Andreas Englund (b. 1974) is a Swedish artist recognized for his photorealistic oil paintings depicting fictional characters involved in humorous situations that underscore the absurdity of everyday life. Influenced by his background in advertising and art direction, Englund’s paintings approach storytelling with a satirical lens, upending stereotypes to explore the commonalities (and imperfections) humans share across time and place.

Englund’s paintings serve as a stage to humble stereotypically powerful characters, such as the aging, anonymous superhero from his best-known series, or the medieval royalty awkwardly posing as if for a hip-hop album cover in his newest paintings.

His classical technique enhances the irony of these situations, capturing an embarrassing gesture or exaggerating wrinkles and pores like a too-high-res photo. As relatable as they are ridiculous, Englund’s tragicomic narratives endear us to the cringe-worthy aspects of human experience.

Englund’s newest series, Époque Royale, is on display from March 13 – June 1, 2025 at the chambre separee, Alex Sushi, Norway’s premier sushi restaurant and event space. It explores high medieval characters in ultra-contemporary situations to depict how the past and present aren’t as far removed as we think.

Interview by Isabel Hou

The aging superhero is a recurring character in your work, symbolizing resilience, vulnerability, and the passage of time. He challenges traditional notions of strength, power, and masculinity in many ways. How do you think this character resonates with audiences in today’s cultural climate?

The aging superhero strikes a chord because he mirrors our collective reckoning with imperfection in a world obsessed with polished ideals. Today, we’re surrounded by narratives—on social media, in films, even in politics—that fetishize youth, invincibility, and effortless success. My superhero, with his wrinkles, his struggles to tie his shoelaces, dismantles that facade. He’s resilient, yes, but not in the glossy, bulletproof way we’re used to. His power lies in his persistence despite vulnerability, and that feels raw and real.

I believe this character resonates because he’s us: flawed, aging, still trying. He challenges masculinity by showing strength isn’t biceps or bravado—it’s the courage to keep going when your cape’s tattered and your knees ache. It’s about making mistakes, not being perfect, but still to be forgiven. I believe my audiences can connect with that humanity, especially now, when we’re all questioning what “power” really means in a world that feels increasingly chaotic and uncertain.

At your Alex Sushi debut of Époque Royale, you will also unveil an art rug series using “wool as canvas” with bespoke rugs depicting work from your Aging Superhero series. How does the setting of Époque Royale—with its grand, historical themes—add new layers to the aging superhero’s journey?

Both Aging Superhero and Époque Royale dig into the heart of humanity. Where they diverge is in scope and emotional texture. The superhero’s journey is introspective, a quiet elegy for personal glory fading into vulnerability.

What Époque Royale brings is a broader riddle. It’s less about one man’s twilight and struggles and more about humanity’s eternal dance—serious faces in silly stances, wisdom whispered through scandal. The superhero gives us vulnerability; Époque Royale gives us the chaos of connection, the humor in our hierarchies, and a louder echo of what unites and divides us across eras. Together, they’re two sides of the same coin of humanity: personal and collective.

Alex Sushi is a fascinating exhibition space, albeit unexpected for a fine art showcase. How do you think the environment and context of a high-end dining experience interact with the themes of your work?

Alex Sushi, with its sleek luxury and sensory indulgence, is the perfect stage for Époque Royale. My work thrives on contrast—medieval meets rap, royalty meets rebellion—and a high-end restaurant mirrors that tension.

Dining is intimate yet social, and my paintings invite that same duality: you’re drawn into a private story, but you’re laughing with the room. At Alex Sushi, curated by Petter Sandberg and Thea Sandberg, the vibe is both exclusive and playful—perfect for a series that pokes fun at grandeur while revealing in its textures. The setting might make you linger longer.

In Époque Royale, how do you see its combination of humor and deep introspection playing out? Are there moments in this series where humor softens a more serious underlying message?

Humor is my Trojan horse; it sneaks in the heavy stuff. In Époque Royale, the royal gangstas—Johan III and Erik XIV, Swedish royal kings flashing West Coast signs, their whippet chilling—are hilarious because they’re so incongruous, but for sure, beneath that, it’s a meditation on power’s absurdity. These kings fought bloody intrigues, they even tried to kill each other where Erik was finally poisoned to death by Johan, yet here they are, posturing like 90s rappers chasing clout. The humor softens the critique: we’re all just peacocking for relevance, then and now.

