Deep Secrets

I am back to the park again. Studying people and their interaction with sculpture. It is a fascinating project.

Kids of all nationalities are thrilled by the stone men and women and children and play with them as if they were real.

Young asian girls giggle at the exposed men, and photograph each other next to everything worth giggling about.

Old American couples wander slowly, touching the smooth skin of fellow stone age people.

Young, dark haired men in bright white shirts and black trousers, lean casually against the naked figures and try to hide their smiles.

Backpackers from France and Italy and Brazil and Indonesia rest by the stone stairs and give each other cuddles and kisses and massage each others shoulders.

An old Swedish man rests his hands at the back and admires the view.

A Buddhist monk with colourful robes fondles his prayer beads while admiring stone men and women in chaos.

A Norwegian dad wheels a pram around on the open space below the group of sculptures, while talking in the mobile phone. Another has his little girl on the shoulders and points to the giant Monolith.

This is the Frogner Park (or Vigeland Park) as I know it.
When I was a child, I lived close by.
When I had my own children, I moved back, though to a slightly different location.
I have walked the park in snow and rain, beneath a scorching sun and a darkened sky.

It is part of my blood stream.