Anders Tornberg  


anders and john fekner
Fabian Marcaccio

I was so amuse with Anders the first time I met him in New York... It was early in my career as an artist, and I said to myself: If all gallery owners are like Anders... The art world is a great place!

Well, with time, I realize that he was really special... I say this today: Wednesday April 2009... missing him and smoking a cigar in his honor.I remember getting lost in his large collection of small pieces in Lund. A great example of passionate collecting. His life force was always on... even as the light of the North falls at 3.30 p.m.  I made "Sky Folder Painting" for my 1993 show, using the light coming from the ceiling.
Anders’ energy keeps coming through that skylight...

Fabian Marcaccio




Years ago, when Anders still smoked Optimo Sports (“made primarily with tobacco products”) he came by the studio. He told me he found my new work “really appalling.” Now I found this wonderful; his sensing their dark complexity, their sardonic references, etc. But as the day went on, he mentioned so many things he found appalling that I began to understand, “No Anders, you mean appealing.”

Donald Lipski






Photo:-Albert Wiking







Photo: Christina Knutsson

anders and john fekner
Photo: Albert Wiking

Both in 1989 and in 1985 I had incredibly memorable exhibitions with Anders Tornberg - and my mind is filled with terrific recollections of him. He was certainly a well connected art maverick and, most definitely, a real bon vivant.

Yes, Anders was clearly a lighthearted cultured wildman, filled with passion for contemporary art - and every aspect of life. At my first show with him in 1985 I remember clearly his organizing an after opening dinner party where I was encircled by numerous gorgeous local women who toasted me at great length with shots of liquor between bouts of singing Swedish folk songs (drinking songs). Oh La La!

Also, our deep conversations about philosophy and love were very inspiring to me. I was terribly saddened when I heard he had left us.

Anders - je t’embrasse.

Joseph Nechvatal



Photographed by Åke Hedström in 1983

Very happy for your idea with a tribute site for Anders and sincerely hope
all his friends around the world will contribute.

Here is a photograph that we all remember from Anders' office.

Sune Nordgren

anders and john fekner

1) Tu Hablas mucho. No sabes nada.

2) ¡Soy comericante de arte!

3) ¡Esto es arte!

4) ¡Coño!

5) ¿Comprendes?




I published ¡Coño! as a birthday present for Anders in 1978.

Leif Eriksson
Wedgepress & Cheese
Bjerred, Sweden
ISBN 91 85752 02 9

Anders Tornberg Photo By Ingemar D. Kristiansen/Sydsvenskan


I was told that you called them “Angels”, the nurses at ‘Lund’s Hospice’. Now I realize that you knew. A wrapped message that your time was up. You were already on your way. It’s just like you. You make me smile. You woke up at midnight and bummed a cigarette from an “Angel”.  Afterwards you sat in the garden smoking. You felt the vicinity of the city. The cool breeze brought you scents and sounds from a place that you had never been able to leave. A place that you had fundamentally changed. Now was the hour of your departure and you knew it. It made you sad but sadness was driven away by other feelings. At this hour, the night of July 28, 1997, the wind is murmuring of voices and echoes from your whole life. Only a couple of hours remain.

Is it something you have forgotten? Your anxiety, is it still there? Enveloped in the late summer night you search for something far away. The answer of a question? Suddenly he stands before you. Domingo Uriarte, the old bullfighter who became a painter, your painter. He smiles accusatively and says, “I don’t know this alter ego. It is as if my brush had a will of its’ own. That is exactly how the words fell thirty years ago. In that moment you knew where you were going. The words returned in your dreams and became your lodestar. You always watched for “this other”. A subterranean province that the old Spaniard also called “the sleeping heart”.

To reawaken our sleeping hearts became your mission, Anders, the black hole you left behind we can never fill. But the tribute of gratitude is bigger.

Jan Håfström

Call it what you prefer, a ritual, a riddle, but legend has it that when the first few snowflakes begin to fall from the sky on a gray winter afternoon, and you hear the Cathedral bells begin to toll, memories are stirred, and tales can be heard of a giant from a small Swedish town. Afterwards, if the sky clears at night, look for Polaris, the North Star, be very still and listen carefully… you just might hear his laughter.

'Who was he?'
      'He who is gone.'
'Who have known him?'
      'Those on his path.'
'Where are his footsteps?' `
      'Left on the cobblestones.'
'Was there a shadow?'
      'I believe near the Cathedral.'
'How was it stepped?'
'Twice times each day and night,
past the interior astronomical clock,
south by ten, east by five,
side by side, one by one.
'Where will it lead us?'
      'Round about Kungsgatan 4.'
'What will happen when we arrive?'
      'That which is not known.'
'Why should we return?'
      'For the sake of the journey.'
'And once we are there?'
      'Close your eyes and listen.'
'How long shall we remain there?'
      'For now and the forever.'

John Fekner


Annie’s Anders

I always appreciated his spirit
His gregarious laugh
Affected us all.
His very presence
Changed the energy, touched our souls.

I always appreciated
His natural, artsy ways
And the profound impact
He continues to have on you.

I always appreciated
His generosity & kindness
And how he considered
Our comfort & our fun.

I always appreciated his spirit
But I was young
And not as inspired
As I’ve become

I will always appreciate Anders
And the profound effect
He has on us all.

Annie Leicht

anders and donleicht


Somehow he always seems to enter my mind although I try never to think of him…because of what was lost. He came to the Bronx eighteen years ago and challenged me to see the world and challenged the world to see me. He changed my life forever. We spent so many special times together. Their simple beauty will always make me sad. Blood Brothers separated by the Atlantic Ocean and now The Gates of Eternity.

Mulberry Street is waiting for you to arrive
Three Julys have come and gone
In a few days it will be the fourth.
The hookers on Forsyth Street
Will paw at the night
Where once walked the King of Sweden.
The sky over Newark will carry
The Voice of the smokestacks
Blurring the stars as though

The heavens were filled with comets
Mysterious wanderers made of ice and stone
Do you remember when the moon
Followed us across the causeway—
And that sound our tires made
Against the concrete and steel?
Another once in a lifetime!
The ventriloquist was somewhat of a master…
His lips never betrayed him
I kept a close watch
Just to see if I could catch it.
The imperfection within perfection
The pearl within the shell
Anyway this airport is so lonely
Since your plane will no more land here
After the rain the puddles
Will miss your fine cigars.


Don Leicht