Andreas Englund (b. 1974) is a contemporary Swedish artist known for his unique and striking approach to digital art, particularly his hyperreal character portraits. His works often merge realism with surrealism and pop culture, depicting subjects in vivid detail while infusing them with deep symbolic meaning. One of his most notable themes is the exploration of human identity and emotions, often through the lens of societal expectations.
Englund’s work typically features hyper realistic renderings of human figures in fantastical scenarios. He has a gift for capturing texture, light, and detail that makes his subjects appear almost lifelike. Often combining Old Master techniques with contemporary narrative, his paintings are full of humour yet his skill as an artist is very serious. Englund has a background in art direction and advertising which infuses his paintings with storytelling through a satirical lens and leads him to challenge preconceptions and break down stereotypes through his art.
An aging Superhero has featured in Englund’s work over the years, while his new Époque Royale series features Medieval characters placed in contemporary scenarios that offer a conduit between shared humanity of the past and present. Englund has exhibited across Europe, North America, and Asia, and his work is in collections around the world. He has been commissioned by Urban Nation Museum, Wall Therapy, UpNorth Festival, No18 Grand Central Office Space, Nordiska Kompaniet department store, Bianchi Restaurant, and others. He graduated from the RMI-Berghs School of Communication and went on to become an award-winning art director before becoming an artist. He lives and works in Stockholm, Sweden.
Culturalee spoke to Englund as he prepared for his solo exhibition Époque Royale at Alex Sushi gallery in Norway.
Your paintings are so unique and original, taking inspiration from popular culture and art history while injecting a sense of humour. For example Royal Gangstas features a Henry VIII looking figure making contemporary hand gestures and another painting depicts a man dressed as a Superhero crouching down to pick up some broken eggs. Where do you get your ideas from, and who are your main inspirations?
Ideas spring from life—those odd, fleeting moments that carry a story. I’ve always seen images as situations with a “before” and an “after,” like a film frame begging you to fill in the blanks. Royal Gangstas came from imagining these stiff historical giants strutting their stuff in a way that’s laughably now—power’s the same, just with flashier props. The superhero with the eggs? That’s life knocking even the mighty off their perch. It’s the absurdity of it that lights the spark.
Technique-wise, I’m drawn to the old masters—Anders Zorn’s my guy, his bold grip on light and shadow. But for ideas, it’s Banksy’s sly, subversive edge, flipping power on its head, or David LaChapelle’s staged, over-the-top worlds that mix the raw and dazzling. Then there’s Helmut Newton—I love how he respects his subjects but laces it with this cocky, knowing humor. His late 70s and early 80s fashion shots, dripping with decadence, hit that sweet spot: serious craft with a playful jab, like he’s in on the joke. They all stir that urge to craft scenes that grab you with a laugh, then stick around with something heavier. Life’s messy and funny; I just paint it that way.
You have a solo exhibition Époque Royale coming up at Alex Sushi in Norway. What’s the story behind the title and what can visitors to the exhibition expect?
Époque Royale tips its hat to those lofty historical eras—Medieval, Renaissance—where Royalty ruled the canvas, but I’ve dragged it into the present with a grin. It’s about smashing that regal veneer against today’s subcultures, showing how human quirks like bravado or gossip never really age. The title’s got a playful edge—royal, sure, but a little roughed up and relatable.
At Alex Sushi, visitors will step into that clash—big, detailed oil paintings where serious faces pull ridiculous moves. It’s humor with roots, not just gags; it makes you smirk, then wonder. The craft pulls you in, the stories keep you there: kings posturing like rappers, a princess spitting wine in shock. The vibe’s intimate yet social, mirroring the restaurant’s sleek, playful luxury. And then there’s the premiere of the rug collection: my superhero caught mid-flight, mid-relief—a bold, unexpected twist. I’m very excited to see and hear people’s reactions there.
As a Scandinavian artist, how would you describe the contemporary art scene in Scandinavia?
The Scandinavian scene is like a slow burn, quietly fierce. It’s got that Nordic clarity—clean, thoughtful, tied to nature or identity—but there’s a restless streak too. Artists here balance restraint with risk, maybe from those long winters forcing us to dig inward, then push out. It’s less about shouting and more about crafting something that sticks. You’re seeing humor and global vibes creep in now, shaking up the old minimalist mould.
