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Jörgen Thornberg
Jack Russell Sphinx 2500 BCE, 2026
Digital
50 x 70 cm
3 200 kr
Jack Russell Sphinx 2500 BCE
The Longest Sit in History: A Record No Jack Russell Should Ever Have Broken
Records usually celebrate speed, height, volume, or force. They honour the fastest sprint, the loudest shout, the highest jump, and the longest breath held underwater. Yet history occasionally produces a record so fundamentally implausible that it refuses to fit into any known category. Such is the case with what may well be the most astonishing feat of endurance ever recorded: a Jack Russell Terrier remaining perfectly still for 4,526 years.
Anyone familiar with the breed will immediately sense the problem. Jack Russells are not designed for stillness. They are engineered for motion, manufactured from sinew, curiosity, defiance, and an unshakable belief that something, somewhere, is in urgent need of investigation. A Jack Russell does not wait. A Jack Russell does not meditate. A Jack Russell acts. That one should sit unmoving through the rise and fall of empires, the drifting of sand, the birth of tourism, and the invention of the selfie stick is nothing short of a geological miracle.
And yet, there he sits still in the sand.
Front paws extended with sculptural dignity. Head raised. Expression calm, alert, faintly superior. The Great Sphinx of Giza—known in less official but far more accurate circles as Muskot—has maintained this pose since approximately 2500 BCE. Long before the first archaeologist arrived, long before the first camel complained, long before the first tourist asked whether it was “bigger in real life,” Muskot was already holding the sit.
The circumstances under which this record began are, naturally, disputed. Official history insists the Sphinx represents Pharaoh Khafre, carved from limestone as a symbol of divine kingship. This is a convenient simplification. Contemporary accounts—fragmentary, mistranslated, and usually dismissed—suggest something far more precarious was taking place at the time. The sun was merciless, the sculptors exhausted, the sand intrusive. And sitting at the centre of it all was a living dog, briefly persuaded—by methods lost to time—to remain absolutely still.
What made this feat nearly impossible was not the heat, nor the duration, nor even the weight of destiny pressing down on his shoulders. It was the cat.
As Muskot four and a half millennia ago sat modelling for immortality, one of Pharaoh Khafre’s favourite cats chose that precise moment to stroll past his nose. Slowly. Deliberately. With the unhurried confidence of a creature fully aware of its psychological power. Any dog owner will recognise the moment instantly: the tightening of the jaw, the lifting of a paw, the internal negotiation between obedience and instinct. The universe pauses. Civilisation hangs in the balance.
Muskot did not move.
Not a twitch. Not a whisker. Not even the betrayal of a tail. It was the stillness of someone who had suddenly grasped the scale of the consequences. If I move now, he seemed to understand, history collapses. The cat continued on its way, unperturbed, and the world survived.
Centuries passed. Sand rose and fell. The Sphinx was buried, uncovered, buried again—an archaeological game of peekaboo played across millennia. And much later, in a damp English parish far removed from the Egyptian sun, another man would stumble upon the mystery entirely by accident.
The Reverend John “Jack” Russell, clergyman, sportsman, and dedicated fox hunter, was not in the habit of studying ancient monuments. His interests lay firmly underground. Quite literally. Russell’s ambition was to breed the perfect terrier: compact, fearless, intelligent, and capable of pursuing foxes into their dens while horses and foxhounds waited above ground with varying degrees of patience. The dog needed speed, courage, and a temperament bordering on recklessness.
One morning, while leafing through The Times—as vicars did—Russell encountered a photograph from Egypt. It showed an excavation in progress. The Sphinx, partially freed from sand, stared out from the page with an expression that Russell would later describe as “alert, resolute, and unmistakably terrier-like.”
The image troubled him. Why, he wondered, did this ancient creature look less like a god and more like a working dog? Why did its posture suggest readiness rather than repose? And why, above all, did it look like it might bolt at any moment?
At the time, it was already well known—at least among those who knew such things—that the ancient Egyptians hunted the red fox. Foxes featured not only in practical hunting contexts but in spiritual symbolism, associated with cunning, liminality, and the dangerous intelligence of the desert margins. The fox was not merely prey; it was a presence in the spiritual landscape.
The conclusion became unavoidable. If the Egyptians hunted foxes, and if the Sphinx had been modelled on a creature exhibiting perfect stillness under extreme provocation, then logic demanded a radical revision of history.
The Egyptians had already bred the perfect earth dog.
