You have spent decades working simultaneously as an artist, festival maker and network organiser. When you look at your work from the outside, what is the common thread that connects all these activities?

The most obvious answer would probably be creativity, art and cultural work, but that feels too easy. My real drive is creating art and trying to make visions come true. If I could choose freely, I would spend much more time on my own artistic work. But that is rarely possible. I cannot make a full living from the kind of art I love to create, as it is neither commercial nor fully recognised by current cultural policy, and therefore lacks strong support structures.

I would consider myself one of those artists who grew up truly independent. Still, rather than the romantic idea of “Do It Yourself”, I believe “Do It Together” better describes the reality. Most culture workers in this field survive by combining many different roles. Over the years I have worked as a sound engineer, producer, photographer and filmmaker, largely learning from others in the scene and by doing. We also had to organise our own events, which led me from small underground club shows to large-scale events involving thousands of people. Networking and collaboration became central parts of my work.

This path eventually led me to teaching and supporting others in event organisation and to working with national non-profit cultural organisations. Part of that work is analysing cultural structures and advocating towards policy makers for better conditions for independent organisers, volunteers and artists. Alongside this, I still continue to create music and work practically in sound and production.

At the core, everything I do is connected to creativity, but also to supporting others. Experiencing the difficulties of independent cultural work from within has pushed me to advocate for change. I am driven by the belief that it can be done differently, and by the hope that future generations will face fewer obstacles and be able to spend more time actually making art in a sustainable way.

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Uma Obscura presents itself as a co-created festival and a celebration of subcultures. What does subculture mean to you today, beyond style or scene?

The term subculture is very broad, so I would first like to narrow it down to subcultures within art and cultural life, rather than subcultures in opposition to society as a whole. At its core, subculture is about challenging norms. But I do not see subculture or counterculture as something that should be excluded from society or from cultural policy. On the contrary, subcultures are a necessary part of a healthy cultural life. The important question is how we allow them to exist and develop.

With Uma Obscura, we try to create a space where the norm is temporarily flipped. For a few days, alternative arts and artists are placed at the centre and given the conditions to present high-quality work. For me, this is a statement and proof that it is possible.

Subculture means having the freedom to think differently, to challenge conventions and to express oneself. It is something that must constantly evolve. Sometimes subcultures become part of the cultural mainstream, and that is also part of how culture develops. The important thing is to embrace this process rather than trying to stop it. Curiosity and compassion are key here.
Subculture is and needs to be something that is ever changing and evolving, although it may also become something more, a way of life, a part of our cultural heritage. Sometimes subcultures become - more or less - part of hegemony as well, which is how culture evolves. The beauty is that once that happens, something new will emerge.

At Uma Obscura, we focus on what we call alternative subcultures. The term itself is not strictly defined, but it often relates to scenes and aesthetics emerging from genres such as goth, new wave or post-punk. At the same time, Uma Obscura is not just a music festival. It includes dance, exhibitions and other art forms, which makes it closer to an interdisciplinary art festival, and perhaps also a kind of lifestyle festival.

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The festival has gone through pauses, changes of location and different formats. What have these ruptures taught you about sustainability in cultural work?

The festival’s journey has involved change. It began as an outdoor festival in 2008 under a different name and went through a major metamorphosis in 2014, when it became Uma Obscura. This evolution came from a need to develop artistically and structurally. At the same time, we have repeatedly been forced into pauses due to insufficient funding. At one point, this even meant pausing the festival for a year. Among all festivals in our city, Uma Obscura receives the second-to-last amount of funding. The pandemic later added another enforced pause, which we, like many others, had to survive.

Another major challenge has been venues. High rental costs combined with low public funding make the equation extremely difficult. A large share of our budget goes into venue rental and technical infrastructure, leaving significantly less to pay artists, artistic leaders and to invest in communication and outreach. Despite this, we try not to compromise on quality, as fair working conditions and proper hospitality for artists are essential.

