Asi og kyrrð, kliður og þögn í verkum Guðrúnar Bergsdóttur

by artzine | Laugardagur.05.2020 | Umfjöllun

Asi og kyrrð, kliður og þögn í verkum Guðrúnar Bergsdóttur

Guðrún Bergsdóttir sýnir um þessar mundir einkasýningu í Safnasafninu en hún mun standa sumarið 2020. þar eru til sýnis verk frá ferli hennar en hann spannar frá árinu 2000 til 2018. Guðrún fæddist í Reykjavík árið 1970. Að lokinni formlegri skólagöngu sótti Guðrún ýmis námskeið hjá Fjölmennt símenntunar og þekkingarmiðstöð þar á meðal í vélsaumi. Hún er meðlimur í Perlu- festinni, sem er áhugafélag um leiklist og hefur starfað hjá Ási vinnustofu síðan árið 1994. Guðrún hefur frá árinu 2000 til ársins 2018 unnið með útsaum í sinni list og hefur hún þróað sérstakan stíl sem vekur aðdáun og höfðar til fólks á ólíka vegu en verk hennar tengjast bæði handverkshefðinni og geómetríski abstrakt list.

Guðrún byrjaði að gera myndlist eftir þrítugt, en þá fór hún að nota nál, garn og striga á persónulegan hátt og byrjaði að sauma þær myndir sem hún er hvað þekktust fyrir. Hún vinnur beint á strigann, spor fyrir spor, flöt fyrir flöt, án forskriftar.

Á 18 ára tímabili bjó Guðrún til 66 myndir. Verk hennar þróuðust frá beinum línum og stórum ferningum yfir í smærri og lífrænni form þar til formfestan nánast hvarf uns hún setti einungis eitt krosssaumsspor í hverjum lit á flötinn. Í yngstu verkum Guðrúnar iðar flöturinn af lífi og þegar rýnt er í verk hennar á augað erfitt með að festa sig við einn stað.

Úr fjarlægð þegar augað greinir ekki bilið á milli sporana, sér áhorfandinn þó útlínur forma aftur, festu innan þess sem virtist enga reglu hafa. Í horni sumra verka Guðrúnar má sjá vísi að næsta verki á eftir, örlitla kítlu eins og til að byggja upp eftirvæntingu. Verk Guðrúnar virðast vera úthugsuð þróun, þar sem hvert spor er í rökréttu framhaldi frá upphafi þó hún geti ekki lýst því af hverju hún vinnur eins og hún gerir og yppir brosandi öxlum ef hún er spurð.

Áður hafði hún saumað út eftir forskrift og unnið tússmyndir sem svipar um margt til útsaumsmynda hennar. Sem barn teiknaði Guðrún svona ,,kafla“ eða eins og skákborð að sögn móður hennar, svipað og í saumaskapnum seinna. Móðir hennar keypti í hannyrðabúðum áprentaða púðastramma, sem auðvelt var að sauma og Guðrún saumaði nokkra slíka. Einu sinni kom hún heim með rauðan java sem vinkona hennar hafði gefið henni og fór að sauma fríhendis rendur á flötinn. Þegar javinn var búinn keypti móðir hennar meira garn og auðan stramma og Guðrún hélt áfram að þróa saumaskapinn í það sem hún er þekkt fyrir í dag og vann eftir það ekki að listsköpun með öðrum efnivið.

Guðrún fór allra sinna ferða með Strætó. Meðferðis hafði hún ávalt listaverkin sín sem hún var að vinna að þá stundina og tók þau upp og hélt sér að verki hvort sem það var í kaffipásu í vinnunni, í heimsókn hjá foreldrum sínum eða í strætó á leið sinni milli staða. Það er skemmtileg sagan af því hvernig verk Guðrúnar rötuðu fyrst fyrir auglit almennings. Sigurbjörg Júlíusdóttir, kona með fjölskyldutengsl við Guðrúnu vann á bókasafninu í Gerðubergi og bauð henni að sýna í einu horni bókasafnsins, þar sem settar voru upp litlar sýningar á saumaskap og handavinnu. Þessi sýning Guðrúnar var á dagskrá fyrstu hátíðar í nafni Listar án landamæra, sem haldin var á Evrópuári fatlaðs fólks árið 2003. Í kjölfarið var Guðrún beðin um að sýna verkin sín á bókasafninu í Hafnarfirði.