Growing up here, that mix of practicality and openness shaped me—keep it real, but don’t be afraid to twist it. It’s not as in-your-face as bigger scenes, but that’s its power: space to play, to breathe. It’s evolving fast—younger artists are remixing our roots with the world, and it’s got a pulse that’s hard to ignore.
What is the starting point for your paintings—do you work from photographs or life models, and do you sketch out the canvas before painting?
It’s the same process I used as an art director—starts with a spark, an idea that hooks me. Sometimes I brainstorm it out, sometimes I stumble into a weird, funny connection that feels too good not to chase. It’s got to fire me up—insightful, cool, or just plain fun. I sketch it rough, figuring out how the scene should hit visually. Then I shoot photos—people, places, whatever fits—building the moment digitally until it clicks. It’s like writing a song: could take a day, six months, or crash and burn if it’s off.
Once I’ve got that digital blueprint, the painting’s like recording the track—rare surprises, just executing what I’ve staged. Photos are key for my photorealistic style; no model could hold those split-second expressions or tricky poses for hours. Anders Zorn leaned on photos too, catching that raw instant I’m after. I’m directing the whole scene—every gesture, every prop—like an art director still, crafting a situation people can dive into. Been thinking that way since I was a kid, staging stories in my head.
How do you achieve such a heightened sense of realism in your artworks?
It’s about nailing the moment—the right pose, the right look. The technique has got to be solid, but if the person’s vibe isn’t believable, the whole thing flops. I’m not chasing a photo look—I want you to see the paint, the classical strokes—but it’s got to feel alive. That’s where the realism lives: in capturing that split-second truth, not just polish. Oil lets me build it slowly—layers of light, shadow, texture—until it breathes.
The craft is serious, deliberate, but it’s serving the story. A king’s swagger or a Superhero’s fumble—if the expression’s off, the illusion’s gone. I’m painting people, not props, and that’s what pulls you in. It’s a nod to tradition, sure, but bent into something that feels real in a way photos can’t touch.
Alongside your new series of paintings, you will also be showing ‘art rugs’ for the first time in Norway. How do you use wool as a canvas and will the rugs be as hyperreal as the paintings?
I’ve always been into design and interiors—grew up surrounded by it. My dad’s an architect, and he turned me onto Nordic legends like Arne Jacobsen, Alvar Aalto, Bruno Mathsson—their clean, timeless lines. Art doesn’t just belong on walls; it’s in furniture, fabrics, even the floor. That’s where the rug comes in—wool’s warm, textured, a whole new playground. I worked with a Belgian team, translating my ‘Flying’ superhero digitally into woven threads—100% wool, top-notch quality. I thank them for their flawless efforts.
It’s hyperreal in spirit, not detail. The overhead view—him soaring, pants down over Manhattan—fits a rug perfectly; it’s no accident I picked that one. Wool blurs the fine edges of a painting, but the story’s sharp, graphic, bold. It’s art you live with, adding this extra layer to a room’s vibe. I love that interplay between design and art.
After graduating from the RMI-Berghs School of Communication you had a successful career as an art director. What made you decide to pivot from advertising to art?
Advertising has shifted—it’s not what it used to be. Back then, you could craft ads or films people actually wanted to watch; there was respect for the craft, a joy in it. Now it’s a different beast, and that spark I once felt fizzled out. Art, though—it pulled me in, lit me up, felt alive. I didn’t just flip a switch; I’d been painting alongside the ad gig, and it grew until it took over. Quitting wasn’t easy—I had to take a leap—but I didn’t want regrets, sitting there later wishing I’d gone for it.
Life’s too short to play it safe. Art keeps it exciting, keeps me curious. I want stories to tell my grandkids—not that I chickened out, but that I chased what mattered. Advertising sharpened my eye—composition, impact—but art’s where I breathe. It’s risky, sure, but that’s the point: nothing happens if you don’t jump.
Andreas Englund Époque Royale is at Alex Sushi gallery in Oslo from 13th March until 1st June 1, 2025.