These conditions have been challenging and often deeply frustrating, especially knowing that we are marginalised within current cultural policy frameworks. What I have learned is that it is very important that we advocate for change in cultural politics and policies to make it more sustainable for organisers to run events, festivals and clubs. That, in turn, creates more opportunities and better working conditions for artists across all genres.

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Kontaktnätet is organised in a grassroots, non-profit way. Which values do cultural organisations need to actively defend today, rather than taking them for granted?

Kontaktnätet, like most national cultural organisations in Sweden, is an NGO organised in a democratic, non-profit way. We function as a support structure for our members, many of whom are local, non-profit concert organisers. Working close to the grassroots means dealing with challenges that organisations recognised within the established cultural policy framework often do not face on a daily basis. We see how our member organisations are marginalised and increasingly locked out of the cultural policy arena.

This work makes it very clear how important it is to actively defend democracy and non-profit, democratically organised structures. These structures form a fundamental foundation for independent culture in Sweden, both today and historically, and they are closely linked to freedom of speech, freedom of expression and artistic freedom.

For these structures to thrive, inclusive cultural funding policies are essential. Too often it is assumed that as long as artists are paid and have work, it does not matter who employs them. I strongly disagree. Who controls the structures of cultural production matters, because it shapes working conditions, artistic freedom and long-term sustainability.

In Sweden, as in many European countries, a large share of public funding goes to a powerful institutional fine arts sector, while commercial corporations dominate the market-driven side. At the same time, a significant part of the cultural field exists outside both of these pillars. This is why we need a third option. Resources must be directed towards NGOs and independent, non-profit structures. This approach lies at the core of Kontaktnätet’s values. We need to recognise that we are all an important part of the puzzle, and that a diverse and functioning cultural landscape depends on all of us.

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You know the cultural field from many different perspectives. Where do you see the biggest misunderstandings between artists, organisers and funding structures?

All these actors are closely connected and part of a complicated ecosystem. I tend to look at the larger structure rather than isolated details, which can sound philosophical, but I think many misunderstandings stem from this overall system. There are many ways in which misunderstandings can arise, and what I would rather describe as miscommunication is often due to a lack of resources, leading to situations that are far from optimal, not even close.

Many parts of the cultural field, especially subcultural scenes, suffer from a lack of funding. At the same time, funders themselves often operate under severe financial constraints, particularly within governmental structures. Even when knowledge exists, there are often insufficient funds, or a lack of appropriate policies to distribute them in ways that reflect the actual needs of artists and organisers.

Another major issue is that funders are frequently bound by rigid guidelines and application systems shaped by excessive new public management. This creates a disconnect from the realities on the ground and makes it difficult to respond to how cultural work actually functions.

One example of misunderstanding lies in the different logics of organisational structures. Commercial organisers ultimately aim to generate profit, which creates built-in incentives to minimise costs, including artist fees. Non-profit organisers working within NGOs or NPOs operate under entirely different conditions. They do not aim to satisfy owners or shareholders, and I have never met a non-profit concert organiser who did not want to pay artists fairly, or more if possible. When artists or their agents are not aware of these differences, it can significantly affect negotiations and working relationships.

Another example is that, in general, misunderstandings work both ways. Organisers would benefit from better understanding artists’ needs, which often leads to better working conditions and stronger performances. At the same time, if artists understood organisers’ constraints more clearly, they could articulate their needs in ways that are more realistic and constructive.

The situation becomes even more problematic when funders fail to differentiate between commercial and non-profit organisers, or worse, force them to compete directly for the same funding. Depending on policy frameworks, this inevitably favours one side over the other and reinforces existing structural imbalances.

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Your own artistic practice often moves between music, concept and performance. How does this practice influence your work as a curator and organiser?

I would like to believe that my artistic practice helps me understand how to lead people towards a shared goal and how to support collaborative processes. When working with the band I am part of, I am involved in the entire process, from writing songs and lyrics to producing, recording, mixing and releasing the material, including visual elements such as photos, artwork and videos.

The same applies to live work. From booking shows and shaping performances to working with sound, light and additional performers such as dancers, everything is about forming a common vision and working towards it together. When it works, the result is something that can only be achieved collectively.

