterdam, Valiz, 2011, p. 3.
[3] Ibid., p. 5.
[4] I first began curating performing arts in 2009, though this was focused on more conventional arenas until 2014, when we joined IN SITU European Network for Artistic Creation in Public Space, which enabled me to incorporate my experience from my artistic practice into my role as it evolved to curator-producer.
[5] Mike Pearson and Michael Shanks: Theatre/Archeology. London, Routledge, 2001, p. 64–66.
[6] Most of the installations I have created have been in collaboration with Camilla Wexels Riser, one of the artists participating in PICTURE Budapest – Østfold.
[7] Joseph Campbell: The Masks of God: Creative Mythology. London, Penguin, 1978, p. 4–9.
[8] Andy Merrifield: Henri Lefebvre: A Critical Introduction. London, Routledge, 2006, chapter 2. Merrifield analyses Lefebvre’s concept of the production of space, through both the book of the same name and the larger context of Lefebvre’s other writings, as well as comparing and contrasting the works of his contemporaries.
[9] Fanni Nánay and I developed the framework for project based upon an Emerging Spaces seminar I helped her to organise in Budapest in 2016 as partners in the IN SITU network. PICTURE Budapest–Østfold expanded both the breadth and depth of the investigations, together with practical workshop exercises.
[10] To understand the relevance of the Trickster archetype for interventionist practice, I highly recommend Lewis Hyde: Trickster Makes This World: Mischief, Myth, and Art. New York, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1998.
[11] Andy Merrifield: Henri Lefebvre…, op.cit., chapters 5–7.
[12] Moss will soon merge with a neighboring town, bringing its population to 45,000.
[13] As parallel illustration, in the ten years since I moved to Fredrikstad, the central promenade has transformed from a rather deserted corridor, with an alarming procentage of empty storefronts, to a thriving thoroughfare. Unfortunately, its domination by franchise retail outlets signals that the Society of the Spectacle is also thriving, fifty years after Guy Debord penned his radical critique. (see Guy Debord: Society of the Spectacle. Detroit, Black & Red, 1970.)
[14] Aside from the obvious cultural and economic differences, one of the surprising features of Csepel was the difficulty in identifying ownership of the properties. See Szilvia Kovács’s study Les Perruques of Csepel in this book, ???
[15] See www.verketmoss.no.
[16] IN SITU artist G. Bistaki, Cooperatzia (The Trail) during NonStop International Theatre Festival.
[17] This, as well as many of my artistic endeavors in recent years, was financed in part by IN SITU European Network for Art in Public Space, which was supported by EU funding via Creative Europe. Four artistic directors from the network generously shared their strategies and experiences from a variety of different contexts.
[18] There are thirteen such centers in France, each with their own resources and areas of focus. Nothing of their kind exists in Norway, and the first to take the dare is likely to establish an important position nationally.
[19] See www.moss-havn.no.
[20] This ferry has the most daily traffic in Norway, generating a substantial amount of traffic through the center of Moss.
[21] See Moss Avis www.moss-avis.no/nyheter/nyheter/sjosiden-blir-en-ny-bydel/s/2-2.2643-1.8218847.
[22] See www.banenoreiendom.no/sjosiden-moss.
[23] IN SITU artist Kitt Johnson’s (DK) Mellemrum Encounter/Moss during NonStop International Theatre Festival. Composer/musician Trygve Seim (NO) and conductor Reza Aghamir (IR) collaborated with an amateur choir.
[24] As reported verbally during an evaluation with harbour director Øystein Sundby.
[25] In a book published by FMV in 1970, the longest ship listed was 707′; see Aktieselskabet Fredrikstad Mek. Verksted (Fredrikstad, 1970). They built passenger boats, cargo and tanker boats, research vessels, torpedo boats, and whaling boats. The largest by mass was 132,250 tons deadweight; see www.vaerste.no.
[26] See www.vaerste.no.
[27] See www.jotneeiendom.no/eiendommer-blog/2016/9/23/fmv-vest-fredrikstad.
[28] See Fredrikstad Blad 25.01.2001, 18.02.2001, and 10.03.2011: www.f-b.no/nyheter/byggesak-loftet-opp-pa-advokat-niva/s/2-2.952-1.1853221, www.f-b.no/nyheter/userios-regulering/s/2-2.952-1.1854543, and www.f-b.no/nyheter/nyheter/frykter-forskjellsbehandling-pa-fmv/s/2-2.952-1.6090988.
[29] See Fredrikstad Blad 13.12.2017: www.f-b.no/nyheter/varste/fmv/disse-naboene-skal-sammen-investere-25-000-000-000-kroner-pa-utviklingen-av-fredrikstad/s/5-59-965723
[30] Participating artists included Cirkus Cirkör (SE), Rudi Skotheim Jensen’s (NO) project Elven & Havet, Abaris (NO), and six masters students from Norwegian Theatre Academy.
[31] See www.frip.no.
[32] Fredrikstad Innovation Park made substantial investments, initially ca EUR 3 million. The initial renovations were more suitable to the creative industries than the artists, but they have since renovated another building in a manner better suited to artistic production.
[33] Kommuneplanlegger Terje Pettersen has actively supported several of the productions I have realised in Moss and has taken a genuine interest in the role art and artists can play in these processes.
[34] See Arve Rød’s essay Can art redefine urban space? in this book. pp ??–??
[35] Lewis Hyde, op.cit, p. 6–9.