Nokkrum árum síðar varð önnur tilviljun til þess að Guðrún sýndi aftur. Harpa Björnsdóttir myndlistarmaður var með vinnustofu í sama húsi við Reykjavíkurhöfn og faðir Guðrúnar var með skrifstofu. Þar hékk mynd eftir Guðrúnu sem hún hafði gefið honum og heillaðist Harpa af henni. Harpa vann þá í Gerðubergi og hafði umsjón með sýningum þar. Hún bauð Guðrúnu að halda einkasýningu, sem fékk nafnið “Hugarheimar” og var opnuð í nóvember 2006. Sýningin fékk mikla aðsókn og athygli og var framlengd til loka janúar 2007. Það hafði aldrei gerst að sýningar væru framlengdar og var mikið fjallað um hana í fjölmiðlum. Um sýninguna sagði í fréttatilkynningu, að hún væri ein allsherjarsinfónía fjölskrúðugra lita og forma; eins og íslensk brekka þakin berjum að hausti eða brúðarklæði frá Austurlöndum. Guðrún hefur sýnt víða frá þeim tíma.

Á árunum 2007 – 2013 hélt Guðrún 6 sýningar sem voru á dagskrá Listar án landamæra sem þá var undir stjórn Margrétar M. Norðdahl. Árið 2007 tók Guðrún þátt í samstarfssýningu hjá List án landamæra, sem haldin var í Norræna húsinu og vann og sýndi verk sín með Gjörningaklúbbnum, en hann skipuðu þær Eyrún Sigurðardóttir, Jóní Jónsdóttir og Sigrún Hrólfsdóttir.

Árið 2008 hélt hún einkasýningu á Mokka sem var einnig á dagskrá Listar án landamæra. Árið 2011 var Guðrún valin listamaður Listar án landamæra og sýndi verk sín ásamt myndlistarmanninum Ransú í Hafnarborg í Hafnarfirði en sýningin bar yfirskriftina “Abstrakt”. Árið 2012 sýndi hún ásamt Gauta Ásgeirssyni á sýningunni “Nál og hnífur” í Þjóðminjasafni Íslands. 2013 tók hún þátt í samsýningunni ,,Meistarar’’ í gallerí Listamenn og samsýningu í bíósal Duushúsa í Keflavík, en allar sýningarnar voru hluti af dagskrá Listar án landamæra.
Árið 2014 tók Guðrún þátt í verkefninu “Samsuða” í samstarfi við listmanninn Eggert Pétursson.
Guðrún sýndi einnig verk sín í Listasal Mosfellsbæjar á samsýningunni “Rjóminn” og í Öryggismiðstöðinni í Askalind sama ár. Allar sýningarnar utan þeirrar í Öryggismiðstöðinni voru á dagskrá Listar án landamæra undir stjórn Írisar Stefaníu Skúladóttur.

Verk Guðrúnar prýddu forsíðu rits Heimilisiðnaðarfélags Íslands “Hugur og hönd” árið 2008, forsíðu Sögu Styrktarfélags vangefinna 1958-2008, “Viljinn að verki” árið 2009 og almanak Þroskahjálpar árið 2013.

Guðrún sýnir á Safnasafninu í sumar (2020) Á sýningunni fá safngestir að sjá fyrstu myndina sem hún saumaði út í striga án forskriftar frá árinu 2000 og einnig þá nýjustu sem er frá árinu 2018.

Frá árinu 2014 hægðist á listsköpun Guðrúnar og var hvert verk eftir það jafnvel ár í smíðum. Hvert spor í verkum hennar felur í sér sögu og það gerir bilið á milli sporanna einnig. Í verkum Guðrúnar má skynja tíma sem samhliða stendur í stað og líður hratt, asa og kyrrð, klið og þögn, eins og að sitja við læk, sem bæði er hjá okkur, en flæðir hjá á sama tíma.

Verkin hennar Guðrúnar eiga einstaklega vel heima í safninu þar sem alþýðulist mætir menntaðri nútímalist og handverkið mætir listaverkinu. Líkt og Safnasafnið ávarpa verk Guðrúnar manngerð landamæri listheimsins, þar sem múrar hafa verið reistir og verk eru vegin og metin eftir ósögðum en vel þekktum reglum um gildi ólíkra verka og skapara þeirra. Guðrún Bergsdóttir hefur markað spor í listasöguna og með verkum sínum og nálgun hefur hún haft áhrif á samtímafólk sitt í listinni.

Margrét M. Norðdahl

Aðalmynd með grein er samsett úr 4 myndum eftir Guðrúnu.