This experience translates directly into my work as a curator and organiser. In a festival context like Uma Obscura, the process is similar on a broader scale. It starts with a theme or concept and continues with bringing together the right artists and performers to create an overall experience that goes beyond individual contributions and becomes something truly extraordinary.

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What responsibility do experienced cultural practitioners have towards younger scenes and new initiatives?

We should probably begin by asking what the alternative would be. What kind of future would we create if we closed ourselves off, shut doors and became gatekeepers? I do believe that not many of us would like to see a future where people in the culture scene have fewer opportunities than those who are now established and experienced.

The real challenge is to act on this responsibility. Some would say that with power comes responsibility, but I would also add accountability. Too often, people in positions of power are afraid of losing it, and that fear prevents new initiatives from growing. I believe many of those with resources and influence could achieve far more if they dared to take one uncomfortable step outside their usual frameworks, perhaps by opening a door that has been closed, intentionally or not.

It is also easy to speak about “the others”. But who are they really? Is it someone else, or is it you and me? Change does not only come from the most established figures. As Tolkien wrote, it is the small, everyday deeds of ordinary people that keep the darkness at bay. Sometimes a simple gesture, an invitation or a word of encouragement can make an enormous difference. If not a responsibility, it is at least a possibility.

I also see many people who already live by this principle, especially within alternative subcultural and grassroots environments. Some give and sacrifice everything to make space for others, often without recognition. I have the deepest respect for that commitment.

Perhaps the best place to start is by remembering what brought us into the cultural field in the first place. I can point to key people and moments that made a difference for me. If I can be that person for someone else, or if my contribution helps a new initiative to exist, then it is worth it.

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When you look ahead to the coming years, what would need to change for independent culture not only to survive, but to retain its power to shape and transform?

If I try to look ahead in a visionary way, I would say that we have reached the end of the road when it comes to the way European cultural policy has been executed over the past 50 to 70 years. A change is needed. The core ideals still matter, such as protecting art from direct political influence and allowing it to be provocative, deviant and challenging. But we also have to acknowledge that the systems we have built no longer support these ideals in ways that reflect contemporary society and the realities in which artists and cultural workers operate.

What we see instead is a growing divide. On one side, there are established and institutionalised structures. On the other, increasingly streamlined and competitive commercial forces. In between lies a large part of the cultural field, with very few support structures left to carry it. In the past, cultural funding at least made it possible for artists and non-profit organisations outside these two poles to survive. Today, due to decades of stagnant cultural policy, many of these support structures are collapsing, alongside gentrification, hyper-commercialisation and increasing cultural polarisation. We are caught in a downward spiral, without a clear cultural policy strategy to counter it.

This is why I believe we are facing a necessary paradigm shift in cultural politics, where we really need to re-evaluate what current cultural policies and frameworks are leading to. It may sound paradoxical, but we need to look at cultural policy in order to support independent culture in a sustainable way. So-called counterculture will always exist, and art will always challenge norms and channel resistance towards oppression. But we cannot take that for granted. In a functioning democracy, independent culture is essential for balance. It reminds us of fundamental values such as freedom of expression, artistic freedom and human rights.

We need to create conditions that allow people not only to participate in cultural life, but also to work and make a living as artists, organisers and cultural workers. That should be the goal of cultural policy: enabling more people to express themselves. In doing so, we support structures that both uphold and challenge societal norms. Ignoring the needs of the broader cultural sector leads to growing conflict, polarisation, fear and censorship.

We can still change course, but it requires an uncomfortable and honest discussion about where current cultural policies are taking us. Too often I see fear among cultural politicians and institutions when these systems are criticised. That fear acts as a gatekeeper, excluding large parts of today’s cultural scene, preventing growth and weakening independent culture. Independent should not mean excluded. For independent culture to function, it also depends on supportive structures that currently do not work as they should. That is the elephant in the room. We need to stop pretending that the system is functioning and dare to challenge cultural policy norms in order to genuinely protect free expression, art and a cultural landscape that

can thrive.

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