
One summer, artists Natasha Dahnberg and Ekaterina Sisfontes traveled through Roslagen—a landscape where forest meets sea, and where old barns and garages often hide small flea markets filled with objects once cherished but now forgotten. It’s a familiar pleasure to wander, rummage through these things, and let oneself be carried away by the winds of history.
One day, among piles of photographs, folders, and worn paper sheets, they spotted a package that stood out. It was carefully wrapped, almost elegant, as if someone had wanted to preserve something valuable. When they opened it, they found a folder with a simple monogram: EP.
Inside lay a diary whose pages were so faded that the text was barely legible—but the words that could still be made out carried a strange tenderness. Alongside the diary were several images of insects. Some still bore traces of color, while others had lost all pigment, nearly vanished against the yellowing paper. It was as if time itself had whispered over them, slowly erasing the visible but leaving something even more enigmatic behind.
The insects had peculiar bodies. It was impossible to tell whether they had sprung from EP’s imagination or were some kind of scientific studies, like those entomologists make during fieldwork. Had EP drawn them? Or had someone else filled the folder with these strange images? There was no way to know—and perhaps that was precisely what made the discovery so fascinating.
One of the insects resembled the flying species documented by English researcher J. M. G. Paléen during his journey to Sweden in 1849. The image is now part of the Uppsala Art Museum’s collection, and it was artist Sten Eklund who made Paléen’s peculiar story of The Kulla House known.
Paléen claimed to have found a puzzling area, surrounded by a magnetic field and filled with technical constructions—plant cultivations, solar collectors, mine shafts. The place was abandoned. He documented everything meticulously but never encountered another human being. When he later tried to return, he could not find it again, and within academia he was ridiculed and called a dreamer.
But the artists’ discovery suggests something else. In the material they uncovered one summer in Roslagen, traces of a presence emerge—someone was there, in the very place Paléen called empty. Her name was Elisabeth.