Frekari upplýsingar: www.safnasafnid.is

Fermenting process: a show and tell with Sindri Leifsson

by Juliane Foronda | Sunnudagur.05.2020 | artzine in english, Umfjöllun

Fermenting process: a show and tell with Sindri Leifsson

With Bold Knife and Fork opens with M.F.K. Fisher poignantly stating that gradual changes in a basic recipe are intrinsically tangled with man’s history and assumed progress.^[1] This statement continues to resonate with me months after initially reading it, as it still strikes me with a massive pang of guilt. I think about food more often than I’d like to admit and it’s definitely one of my deepest passions, but I never follow a recipe and I rarely get past the title before beginning to cook. Partly due to laziness, I will admit, but it’s primarily due to trust. For better or for worse, I trust my instincts as well as the food to help me navigate somewhat close to the intended dish, or at the very least, towards a weird but welcomed gastronomical surprise. I’m unsure if I’d equate instinct with progress though, because if anything, my instincts have led me to be deeply set in my ways.

When I approached Reykjavik-based artist and organiser Sindri Leifsson about engaging in this sharing, his initial response was to send me a photograph of the current loaf of bread he was making. It was a turmeric sesame sourdough, and my mouth immediately watered upon seeing the vibrant yellow boule. Meeting some days later, we spoke as he was making a sourdough pizza in the countryside, and he later sent me a photograph of it all finished with his scenic view in the background. A week later, he shared with me his go-to method for baking sourdough bread that he’s carefully developed and perfected over the last three years. I consider recipes to often act as a linear way of sharing a non-linear process, and I realised that this recipe was in many ways the result of Sindri’s process of learning, discovering and perfecting the method of this bread. Graced with moments of his person, he shared suggestions – like how he uses a showercap instead of cling film to cover his dough as it proves, as well as links to tutorial videos on kneading techniques. It became conceivable to imagine his personal trial and errors over time as he honed this particular process.

80% Manitoba Strong Flour, 20% Öland Flour, 78% Hydration, 2% salt, 4gr Turmeric, 30gr Sesame seeds.

Research through experience is the most honest way to learn. While speaking about bread and beyond, Sindri reiterated the importance of being observant and that though one may carefully follow all the protocols, he stressed that it is far more important to have an awareness of what’s happening. To be observant is one thing, but it’s another to know what to do with your observations. This led me to think about how many times we need to activate our senses in a particular way before the action becomes familiar or instinctive.

Signal (sunshine yellow), 2016.

This methodically consistent way of being seems to seep into all corners of Leifsson’s life, and I found his perception of the interconnection of makers and materials to be a necessary aspect of unpacking his practice. With wood being a recurring theme and material in his work, we spoke a lot about the importance and significance of tools, as some of his works even place an emphasis on the tool itself, approaching it as a material in its own right. He keeps revisiting the hand saw in particular, as his interest in it lies in how it acts as a mediator between his hand and the wood. He also reverently stated his affinity with tools remain in their ability to help him create things that last longer than his lifetime.

Axe, 2017. Installation view from the exhibition Hole at The Factory in Hjalteyri.

Axe, 2017.

As we spoke about his working process, Sindri conceded that he’s a project-driven worker as he’s motivated and inspired by juggling multiple activities at once. This is also perhaps why he’s not only deeply committed to his personal practice, but also prioritises contributing to his local art community through acting on the board of a myriad of organizations (such as The Living Art Museum and Sequences Art Festival), as well as working at the Iceland University of the Arts. Alongside this, Leifsson has also run multiple art spaces out of his home, with the current one being listasafnislands.is, affectionately named after his discovery of The National Gallery of Iceland’s missed opportunity of having a .is web domain, which he then unhesitatingly purchased himself to run parallel to the physical namesake space. Sindri’s investment in cultivating these initiatives rests in his desire to have a continuous interaction with art and arts practitioners who he’s interested in, and being drawn to experiencing work in new ways as he continues to foster space for art and life to co-exist. It was curious and humbling to listen to why he rejects the notion of a hierarchy or division existing between arts working and working as an artist. As they occupy the same part of his headspace, Sindri explained that he was more so focused on producing something interesting rather than on the illusion that one form of labour is better or more prestigious than the other. It’s commendable his dedication to making time and space for what he cares about, and also for understanding the privilege he has to be able to make these initiatives happen.

Sketch for maintenance.

