An Interview with Sámi Artist Anders Sunna
Installation view of Anders Sunna: Meän Meän Sápmelaš, Kulturens Hus Luleå. Courtesy of Larkin Durey.
Sámi artist Anders Sunna experienced art for the first time through his grandfather and one of his uncles. As early as six years old, he started selling drawings, and by the age of thirteen, he had already organized his first exhibition. Growing up learning about artists such as Nils Nilsson Skum and John Savio, Sunna now produces piercing work that approaches land rights and Sámi history in an openly confrontational manner. His paintings mix natural landscapes with Sámi imagery and historical or present-day figures whose actions still impact the Sámi people’s political reality. For instance, he painted Herman Lundborg, a professor who led Sweden’s State Institute for Racial Biology, whose work influenced Nazi Germany’s racial theories. In this conversation with IMPULSE, Sunna discusses how social and political histories find their way into his art, as well as the challenges of land rights advocacy.
Xuezhu Jenny Wang: Your work directly addresses Sámi history and politics. What’s your starting point?
Anders Sunna: My work is a mix of past, present, and future. I explore contemporary politics, but I also show how historical events have shaped the present and where things might be heading. In 1986, my family was forcibly relocated by police. Thirty police and private landowners came against just four members of my family—my father and his brothers—out in the forest. They also redrew our Sámi village borders and stole our reindeer. Between 1986 and 1987, my family lost 1,500 reindeer.
During the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s, my family received over 300 police notifications. The police would follow us into the forest while we were herding reindeer or show up at our homes, accusing us of crimes—like starting forest fires, even in the middle of winter when there was a meter of snow on the ground. We went to trial maybe 30 times.
In our family, transparency is important. My parents always talked about what was happening and explained the system to us. They even took us to court hearings as children so we would understand how everything worked. They didn’t try to shelter us. We were also expected to help with the reindeer like adults.
Anders Sunna, The Corrupt Marshes in the North, 2024. Mixed media on board, 96 x 96 in (244 x 244 cm). Courtesy of the artist and Larkin Durey.
XJW: What’s the status quo now?
AS: My family still lives in the same village where I grew up. I now live about 250 kilometers south, but I travel back often to help with the reindeer. Even though our reindeer herding has been illegal since 1971, we continue what we call "guerrilla reindeer herding." We have no legal recognition, which means people can do whatever they want to us and our reindeer. The government knows they’ve been in the wrong for over 50 years, so they can’t openly take us to court anymore. Instead, they try to keep the conflict quiet so the rest of the world doesn’t find out.
XJW: Why does the Swedish government have such an issue with reindeer?
AS: It’s about land. The government needs land for industry—especially now with so-called "green energy" projects. But I don’t think it’s very green when you have to destroy nature to build it. They need land for mining, wind farms, and hydropower. And the best way to get that land is by forcing out Sámi reindeer herders.
The state never displaces entire communities at once—that would create too much resistance. Instead, they pick off families one by one, making examples out of them to intimidate others. And the government refuses to see us as equals. For example, if a Sámi community protests against a mining project on a reindeer herding area, the media portrays it as a “conflict.” But if a mining company wants to push forward, it’s framed as a “dialogue.” That subtle difference in language has major consequences.
Anders Sunna, Who am I to wet my Feet?, 2024. Mixed media on board, 32 1/8 x 48 in (81.5 x 122 cm). Courtesy of the artist and Larkin Durey.
XJW: In the press release, you also mentioned that the Sámi Parliament isn’t doing much to protect its people. Why is that?
AS: The Sámi Parliament receives funding from the Swedish government for cultural projects—language programs, emergency relief for reindeer during bad winters—but this money is a tool for colonization. The government divides Sámi communities by granting more rights to some groups than others. This “divide and conquer” strategy creates internal conflicts. Some people in the Sámi Parliament are afraid to speak up because they don’t want to lose their privileges.
XJW: Why did you decide to address these political issues in your art?
AS: In the past, we tried writing to journalists or authorities, but it didn’t make much difference. But through art, we’ve been able to reach a wider audience. Art can show things that words alone can’t by creating an emotional connection and making people pay attention.
Art is also a good way to cope as it allows us to process the conflict in a way that takes back some power. Art is dangerous to those in power, which is why oppressive governments try to control culture.
Anders Sunna, A Glimpse in the Forest, 2024. Mixed media on board, 48 x 57 1/8 in (122 x 145 cm). Courtesy of the artist and Larkin Durey.