Not only that—they had monumentalised it.
Inspired by this revelation, Russell returned to his breeding programme with renewed purpose. The goal was no longer merely a fox-hunting terrier. It was to recreate, in flesh and bone, the qualities embodied by the Sphinx: composure under pressure, explosive readiness, absolute focus. The resulting breed bore his own name, not out of vanity, but necessity. History demanded a footnote.
Of course, it would be irresponsible to suggest that the Sphinx has sat perfectly still without interruption. Such claims are clearly the product of guidebooks and postcards. Residents of the Giza plateau—whose testimony is systematically ignored—tell a different story. Some swear they have seen the great dog rise at dusk, shake centuries of sand from its coat, and bound across the dunes with a joy that could not be mistaken for erosion.
These witnesses speak of a massive silhouette racing through the desert, ears back, legs flying, chasing something unseen. And here the puzzle deepens. Foxes usually thrive in desert environments, yet conspicuously, there are no foxes in Giza. Not now. Not anymore.
This absence is telling.
If foxes once lived there—and all evidence suggests they did—and if they are no longer present, then the conclusion is as simple as it is unsettling. The Sphinx did not merely sit. It occasionally got up. And when it did, it ran.
Those who claim to have seen it insist the chase was real, the enthusiasm unmistakable. The fox, recognising a predator of impossible persistence, eventually made the sensible decision to relocate. The Sphinx returned to its place, resettled itself, and resumed the longest sit-in in recorded history, satisfied that order had been restored.
Thus, the record stands. Not unbroken, perhaps, but unmatched. A Jack Russell who sat for millennia, who resisted temptation, who inspired a breed, who chased foxes out of history itself. Tourists may take their photographs without ever suspecting the truth.
But the sand remembers.
And somewhere, very far away, a fox does too.
Jörgen Thornberg
Jack Russell Sphinx 2500 BCE, 2026
Digital
50 x 70 cm
3 200 kr
Jack Russell Sphinx 2500 BCE
The Longest Sit in History: A Record No Jack Russell Should Ever Have Broken
Records usually celebrate speed, height, volume, or force. They honour the fastest sprint, the loudest shout, the highest jump, and the longest breath held underwater. Yet history occasionally produces a record so fundamentally implausible that it refuses to fit into any known category. Such is the case with what may well be the most astonishing feat of endurance ever recorded: a Jack Russell Terrier remaining perfectly still for 4,526 years.
Anyone familiar with the breed will immediately sense the problem. Jack Russells are not designed for stillness. They are engineered for motion, manufactured from sinew, curiosity, defiance, and an unshakable belief that something, somewhere, is in urgent need of investigation. A Jack Russell does not wait. A Jack Russell does not meditate. A Jack Russell acts. That one should sit unmoving through the rise and fall of empires, the drifting of sand, the birth of tourism, and the invention of the selfie stick is nothing short of a geological miracle.
And yet, there he sits still in the sand.
Front paws extended with sculptural dignity. Head raised. Expression calm, alert, faintly superior. The Great Sphinx of Giza—known in less official but far more accurate circles as Muskot—has maintained this pose since approximately 2500 BCE. Long before the first archaeologist arrived, long before the first camel complained, long before the first tourist asked whether it was “bigger in real life,” Muskot was already holding the sit.
The circumstances under which this record began are, naturally, disputed. Official history insists the Sphinx represents Pharaoh Khafre, carved from limestone as a symbol of divine kingship. This is a convenient simplification. Contemporary accounts—fragmentary, mistranslated, and usually dismissed—suggest something far more precarious was taking place at the time. The sun was merciless, the sculptors exhausted, the sand intrusive. And sitting at the centre of it all was a living dog, briefly persuaded—by methods lost to time—to remain absolutely still.
What made this feat nearly impossible was not the heat, nor the duration, nor even the weight of destiny pressing down on his shoulders. It was the cat.
As Muskot four and a half millennia ago sat modelling for immortality, one of Pharaoh Khafre’s favourite cats chose that precise moment to stroll past his nose. Slowly. Deliberately. With the unhurried confidence of a creature fully aware of its psychological power. Any dog owner will recognise the moment instantly: the tightening of the jaw, the lifting of a paw, the internal negotiation between obedience and instinct. The universe pauses. Civilisation hangs in the balance.
Muskot did not move.