In speaking about work and labour, he shared some insights about his current project, which places an emphasis on maintenance. Over time, he has observed points where breakdowns were naturally occurring in the public realm, such as a broken bench, fence or sign. Sindri intends to highlight these moments by accurately repairing them and leaving the break precisely fixed but with the repair still evident. Aware that these radical actions may be perceived as presumptuous with consideration to his person and gender, he acknowledged the importance of being critical and considerate of one’s actions as well as the words used in relation to them regardless of the intention. Sindri stressed that excluding communication is selfish to the process, and that for him, the repair is truly as important as the break. Lisa Baraitser eloquently argues that what is hidden is often not just the labour of maintenance, but also the time embedded within the labour itself,^[2] and I believe this to be true. Invested in the ethos of the Japanese aesthetics of wabi-sabi, Sindri’s work is rooted in recognising the temporal nature of things while highlighting the labour needed for them to be maintained. In contemplating this particular project, I was immediately reminded of Mierle Laderman Ukeles’ Handshake Ritual, which was part of her Touch Sanitation Performance (1979-80), where she embarked on the pursuit of meeting and shaking hands with every New York Sanitation Department employee, and thanking them for keeping New York City alive.^[3] I also find myself considering the similarities between Leifsson’s current proposition and Francis Alÿs’ When Faith Moves Mountains (2002). This ambitious collaborative action involved 500 volunteers in the outskirts of Lima, Peru taking on the task of moving a sand dune over several inches.^[4] I envisage Sindri’s work in line with these as they all generously lend their practice to duration, but more so because they allow for their work to be a means of opening up the conversation on how vulnerability is unraveled through acknowledging the labour involved with maintenance and constant care. These seemingly invisible and momentary gestures continue to resonate far beyond their time.

Entrance, 2019, steel, pine, potatoes.

There’s a curious tension in Sindri’s work which consistently motivates me to question the problems and possibilities of my surroundings. There also exists this refreshing humility in his investment with time passing and time passed that continues to oscillate through my headspace in weird and wonderful ways. Leifsson’s ongoing willingness to learn and experiment regardless of the outcome opens his work to new forms over time as it delicately bleeds between public and private space. It’s evident that his curiosity lies deeply in the labour of process, with considerations to duration coming thereafter, and it’s a privilege to witness Sindri’s methods, recipes, tools, materials, ingredients, photos, sketches, as well as his countless projects on the go, gently unravel into his personal archive of processes as they grow and shift together.

Juliane Foronda

Sindri Leifsson (b. 1988) raises questions about the autarchy of labour and the product it yields as well as pointing towards the process itself. Sindri received a MFA at Malmö Art Academy in 2013 and a BA at Iceland University of the Arts in 2011. He has exhibited actively in Iceland and abroad.

www.sindrileifsson.com

^[1] Fisher, M.F.K., With Bold Knife and Fork, London: Vintage, 2001, p.14.

^[2] Baraitser, Lisa, Touching Time: Maintenance, Endurance, Care in Psychosocial Imaginaries: Perspectives on Temporality, Subjectivities and Activism, PALGRAVE MACMILLAN, 2014, p.21.

^[3] ‘Interview: Mierle Laderman Ukeles on Maintenance and Sanitation Art’, Coordinated by Tom Finkelpearl, MIT Press, Cambridge, MA., London 2001.

^[4] ‘When Faith Moves Mountains’, Francis Alÿs (blog), 23 June 2015, https://francisalys.com/when-faith-moves-mountains/.

Cover picture: Entrance, 2019, steel, birch, potatoes. Sculpture in five parts in Breiðholt as a part of The Wheel, an exhibition series initiated by Reykjavík Association of Sculptors in public space.

The Drumming Beat: Daníel Magnússon at Hverfisgallerí

by Daría Sól Andrews | Sunnudagur.05.2020 | artzine in english, Viðtöl

The Drumming Beat: Daníel Magnússon at Hverfisgallerí

Daníel Magnússons´s exhibition TRANSIT at Hverfisgallerí explores a rhythm of detail, depicting images of close up angles and geometrical forms created out of seemingly everyday moments and objects. In this way Magnússon´s photographs examine how construction and composition can inform the unfolding narrative an image creates, focusing in on the minutiae of a meaningful moment. The relevance of the frame, the subtlety of a directed narrative, and the power of an image seemingly “empty” of meaning: I interviewed Daníel to delve deeper into these thematics of his Hverfisgallerí exhibition.

