By Helle Fagralid
When visual artist Grete Balle talks about her life and work, I get the feeling that one of her greatest strengths is her curiosity and ability to be present in the moment. Perhaps that is also why, despite a longer career than most artists, she is far from tired of creating. On the contrary, art seems to be an eternal driving force, a way of living and being in the world. “I take life in and constantly find new material that eats away at me,” she says.
Grete Balle graduated from Kolding Gymnasium in 1945 and in 1949 she married the artist Mogens Schack Balle, who was a member of the CoBrA movement. The following year, in 1950, she made her debut as a painter at the Artists' Autumn Exhibition. It was her husband who encouraged her to pursue art, as she herself had no immediate ambitions to pursue it:
“I always wanted to create something, but I didn’t have much faith that I could, so I needed someone to push me, and Mogens did that. He led me into the world that I thought was so exciting. But we had to earn some money, so I didn’t have time to go to art school. I just started painting and then I sent some naturalistic pictures to the Artists’ Autumn Exhibition and they were accepted.”
Most people probably know Grete Balle primarily for her textile art, such as the weavings and pictorial sewings that were particularly prominent in her artistic practice in the 1960s and 1970s. They are characterized by their experimental, free and almost sculptural form. The switch from painting to the loom came, like so much else in Grete Balle's artistic work, somewhat by chance:
“It was difficult to find space for two painters under the same roof, because we used oil paints and had no ventilation. We lived in an apartment where we worked and lived in the same rooms, so it was easier to integrate a loom into the home. So I changed tack and started weaving instead.”
Happy meeting, 1970. Weaving with sisal, hemp, leather and wood. Private collection. Photo: Mathias Lehmann Lassen/Museum Jorn.
You became a pioneer in that field and are also largely self-taught. How did that come about?
"Yes, I started weaving for myself after a course at a weaving school in Vesterbro. I went there for a couple of months when I had time off from work, just to get my hands dirty. But I wasn't interested in making practical items like tea towels and the like, only pictures."
Where did the inspiration come from?
“I was inspired by the Finnish rya rugs that I had seen at the Museum of Applied Arts. They looked like old skins. The rya technique is quite simple, because you can use the yarn like you use oil paints by, for example, mixing different yarns. I had also seen an exhibition of French tapestries by Jean Lurçat, which made me see how you could make pictures with yarn and not just as a painter. And the approach of Norwegian Hannah Ryggen inspired me because she also used different materials and created a story in the fabric. But also painters, like Antoni Tàpies, who challenged the painting surface with texture and structure.”
You are known for breaking with traditional weaving techniques. Would you like to talk about your experimental approach?
“For me, it wasn't so much about technique, but about materials. I didn't have any social or political messages. For me, it was about being open to the world and the reality I found myself in. For example, when I thought that the rya technique was starting to become a bit too banal, I moved on to more flat-woven things, where I broke with the traditional expression by making holes in the surface. But also in terms of using materials other than the usual ones, like silk and wool, which gave a nice shiny surface, no, it had to be a little torn and have structure. I used things I found, like fishing nets and strong yarns, and maybe that's why people noticed me.”
How do you feel about newer art forms that use AI, for example?
"I'm skeptical about AI in art because it seems like it's about making a picture by cooking some ingredients together, but there's no content. Otherwise, I'm open to new art forms, even if I don't use them myself. Back in the 1960s, happenings were the new thing, like when I exhibited with Joseph Beuys, for example, it was very special. But you have to decide for yourself whether it means anything to you."
How do you see the development? within the art scene compared to when you yourself debuted?
"Today, many people call themselves artists just by drawing five lines on a piece of paper. We were more humble in my time. You had to show something more before you could call yourself an artist."
When I debuted in 1950, an article was to be written about the new generation and then they called and asked if they should refer to me as an artist. “No, you can just write my name,” I replied. I was accepted to KE as a debutant. I didn’t think I was old enough to call myself an artist yet.
Another difference is that when I was young, the term “mixed forms” did not exist; the classical categories and material divisions prevailed. Fortunately, a big change has taken place in that regard. At KE, you were classified as either a painter or a sculptor or a craftsman. Later, I joined the censorship group, where we worked to ensure that everyone was censored equally, regardless of the material. It was about whether the work had artistic quality. Whether it was unique.”
Visual artist Grete Balle, Kalundborg, turns 100 on April 26, 2026. Photo: Lars Pryds
Have you ever felt like you were being pigeonholed?