Take the WTF painting—the young princess spitting wine as her grandmother whispers something scandalous. It’s a laugh-out-loud moment, but it’s also a quiet nod to how wisdom (or gossip) shapes us across generations, often catching us off guard.

The breakdancing ladies crew is pure joy—windmilling in a palace—yet it hints at women carving freedom in stifling systems, a thread that still tugs at modern cultures. Humor disarms you, but the introspection lingers, asking: what’s changed, really? It’s a gentle prod at our shared humanity.

“Royal Gangstas” Oil on canvas, 218 x 180 cm

“Breakdance” (side) Oil on canvas, 215 x 140 cm

“Breakdance” (back) Oil on canvas, 178 x 140 cm

In previous works, you’ve explored themes of nostalgia, imperfection, and humanizing heroism. How does this new series evolve those themes—did you approach it differently from your past projects?

I’ve always been drawn to history, but lately, it clicked for me how much it explains who we are now, our context, our roots. People today often drift through life without wondering why things are the way they are, yet back then, that link to the past was stronger and taken more insightfully. My earlier works, like the aging superhero, played with nostalgia and imperfection to ground heroism in something human: flawed, relatable, bittersweet. Époque Royale takes that further, widening the lens to history itself, showing that the wild, messy stuff we laugh at today isn’t new. It’s timeless.

Inspired by things like the Swedish podcast P3 Historia, where historical figures get a modern, cheeky spin—think Cecilia Vasa, party princess, tearing it up at Elizabeth I’s court till she’s sent packing—I wanted to breathe that same life into this series. It’s not just about humanizing heroes; it’s about humanizing the past. I approached it with more edge, blending then and now to spark both grins and thoughts. The humor’s still there, the imperfections too, but now it’s a mirror: we’re not so different from those royals. It’s entertaining, sure, but it’s also a nudge to reflect—on them, on us, on how history’s quirks still echo.

Your paintings are highly cinematic, capturing movement, emotion, and storytelling in a single frame. Were specific artistic influences—classical painters, film, or literature—shaping this series? And if Époque Royale were a film, what genre would it be?

When I paint, I see a moment snatched from a living story, with a past and future rippling out. It’s like a film unfolds naturally in the viewer’s mind, shaped by who they are. Époque Royale carries that: a king’s swagger, a princess’s shock—each frame pulses with life, humor rising from a serious world, not forced gags. It’s situational, subtle, human.

As a film, it wouldn’t mirror the paintings exactly—those are frozen instants—but it could catch their spirit. Think Forrest Gump’s blend of heart and oddity, or Jane Austen’s sharp wit wrapped in period grace, even Tarantino’s knack for tension laced with a sly grin. It’d be a genre-bender—historical dramedy, maybe—where centuries collapse to show we’re all the same: flawed, funny, chasing something. The spirit, that thread of connection, would hum through it, quiet but unmistakable.

Your hyperrealistic paintings are almost tactile, where brushstrokes and textures feel alive. What role does technique play in reinforcing the emotional impact of your characters?

For me, painting with hyperrealistic detail isn’t just a preference, it’s purposeful. There’s a joy in that craft, sure, but it’s more than that: it gives my work a seriousness that lifts the ideas behind it. Life’s full of these fleeting, funny moments I depict, maybe the kind you’d see in a Seinfeld episode, and they’re as real as the big stuff.

A superhero, say, could be a quick sketch or a cartoon, but rendered in oil with classical care, it carries a different weight. The technique—time-intensive, deliberate—asks you to look closer, to take it seriously. That precision makes the characters feel alive, relatable, and worth a second look, turning the ordinary into something that sticks with you.

With Époque Royale, it’s clearer: the classical technique honors the old masters’ craft, weaving it into our time with familiar references, stirring curiosity about our history and culture by tying it to what feels close and recognizable today.

Époque Royale will be on display at Alex Sushi, Norway’s premier sushi restaurant and event space. The exhibition will have a VIP reception on Thursday, March 13, 2025, from 17:00 to 19:00, followed by an opening reception to the public from 19:00 to 22:00. It will be on view until June 1, 2025.

Isabel Hou is a graduate student at Columbia University's School of International and Public Affairs and a Cornell alumna with an interest in policy, governance, and emerging technologies. A lifelong artist, she is passionate about storytelling and highlighting creative voices. In her free time, she enjoys skiing, cooking, and New York’s arts and culture scene.

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