I was curious how photography informs his practice, an artist that works in many mediums and is trained as a sculptor. What does the medium of photography allow him?

DM: I am not sure that I can answer this question, actually it is not a possibility so to speak. I have worked with photographs for a long time and I have spent a long time as well discussing this media with other artists and professional photographers. Much of the work I did before educating as a sculptor in the eighties was in portrait and landscape. I tried out different media and built a small darkroom everywhere I lived. I did a lot of darkroom work in those years and extensive work in experiments with different media and different equipment. But none of this made it convenient to choose this line of work. When I look at some of the photographs I shot in the eighties I am actually surprised. I did work in sculpture for over a decade or so and it was fascinating, it had all the convenience that I needed. But still it was not enough. The voice today is different from what it sounded three decades ago. This voice knows a lot and it has tried different things. It has lost various battles and won some others. I think that what everybody has to focus on is waiting.

If I would have an answer for you regarding this question it would be the art of waiting. I guess I was lucky that I never intentionally decided to work in this field, it kind of happened after a period of a long waiting.

Daníel tells me that the works in this exhibition are contextualized by a main idea he calls:

“… the closure of the frame and the field it spans. It is what I have described as a sufficiently meaningful or true frame. That is all the entities that are necessary for the frame to be true …”

Cleverly angled shadows on concrete, the appealing corner of a teal swimming pool, a humble wooden piano, a vibrantly curved kiddy slide, a satisfying ceiling curve and suggestive red curtain. These tightly composed shapes have a satisfying body and movement, curvature and liveliness to them. They are pleasing in their invocations, containing elements of playfulness in color, connotations of the domestic, everydayness, childhood, and a simplicity of experience.

Sadsong, 2015, inkjet print on 320 gr Sihl Masterclass cotton paper, 92 x 92 cm.

In terms of his artistic influence, Daníel explains that in his practice he doesn’t necessarily draw inspiration from specific favorites or names, searching rather from what he calls his “silent drumbeat”:

“… I do work in separate fields. Street and elsewhere, which would be street-life. It is a fraction of my collection and portraits as well. I have a different approach to those brands. I tend to search for what I call the ‘silent drumbeat´ in forms and patterns. Maybe it sounds awkward to describe it this way but it really is the fact.

I have never been able to create or bring forward anything of artistic value by deciding to do so. It usually takes a good walking distance. For me it is partly being superstitious and eccentric.

What seems to be a normal day is usually not, when you take into consideration all the arbitrary variables that can change. I do a lot of walking and not necessarily to ‘find´ something. If I have a camera with me, much of the time and effort is carrying it.

I admit that some of the walks do not bring any fruit so to speak. My interest, for the last few years is mostly under two feet from the ground and patterns in the human-nature ambiance. My work is in following and searching. What I am interested in must be equivalent to what you see in the most precious tapestry. It has to be valued and treated as a cherished truth. There is a quotation from a well known scientist who said that you will only understand nature through admiration. Maybe the thing is that I was brought up on farms, and I used to work on farms as a young boy and through my teenage years. I had the whole picture and it was narrated with smell from soil, grass, blood and rotting flesh. The colors and smell of the tundra, it’s a whole unified kingdom with a low pitch voice, a drumbeat…”

His images appear seemingly “neutral”, in their lack of specific reference, and yet this absence does inform a specific direction or motive in the work. These small moments all contain some sort of connection, emotional response, ingrained in us and our unique experiences. Like Daníel describes there is this certain tempo to his photographs, this drumbeat as he terms it, that informs our continued interest and curiosity.

DA: Why this focus on the aesthetic of seemingly background, irrelevant, uncertain landscapes?

DM: Aesthetic is an ambitious word. I try to avoid circumstances where I can be tempted by the atmosphere of aesthetics. Probably one can not escape the weight or gravity of that term – yesterday’s aesthetics are today’s cosmetics, a postmodern cliche. I probably do tend to build my work from an apocalyptic approach to classical aesthetics, my education was. We made statues and pictures and we travelled in Vineland. This attention to photographing something in which there is no event, no momentum, no specific purpose.

DA: What did you want people to experience in this exhibition, the lasting emotion or thought?

DM: There is a purpose and there is an underlying narrative. The silent drumbeat is the decoy, and when you understand that it is not separable from the narrative you surrender to the grace of that particular frame. That’s my personal belief. It is not like it happens all the time, but when it happens, it is perfect and you don’t know why. I do want viewers of my work to experience my beliefs. That they can see or submit to my vision, which is quite arrogant.