Not a twitch. Not a whisker. Not even the betrayal of a tail. It was the stillness of someone who had suddenly grasped the scale of the consequences. If I move now, he seemed to understand, history collapses. The cat continued on its way, unperturbed, and the world survived.
Centuries passed. Sand rose and fell. The Sphinx was buried, uncovered, buried again—an archaeological game of peekaboo played across millennia. And much later, in a damp English parish far removed from the Egyptian sun, another man would stumble upon the mystery entirely by accident.
The Reverend John “Jack” Russell, clergyman, sportsman, and dedicated fox hunter, was not in the habit of studying ancient monuments. His interests lay firmly underground. Quite literally. Russell’s ambition was to breed the perfect terrier: compact, fearless, intelligent, and capable of pursuing foxes into their dens while horses and foxhounds waited above ground with varying degrees of patience. The dog needed speed, courage, and a temperament bordering on recklessness.
One morning, while leafing through The Times—as vicars did—Russell encountered a photograph from Egypt. It showed an excavation in progress. The Sphinx, partially freed from sand, stared out from the page with an expression that Russell would later describe as “alert, resolute, and unmistakably terrier-like.”
The image troubled him. Why, he wondered, did this ancient creature look less like a god and more like a working dog? Why did its posture suggest readiness rather than repose? And why, above all, did it look like it might bolt at any moment?
At the time, it was already well known—at least among those who knew such things—that the ancient Egyptians hunted the red fox. Foxes featured not only in practical hunting contexts but in spiritual symbolism, associated with cunning, liminality, and the dangerous intelligence of the desert margins. The fox was not merely prey; it was a presence in the spiritual landscape.
The conclusion became unavoidable. If the Egyptians hunted foxes, and if the Sphinx had been modelled on a creature exhibiting perfect stillness under extreme provocation, then logic demanded a radical revision of history.
The Egyptians had already bred the perfect earth dog.
Not only that—they had monumentalised it.
Inspired by this revelation, Russell returned to his breeding programme with renewed purpose. The goal was no longer merely a fox-hunting terrier. It was to recreate, in flesh and bone, the qualities embodied by the Sphinx: composure under pressure, explosive readiness, absolute focus. The resulting breed bore his own name, not out of vanity, but necessity. History demanded a footnote.
Of course, it would be irresponsible to suggest that the Sphinx has sat perfectly still without interruption. Such claims are clearly the product of guidebooks and postcards. Residents of the Giza plateau—whose testimony is systematically ignored—tell a different story. Some swear they have seen the great dog rise at dusk, shake centuries of sand from its coat, and bound across the dunes with a joy that could not be mistaken for erosion.
These witnesses speak of a massive silhouette racing through the desert, ears back, legs flying, chasing something unseen. And here the puzzle deepens. Foxes usually thrive in desert environments, yet conspicuously, there are no foxes in Giza. Not now. Not anymore.
This absence is telling.
If foxes once lived there—and all evidence suggests they did—and if they are no longer present, then the conclusion is as simple as it is unsettling. The Sphinx did not merely sit. It occasionally got up. And when it did, it ran.
Those who claim to have seen it insist the chase was real, the enthusiasm unmistakable. The fox, recognising a predator of impossible persistence, eventually made the sensible decision to relocate. The Sphinx returned to its place, resettled itself, and resumed the longest sit-in in recorded history, satisfied that order had been restored.
Thus, the record stands. Not unbroken, perhaps, but unmatched. A Jack Russell who sat for millennia, who resisted temptation, who inspired a breed, who chased foxes out of history itself. Tourists may take their photographs without ever suspecting the truth.
But the sand remembers.
And somewhere, very far away, a fox does too.
3 200 kr
Jörgen Thornberg
Malmö
Lite om bilder och mig. Translation in English at the end.
Jag är en nyfiken person som ser allt i bilder, även det jag fäster i ord, gärna tillsammans för bakom alla mina bilder finns en berättelse. Till vissa bilder hör en kortare eller längre novell som följer med bilden.
Bilder berättar historier. Jag omges av naturlig skönhet, intressanta människor och historia var jag än går. Jag använder min kamera för att dokumentera världen och blanda det jag ser med vad jag känner för att fånga den dolda magin.
