SWEDEN
Peter Johnsson



Peter Johnsson, born 1965 in Uppsala, Sweden, began his professional life as illustrator and graphical designer. A life-long interest in metal craft motivated a four year training in decorative ironwork and blacksmithing. Being fascinated by mythology, history and archaeology it became a natural progression to combine his experiences from design, art training and metal craft in the study and making of swords. Since 1999 he has worked as sword smith, focusing mainly on the traditional European sword in faithful reconstructions for private collectors and museums.
Central to his work is the study of authentic originals. He personally documents historical swords in collections and museums around Europe, noting aspects of their physical dimensions, dynamic properties as well as aesthetic qualities of shape and proportions.
The sword presented at this exhibition is however not a historical reconstruction, even if its overall shape and functional aspects are borrowed from certain swords of the late 15th C. Instead it relates to the fantastic world of Lewis Carroll, inspired by the poem ”The Jabberwocky” from ”Alice Through the Looking Glass”.
This is the Vorpal sword: made to be a relic brought from the lands of dream. Bold and broad, powerful and swift, it is an embodiment of the archetypical blade of the young hero. A weapon that helps him conquer chaotic lands where fearsome creatures lurk in darkness.

´Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The Jaws the bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought-.
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

”And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.

´Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.