Daria Sól Andrews

Daníel Magnússon´s exhibition “TRANSIT” is on view at Hverfisgallerí until May 16th, 2020.

https://hverfisgalleri.is/exhibition/transit/

Photos courtesy of Hverfisgallerí and the artist.

A short note on post-COVID-19: The Terms of Art in Iceland

by Starkaður Sigurðarson | Sunnudagur.05.2020 | artzine in english

A short note on post-COVID-19: The Terms of Art in Iceland

All of a sudden, things are moving quickly. 600 months have been added to the artist’s salaries starting this year, seemingly available for the foreseeable future. An emergency fund of 500 million krónur has also been created for artists dealing with this coming year. Of those 500 million krónur, 57 million are for visual art specifically. These are improvements on our current situation and should be encouraged. But as we are seeing all over the world these emergency measures do not address the long-term, fundamental issues that art faces today.

The problem is how vulnerable artists are even at the best of times. This crisis has again showed us how serious the effect of economic uncertainty is on our art scene. When we restart art, whenever that will be, we must do so on the right terms. Especially since this crisis will have the most effect on artists themselves. Artists who are working part-time, or even full-time, jobs alongside their practice, paying high rent, trying to pay for a studio while also providing for children or thinking about having children, or any sort of stable future. If these artists lose their “real” job, in the tourism industry or the service sector for example, in addition to the postponement or cancellation of their upcoming exhibitions, what sort of chance do they have? Will they be able to make any art? If this becomes the post-COVID-19 reality – if as some have predicted, the economic consequences of this crisis become worse than the crash in 2008 – how will we deal with that?

We know the answer to these questions. A project-based life has no guarantees, and on average you might expect to receive the artist’s salary once every eight years. Of all the people who applied for the artist salary last time, 14% received them. 1,600 months were available; the added 600 for next time might increase the percentage a little, maybe, hopefully. But there will probably still be more than a thousand applicants that get nothing. With the realities of funding here it is amazing that the art scene is as robust as it is. That is a positive and we will build on that. But we must be careful not to let these fluid, extraordinary, times lead us into making changes that do not work for us.

Because all of a sudden it is possible to make changes. We have a Prime Minister who is sympathetic to the arts, as well as a Minister of Education, Science, and Culture, Lilja Alfreðsdóttir, who has shown an interest in listening to artist as well as expressing a belief that the arts are necessary to a functioning society. When we come out on the other side of COVID-19 we will of course work together with our art institutions and our municipalities and our government to start again. But as historically has been the case, the majority of the art scene here is artist-run. The museums will survive this period – cancelled shows and postponements do not mean a loss of necessary livelihood. And thankfully the few actual jobs in the art sector here seem to, still, be mostly unaffected. Ultimately it will be artists who make the new work, who put up the shows, who try to survive on an artist’s salary in a recession. If artists are the ones hardest hit by this crisis, as it looks like might be the case, then we cannot be sure there will be as many practicing artists here when the restrictions are fully lifted.

There will be no perfect way to respond to this crisis, as can already be seen in various places. Though the response from the German state has gotten more favorable reactions from artists and the media, there will be problems with any emergency approach (see various articles, one here: https://news.artnet.com/market/germany-bailout-issues-1834791.) In these circumstances artists must be heard in order for the right changes to be made. Those changes need to build on the (relatively) good things that have been happening here in recent years. Museums and institutions starting to pay artists for their work, however small an amount it still is. The expansion of The Iceland University of the Arts has made the university more closely resemble the leader in its field that it is supposed to be, although much can still be improved. There are good, driven people heading up many of our most important institutions. There is arguably more support for artist-run initiatives than there has been before, though our artist-run spaces and galleries need more help. Not to mention that artists working in Iceland today are as relevant internationally as they have ever been. In such a privileged country as Iceland there is potential to really make something interesting. But these things do not happen automatically, someone needs to go out and do these things.

In that context it is depressing to think about how changes are more readily made in absolutely extreme circumstances. We can do better, not just when things crash and the big lights come on. But if the government reaction now is to put money into art, then this is already different from the austerity measures implemented after the 2008 crash. And while the sale of artworks is not a viable nor reliable way for an artist in Iceland to make a living, except in unique cases, the relative increase in sales in recent years has maybe set a precedence that can be expanded on post-COVID-19. And if the economic consequences of this virus lead us into a serious recession then, as the government has hinted at, further measures might have to be taken. It would be good if our artists and our art scene have a say in what those measures would be.