Mina bilder berättar mina historier. Genom mina bilder, tryck och berättelser. Jag bjuder in dig att ta del av dessa berättelser, in i ditt liv och hem och dela min mycket personliga syn på vår värld. Mer än vad ögat ser. Jag tänker i bilder, drömmer och skriver och pratar om dem; följaktligen måste jag också skapa bilder. De blir vad jag ser, inte nödvändigtvis begränsade till verkligheten. Det finns en bild runt varje hörn. Jag hoppas att du kommer att se vad jag såg och gilla det.
Jag är också en skrivande person och till många bilder hör en kortare eller längre essay. Den följer med tavlan, tryckt på fint papper och med en personlig hälsning från mig.
Flertalet bilder startar sin resa i min kamera. Enkelt förklarat beskriver jag bilden jag ser i mitt inre, upplevd eller fantiserad. Bilden uppstår inom mig redan innan jag fått okularet till ögat. På bråkdelen av ett ögonblick ser jag vad jag vill ha och vad som kan göras med bilden. Här skall jag stoppa in en giraff, stålmannen, Titanic eller vad det är min fantasi finner ut. Ännu märkligare är att jag kommer ihåg minnesbilden långt efteråt när det blir tid att skapa verket. Om jag lyckas eller inte, är upp till betraktaren, oftast präglat av en stråk av svart humor – meningen är att man skall bli underhållen. Mina bilder blir ofta en snackis där de hänger.
Jag föredrar bilder som förmedlar ett budskap i flera lager. Vid första anblicken fylld av feel-good, en vacker utsikt, fint väder, solen skiner, blommor på ängen eller vattnet som ligger förrädiskt spegelblankt. I en sådan bild kan jag gömma min egentliga berättelse, mitt förakt för förtryckare och våldsverkare, rasister och fördomsfulla människor - ett gärna återkommande motiv mer eller mindre dolt i det vackra motivet. Jag försöker förena dem i ett gemensamt narrativ.
Bild och formgivning har löpt som en röd tråd genom livet. Fotokonst känns som en värdig final som jag gärna delar med mig.
Min genre är vid som framgår av mina bilder, temat en blandning av pop- och gatukonst i kollage som kan bestå av hundratals lager. Vissa bilder kan ta veckor, andra någon dag innan det är dags att överlämna resultatet till printverkstaden. Fine Art Prints är digitala fotocollage. I dessa kollage sker rivandet, klippandet, pusslandet, målandet, ritandet och sprayningen digitalt. Det jag monterar in kan vara hundratals år gamla bilder som jag omsorgsfullt frilägger så att de ser ut att vara en del av tavlan men också bilder skapade av mig själv efter min egen fantasi. Därefter besöks printstudion och för vissa bilder numrera en limiterad upplaga (oftast 7 exemplar) och signera för hand. Vissa bilder kan köpas i olika format. Det är bara att fråga efter vilka. Gillar man en bild som är 70x100 men inte har plats på väggen, går den kanske att få i 50x70 cm istället. Frågan är fri.
Metoden Giclée eller Fine Art Print som det också kallas är det moderna sättet för framställning av grafisk konst. Villkoret för denna typ av utskrifter är att en högkvalitativ storformatskrivare används med åldersbeständigt färgpigment och konstnärspapper eller i förekommande fall på duk. Pappret som används möter de krav på livslängd som ställs av museer och gallerier. Normalt säljer jag mina bilder oinramade så att den nya ägaren själv kan bestämma hur de skall se ut, med eller utan passepartout färg på ram, med eller utan glas etc..
Under många år ställde jag bara ut på nätet, i valda grupper och på min egen Facebooksida - https://www.facebook.com/jorgen.thornberg.9
Jag finns också på en egen hemsida som tyvärr inte alltid är uppdaterad – https://www.jth.life/ Där kan du också läsa en del av de berättelser som följer med bilden.
UTSTÄLLNINGAR
Luftkastellet, oktober 2022
Konst i Lund, november 2022
Luftkastellet, mars 2023
Engleson Galleri Caroli, april 2023
Hydra, Greece June 2023
Engleson Galleri Caroli, oktober 2023
Toppen, Höllviken december 2023
Luftkastellet, mars 2024
Torups Galleri, mars 2024
Venice, May 2024
Luftkastellet, oktober 2024
Konst i Advent, December 2024
Galleri Engleson, Caroli December 2024
Jäger & Jansson Galleri, april 2025
A bit about pictures and me.
I'm a curious person who sees everything in pictures, even what I express in words, often combining them, for behind all my pictures lies a story. These narratives, some as short as a single image and others as long as a novel, are the heart and soul of my work.