XJW: Have you faced censorship because of your work?
AS: In Sweden, if the authorities don’t like something, they try to keep it quiet. They won’t directly censor it, but they’ll avoid discussing it or acknowledging it. However, I have heard things: for instance, in 2013, some authorities visited an exhibition and suggested my paintings should be taken down. The art institution refused, saying they decide what gets exhibited.
There have also been attempts to stop some of my lectures. A politician once commented in the media that my work was “untasteful,” which I actually appreciated because it meant he had seen it. So, I know they are aware of my work, but they prefer not to discuss it.
At the Venice Biennial, the Sámi Parliament of Sweden attended, and it coincided with a time of friction over reindeer herding rights. At first, I didn’t want them to see the exhibition, but I realized it was important that they did—because then they had to stand in public and face questions. Right before the opening, someone from the Swedish Sámi Parliament approached me and said, “You should not talk about this (the conflict) to other people.” That was the only thing they said to me during the entire exhibition. They didn’t congratulate me or acknowledge my work—they just told me to stay silent.
Sweden has held a large collection of human remains, including Sámi skeletons that were dug up and exported to other countries. A friend and I worked on an exhibition exposing this history. He’s a photographer, and I’m a painter. We toured Nordic countries with this exhibition for ten years, though authorities often tried to silence it. Nevertheless, we were able to show it in places like Gothenburg, where more than 80 classes from different schools saw the show and learned about this history.
XJW: Do you see art as inherently political?
AS: Not necessarily, but it can be. For me, it’s both a political and a visual experience in and of itself—playing with color, composition, and form. But it’s also about conveying emotions, problems, and resistance. I think of painting as a kind of lure. From a distance, it may look one way, but as viewers come closer, they realize it’s something entirely different. It’s almost like hunting, drawing people in before revealing the deeper message.
Installation view of Anders Sunna: Meän Meän Sápmelaš, Kulturens Hus Luleå. Courtesy of Larkin Durey.
XJW: What does your family think of your art practice?
AS: They support me, and they also find it amusing when the authorities struggle to suppress my work. As long as Sweden is a democracy, they can’t just arrest artists for political expression. My father taught me from a young age that if you want to challenge the government, you have to be strategic. If you resort to violence, they’ll imprison you, and then you can’t do anything. Instead, you have to operate in a way they can’t easily suppress. You have to study your opponent, learn their strategies, and find ways to counter them. Again, a bit like hunting.
XJW: In the press release, you mentioned the interconnectedness of Indigenous struggles worldwide. Can you tell us more about how you work with this idea?
AS: Yes, because we share the same history and resist the same kind of oppressive power structure, even if we’re on opposite sides of the world. When I participated in the Biennale of Sydney, I didn’t ship any paintings due to cost. Instead I was thinking about doing a mural. But when I got there, they said they didn’t have a space available for the mural and asked me to make a big painting instead. I agreed and also wanted to communicate their side of the experience, given that I’m at a different place.
Before starting, I spoke with some Indigenous elders to learn about their experiences and to ensure I represented their culture accurately. It’s important to understand the symbols, clothing, and history of the Indigenous cultures in each place I work. Otherwise, I’d just be imposing my perspective without truly engaging with each place’s reality.
XJW: Can you share more about your ongoing exhibition with Kulturens hus, Luleå?
AS: This exhibition is a mix of installation and painting. We’re creating a Sámi courthouse, where we symbolically put the state on trial. The government will be judged according to three levels—economic, social, and spiritual.
There will also be paintings depicting historical events as well as contemporary issues and emotions. The exhibition is taking place in Luleå, a significant location for us because it's where the state officials responsible for this conflict are based. That makes it even more important for us to make a strong statement.
XJW: Is there anything else you’d like to share with our readers?
AS: One thing many people don’t know is that in some regions, Swedish landowners without Sámi heritage can buy reindeer for tax benefits. Wealthy landowners exploit this system. They don’t live off reindeer herding, nor do they know how to properly care for them. They treat the reindeer like cattle and leave them in fences for nine months out of the year—reindeer are meant to roam free. If they’re confined for too long, they develop diseases and suffer. This has been a major source of conflict. These landowners expect Sámi families like ours to work for them for free, and when we refuse, they report us to the authorities, escalating tensions.
This interview has been edited for clarity and length.
Anders Sunna: Meän Meän Sápmelaš is on view at Kulturens Hus Luleå through April 26, 2025. The artist will be showing at Larkin Durey, UK in September 2025.