The main point here is that if now is a time for change then we make use of it. We should ask ourselves if we were happy with the way things were before the COVID-19 restrictions. Not just on an institutional level, but on a personal, environmental, critical level also. Do we want to build back up the scene we had before? If not, what do we want to change? How do we make those changes? Because one of the main problems artists face in Iceland is that the government does not really understand how artists work. They do not understand the language artists speak, what artists need, what the relationship is between art and society today. We can be better at communicating amongst ourselves. We can be better at communicating with the public. We should be more aware of the bigger picture of art in Iceland. Can we make a more equal, more unified, more interesting framework for making art in Iceland? What would that look like?

Nothing mentioned here is new or revolutionary. We know what would make art better in Iceland. And it is maybe a contradiction to be talking about a positive way forward in the face of a brutal and traumatizing global catastrophe that might turn into a severe international recession. Never waste a crisis, indeed. Hopefully we can deal with the economic fallout, though only time will tell us what post-COVID-19 means. But we should, at least here in our privileged position, try to have an effect on what art looks like on the other side.

Starkaður Sigurðarson

Cover picture: Auður Lóa Guðnadóttir’s on-the-cheap studio shoot in an alleyway in Dublin.

Röskum tilverunni

by Eva Lín Vilhjálmsdóttir | Laugardagur.05.2020 | Umfjöllun, Video

Röskum tilverunni

Kollektífið RASK, hefur það að markmiði að brúa bilið milli listar og tækni. Þau fylgja þeirri mörkuðu stefnu í nýjustu sýningu sinni, RASK#3, en eins og nafnið gefur til kynna er þetta þriðji viðburðurinn sem RASK heldur. Viðburðurinn var skipulagður af Sóleyju Sigurjónsdóttur, Ida Juhl, Guðmundi Arnalds og Örlygi Steinar Arnalds. Vefsíðuna gerðu Guðmundur Arnalds og Ása Júlía Aðalsteinsdóttir.

Sýningin, sem er eingöngu rafræn, opnaði þann 9.apríl síðastliðinn og hægt er að nálgast hana til 30. á nýrri heimasíðu RASK: www.raskcollective.com sem opnuð var samtímis sýningunni. Verk eru eftir listamennina Hákon Bragason, Ásdísi Birnu Gylfadóttur, Halldór Eldjárn og Germán Greiner.

Flest verkin, að undanskildu einu, eiga þau sameiginlegt að taka fyrir samskipti með einum eða öðrum hætti. Möguleikarnir í listsköpun í gegnum rafræna miðla eru nær endalausir og það skemmtilegasta við sýninguna var það hversu ólíkt hvert og eitt verk var frá hverju öðru. Tvö þeirra eru gagnvirk, þ.e.a.s áhorfandinn tekur þátt í verkinu (og stjórnar hvað gerist upp að vissu marki) á meðan hin tvö eru með aðeins hefðbundnara sniði.

Einmanaleikinn birtist í öllum verkunum og er einn helsti rauði þráður sýningarinnar að mínu mati. Mér fannst ég þurfa að setjast niður með sjálfri mér til þess að njóta verkanna og það er einmitt það sem ég gerði. Settist niður ein og skoðaði þau. Í samræmi við það þema sem ég fann mun ég ræða verkin í röð; frá hinum mesta einmanaleika yfir í snertingu við aðra.

Fyrsta verkið spyr okkur hversu ein getum við verið án þess að kafna úr eigin sjálfi? Það er verk Hákonar Bragasonar: Bubble Vision. Í verkinu er allur viðbúnaður tölvunnar/símans sem þú notar tekinn inn í reikninginn (mæli samt með því að skoða verkið í síma því þá hreyfist verkið í takti við staðsetningu símans). Hákon notar þessa tækni til að kalla fram einhverja tilfinningu; í mér kallaði það fram einmanaleika.

Allt við Bubble Vision hrópar óþægileg einvera, frá bleiku undirtónum veggjanna til sápukúlnanna sem innihéldu mig sjálfa með undirhöku. Þetta kallaði fram innilokunarkennd hjá mér, þó kannski ekki hjá öllum. Að vera í herbergi með ekkert nema tölvuskjá og skrifborð – tákn vinnunnar? – og sjálfa mig að horfa yfir öxlina á mér fékk mig til þess að hugsa um allt það sem á átti eftir að gera. Ég varð að komast út. Kannski er ég ekki tilbúin til þess að horfast í augu við mig sjálfa. Eða kannski er of mikil sjálfskoðun óheilbrigð?

