PLX

Festival visitors walk through an arch built from stacked wooden chairs, lit magenta against the night forest.

An art and music collective that builds festivals where there are none: an island in the Blekinge archipelago, an empty warehouse, a museum's old casino.

PLX has been going since 2006, an association since 2014, working out of Blekinge, Malmö and Stockholm on festivals, exhibitions and performances made for the place they happen in. Since 2017 its centre has been PLX Tjärö, four days each August on a protected island in the archipelago: no cars, only boats, barefoot paths and cows. In 2025 that meant six stages, over sixty music acts and thirty exhibiting artists, a floating sauna and a popup cinema. More than 250 artists from over 25 countries have played there.

I have curated the art since 2021, and I lead Konst & Teknik, the team that plans the light and lays the power the island runs on: the cabling every artist plugs into, and the help they need once they are out on the rocks with a piece half-built. Choosing the work and making the work possible are the same job here.

Red arcs of light zigzag along the shoreline at dusk, doubled in the still water below.

I host the cinema: putting it up each year and helping curate what plays. Previews and works in progress from independent filmmakers, often in conversation with Folkets Bio, shown outdoors to whoever sits down.

One person sits alone on a bench in front of the outdoor cinema screen at night, the ground lit yellow in front of it.

On Klippan, the granite stage on a high outcrop over the sea, the cliff face itself is the screen. I lead the visuals there: booking the artists who play that rock after dark, and performing on it myself.

A truck parked among trees at night, its headlights and a blue-lit cabin glowing through the branches.

PLX turned twenty in 2026 and marked it with ODE JOY, two nights in the old casino at Malmö Konstmuseum in Kungsparken. A large scaffolding installation stood in the main room. I built the site as its double: a vine climbing a scaffold while you read the page.

The tower has four floors because the casino has four main areas, and the score climbs with you: strings on the ground, a hihat on the second, a beat and a whistle on the third, shakuhachi and steel pan at the summit. Six stems by Anton Ingvarsson, crossfading by camera height, and the tower loops, so the climb has no top.

Beams of light rake through haze across a draped backdrop, a figure silhouetted at the microphone in front of it.
Guests in hats and flowers sit at a long candlelit table under greenery and bunting, in front of tall windows.
A singer leans into the microphone, lit from the side in cyan and magenta that bleeds across the frame.

Photographs from Tjärö and ODE JOY by Olle Enqvist, Djoana Gueorguieva, David Neman and Petter Nilsson.

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Jonas Johansson