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page 1 of 11 Northern Exposures/ February 16, 2003
In fact, modernism is well into middle age, if not antiquity. After an 11-hour flight from Seattle, I'm feeling much the same myself. Co-producer Jim Laurel and I hooked up at SeaTac after my earlier flight from SFO, and somehow cajoled our way into Business Class seats, which made it all bearable. If only the movie choices had exceeded the rather low bar of "The Good Girl," I'd be happier still. At our hotel, the Radisson SAS Royal, we meet correspondent Jim Holt, of the New York Times, the New Yorker and, well, of New York. We also confront the estimable Arne Jacobsen himself, at least in the manifestation. We don't exactly shake hands with the latter - he's been dead about 32 years, though ironically he was born just over 101 years ago (Feb. 11, 1902) - but the lime green swoopy furniture and amoebic cut-outs that decorate the ash walls of my hotel room are all the introduction one needs. Oh yeah, that guy. Thanks for the stacking chairs, pool parties and Ikea.
Dinner was at the Caffe
Sommersko, in the pedestrian zone or "strøget," where
the three of us were led by the first in a series of experts-on-demand,
Frank Jensen, an architect himself. Jensen had just given us a tour of
the celebrated Room 606, It will be today, as if has been for 0530 now - most of which I've enjoyed, or rather tolerated, in the shallow darkness of sleeping Copenhagen. I've read, tossed, properly bathed, tossed, read and written, and now perhaps it's time to get more sleep - or try to - before daybreak. NEXT PAGE
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Of
all one knew of this destination were Scandinavian Designs, one might
expect Denmark to be all swoops and lines, edges and angles. And you would
not be far off. But there's not just Danish modernism at work here - the
soft pastels might come from the oxidized copper roofs of the cathedrals
and castles, and the brick facades from the century-old buildings exhibit
the rugged patina of durability. Cobbled streets flow between close quarters,
painted walls, small shops. Here history and design collaborate.
Holt,
on the other hand, is alive, though to this point he's had far less influence
on my design sensibilities. That may change in the next 10 days. He's
the latest in a string of correspondents for Slate that I've worked with
on these Well-Traveled assignments. He's talkative, witty, well-educated
and more than a bit infatuated with himself, none of which irritates me
in its own right. He's also younger than I am by several years, still
has a stock broker, hires his own architects, lives in Manhattan. Things
accumulate. Did I mention his French girl friend? Only my own good breeding
stops me from further elaboration on this list, but all is forgiven by
the fact that he has laughed at, and later verbally complimented me for,
one of my well-aimed bon mots, delivered over dinner and the dregs of
the wine. If only either of us could remember what it was. 
the
only remaining quarters at the SAS Radisson that retained the original
décor, furniture and palette of the Hotel Royal that Jacobsen designed
in the late 1950s. He had done a good and thorough job, and while he was
respectful and informative, I sensed that Jensen was no longer, if he
ever had been, a slave to Jacobsen's aesthetic: he chided the master for
mis-designing an egg-shell chair that toppled too easily when careless
squatters sat, and he no longer works for the Danish Design Center, which
we'll visit later today.