Í verki Halldórs Eldjárns fylgist áhorfandinn með klukku ganga og dagsetningu sett fjórum dögum áður. Fyrir hverja sekúndu sem gengur kemur nýr hljómur – og þó stundum enginn. Þannig getur áhorfandinn fylgst með tímanum líða. Verkið minnti mig á hversu tilkomumikið það er að finna fyrir tímanum líða og hvernig ég er sjaldan eins meðvituð um tímann og þegar mér leiðist eða er að bíða eftir einhverju. En hverju er ég að bíða eftir núna? Ég gæti verið að bíða eftir vorboðanum, afléttingu á samkomubanninu eða jafnvel bara að telja sekúndur út í óendanleikann.

Ásdís Birna Gylfadóttir

Verk Ásdísar Birnu Gylfadóttur, icelandic conversation in multiple languages, spilar á aðra strengi. Verkið er hefðbundið vídeóverk þar sem hið hljóðræna spilar stóra rullu. Hljóðupptökurnar eru allar teknar á heimili hennar í Enschede, Hollandi, núna á undanförnum vikum. Upptökurnar eru ýmist símtöl við ástvini, ættingja og vini en einnig tónlist og umhverfishljóð. Hljóðin í verkinu minntu mig á þær raddir sem við heyrum dagsdaglega og það sem við heyrum inni á heimilum okkar: meðleigjendur, fjölskylda, vinir, nágrannar, útvarp, sjónvarp. Það sem við heyrum í gegnum vegginn en getum ekki greint. Þekkjum ekki samhengi samræðnanna né erum þátttakendur í þeim. Hlutverk þessara hljóða og radda er alveg magnað og gríðarlega áhrifaríkt. Því þegar það er ekkert hljóð í kring og við heyrum ekkert þá finnum við virkilega fyrir því. Orðin, talið, býr til ákveðinn öryggishjúp sem ég gæti sjálf ekki lifað án. Barn að segja ,,ha?’’ Tónlist í fjarska. Nánd í fjarska.

Sjónræni hluti verksins er einnig á áhugaverðan hátt andstæða þess hljóðræna en upptökurnar í myndbandinu eru úr veðurmyndavélum utan að landi sem sýna frá stormi sem gekk yfir Ísland í kringum 9. desember síðastliðinn. Þegar veðrið er það slæmt að innivera er æskileg förum við öll í svipaðar stellingar og við erum í núna. Við liggjum uppi í sófa, drekkum kaffi eða kakó og höfum það rólegt. Náttúran segir okkur að halda okkur heima. Við erum of viðkvæm og lítil til þess að takast á við veðrið. Við höldum okkur heima og bíðum af okkur storminn. Ekki ósvipað því sem er í gangi núna. Við gerum það þó saman, með kveikt á RÚV eða útvarpinu.

German Greiner Distant Touch

Síðasta verkið í sýningunni, verk German Greiner, brýtur svo upp hinn rauða þráð einmanaleikans. Bindur hnút á endann á honum og gefur möguleika á að spila tónlist með óþekktum aðila í gegnum skjáinn. Forritið leyfir þannig tveimur einstaklingum að eiga nokkurskonar samskipti í gegnum tónlistina. Manneskjan hinum megin er algjörlega óútreiknanleg. Eins og manneskjur eiga það til að vera. Fjarlæg snerting er aðal þema þessa verks og slær á ótrúlega áhugaverða strengi um hvað það er sem þarf til þess að eiga samskipti. Verkið gefur dæmi um það að samskipti þurfa ekki að vera flókin til þess að eiga sér stað og getur einföld rafræn snerting sem þessi dugað.

Sýningin í heildina setti svip sinn á lífið í seinustu viku, raskaði hversdagsleikanum og fékk mig til að hugsa. Nú þegar öll söfn og sýningarrými eru lokuð var ótrúlega magnað að sjá hversu hratt var skipt um gír og sýning var sköpuð eins og skot á algjörlega nýjum forsendum. Listin er að minnsta kosti ekki þræll formlegrar staðsetningar, sýningarrýma né nokkurskonar efnislegs pláss.

Eva Lín Vilhjálmsdóttir

Myndskeið: Hluti af opnun sýningarinnar þar sem Rave-að var heima í stofu. DVDJ NNS, Áslaug Magnúsdóttir & Mia Ghabarou og Geigen.