Pictures tell stories. Wherever I go, I'm surrounded by natural beauty, exciting people, and history. I use my camera to document the world and blend what I see with what I feel to capture the hidden magic.
My images tell my stories. Through my pictures, prints, and narratives, I invite you to partake in these stories in your life and home and share my deeply personal perspective of our world. More than meets the eye. I think in pictures, dream, write, and talk about them; consequently, I must create images too. They become what I see, not necessarily confined to reality. There's a picture around every corner. I hope you'll see what I saw and enjoy it.
I'm also a writer, and many images come with a shorter or longer essay. It accompanies the painting, printed on fine paper with my personal greeting.
Many pictures start their journey on my camera. Simply put, I describe the image I see in my mind, experienced or imagined. The image arises within me even before I bring the eyepiece to my eye. In a fraction of a moment, I see what I want and what can be done with the picture. Here, I'll insert a giraffe, Superman, the Titanic, or whatever my imagination conjures up. Even stranger is that I remember the mental image long after it's time to create the work. Whether I succeed is up to the observer, often imbued with a streak of black humour – the aim is to entertain. My pictures usually become a talking point wherever they hang.
I prefer pictures that convey a message in multiple layers. At first glance, they're filled with feel-good vibes, a beautiful view, lovely weather, the sun shining, flowers in the meadow, or the water lying deceptively calm. But beneath this surface beauty, I often conceal a deeper story, a narrative that challenges societal norms or explores the human condition. I invite you to delve into these hidden narratives and discover the layers of meaning within my work.
Picture and design have been a thread running through my life. Photographic art feels like a fitting finale, and I'm happy to share it.
My genre is varied, as seen in my pictures; the theme is a blend of pop and street art in collages that can consist of hundreds of layers. Some images can take weeks, others just a day before it's time to hand over the result to the print workshop. Fine Art Prints are digital photo collages. In these collages, tearing, cutting, puzzling, painting, drawing, and spraying happen digitally. What I insert can be images hundreds of years old that I carefully extract so they appear to be part of the painting, but also images created by myself, now also generated from my imagination. Next, visit the print studio and, for certain images, number a limited edition (usually 7 copies) and sign them by hand. Some images may be available in other formats. Just ask which ones. If you like an image that's 70x100 but doesn't have space on the wall, you might be able to get it in 50x70 cm instead. The question is open.
The Giclée method, or Fine Art Print as it's also called, is the modern way of producing graphic art. This method ensures the highest quality and longevity of the artwork, using a high-quality large-format printer with archival pigment inks and artist paper or, in some cases, canvas. The paper used meets the longevity requirements set by museums and galleries. I sell my pictures unframed, allowing the new owner to personalise their artwork, confident in the lasting value and quality of the piece.
For many years, I only exhibited online, in selected groups, and on my Facebook page - https://www.facebook.com/jorgen.thornberg.9. I also have my website, which unfortunately is not constantly updated - https://www.jth.life/. You can also read some of the stories accompanying the pictures there.
EXHIBITIONS
Luftkastellet, October 2022
Art in Lund, November 2022
Luftkastellet, March 2023
Engleson Gallery Caroli, April 2023
Hydra, Greece June 2023
Engleson Gallery Caroli, October 2023
Toppen, Höllviken December 2023
Luftkastellet, March 2024
Torup Gallery, March 2024
Venice, May 2024
UTSTÄLLNINGAR
Luftkastellet, oktober 2022
Konst i Lund, november 2022
Luftkastellet, mars 2023
Engleson Galleri Caroli, april 2023
Hydra, Greece June 2023
Engleson Galleri Caroli, oktober 2023
Toppen, Höllviken december 2023
Luftkastellet, mars 2024
Torups Galleri, mars 2024
Venice, May 2024
Luftkastellet, October 2024
Konst i Advent, December 2024
Galleri Engleson, Caroli December 2024
Jäger & Jansson Galleri, April 2025
Utbildning
Autodidakt
Medlem i konstnärsförening
Öppna Sinnen
Med i konstrunda
Konstrundan i Skåne
Utställningar
Luftkastellet, October 2022
Art in Lund, November 2022
Luftkastellet, March 2023
Engleson Gallery Caroli, April 2023
Hydra, Greece June 2023
Engleson Gallery Caroli, October 2023
Toppen, Höllviken December 2023
Luftkastellet, March 2024
Torup Gallery, March 2024
Venice, May 2024