“I have been asked several times where I really belonged, because I sat between two chairs, but for me it has always been about finding the material and the form through which I could express myself best. And then I was lucky enough to join an association called Majudstillingen from 1960-1973, which consisted of painters, sculptors and a glass artist. Among the members were, for example, Artur Köpcke, Sven Dalsgaard and Gunnar Aagaard Andersen. I was lucky, because it was an experimental group where we were very different, and where I was treated equally. They didn't put me in a box. I wasn't just a weaver.”
How did you experience being a female artist back then?
"Yes, of course there were those who would say: 'Here come the girls with the knitting', but personally I've actually had a really good time. And that was largely due to the fact that I joined that group. Of course there was a struggle to get ahead, which was probably harder because you were a woman. And then there was all the things that had to be done in the home, which depended more on the woman than it does today, where you share more about the household. Of course it also meant something that my husband respected that I worked with art. Otherwise it would never have worked if there hadn't been mutual respect."
Could you and your husband spar with each other?
“Yes, we absolutely could. When we moved to Kalundborg in a disused school, we had a workshop at each end of the house. We didn’t need so many words. It was never about the individual details, but about the whole, the atmosphere and the feeling of it. It never became petty dictating about, for example, a color detail. It was good to have someone who knew you and knew the art.”
In 1998, Grete Balle was awarded the Danish Arts Foundation's lifetime honorary grant and, in her own words, "almost fell off her chair" when she read the letter. She has received several grants and honorary grants, including from the Anne Marie Telmányi née Carl-Nielsens Foundation and the Henry Heerup Honorary Grant, but otherwise the attitude in the artists' home was "that we could take care of ourselves and therefore did not want to ask for anything," as she says.
How did you manage financially?
“In the beginning, I worked at DSB Rejsebureau, among other things, because I was good at languages, and my husband had a job as a lifeguard at Frederiksberg swimming pool. It was just about earning money to live on so that we could make our art. We had no safety net and sometimes it was hard work, but we didn't have big dreams either, if only we could survive. And gradually some good galleries noticed us and that way we could focus more on art. And then there was a gallery at the time called "Art for goods". It was a huge help and part of what we survived on. Here you could exchange your works for, for example, some white goods, if that's what you were missing, or books and butcher's products, which we otherwise couldn't afford to buy. It was completely legal and it was good for the artists.”
Fragment, 1978. Private collection. Photo: Mathias Lehmann Lassen/Museum Jorn.
Were you foresightful and saving for retirement?
"No, not at all! We were such outsiders. We weren't involved in the unemployment fund and so on either. My husband died in 1988, far too early at 67, and I was only 62 at the time. I had been used to the two of us taking care of the finances, so I contacted the municipality to see if I could get a widow's pension, but it had been abolished. I had to fend for myself and therefore agreed to exhibit in various art associations. When you used the BKF rules, there were good conditions, such as insurance, transport and a guaranteed sale. That helped me a lot.
We have always just worked, woven, painted and managed to get by through that. There weren't all the courses where you learn how to get by as an artist that there are today. We had to figure it out ourselves. Everything today is so secure and so rational. But we were quite ignorant on that point.”
Do you have any good advice for younger artists?
"I don't give much advice, but they should follow their heart rather than their brain and do what they believe in. Just do it, instead of trying to figure it out. That's how it works for me. It's not reason that characterizes my work. I would like to point to imagination and art as initiators, but without there having to be any ready-made answers. Art is a good prerequisite for interacting with people, especially in our time, which is so chaotic and fragmented."
The day before Grete Balle turned 100, the large gable painting "The Wave, the Bird and the Light" was inaugurated in her hometown of Kalundborg and on the day itself there was a finissage at a large retrospective in Bispegården under the auspices of the Kalundborg Art Association. In the coming year, a solo exhibition will follow in Galleri Valdal in Valby and Grete Balle – Threads of Time at Museum Jorn, which can subsequently also be experienced at Fuglsang Art Museum.
Grete Balle is still active as an artist and continues to explore new materials, such as painting on ceramics made by a local potter or working with felting “because it’s nice to have in your hands.” When I ask her if she’s ever considered changing directions and doing something other than working with art, she promptly replies:
“No, that's probably my life. I want to keep going. I don't have enough time.”
Back to four corners, n.y. Weaving with mixed materials. Belongs to Grete Balle. Mathias Lehmann Lassen/Museum Jorn.
Cover image: Lars Pryds