Mom’s balls: a show across generations

Mom’s balls: a show across generations

Mom’s balls: a show across generations

Artists, in order to carry this title, need to be recognized as such from the local and/or international art scene. Besides their creative practice, artists need their works to get out there and to be seen from the art community. They need to be active in the art world by showing their pieces in galleries and museums. It means that artists need to present themselves as artists in order to be recognized as such. But what if someone has artistic skills but does not have the possibility to develop self-promoting abilities and to show his/her works? What if this person lives in the Icelandic countryside in the mid-twentieth century? Probably he/she will never be recognized as an artist unless she is lucky enough to be Elín Jónsdóttir, mother of Ágústa Oddsdóttir and grandmother of Egill Sæbjörnsson.

The two artists see in their mother/grandmother an inspiration source for their works. Elín Jónsdóttir had a very creative and modern way of thinking; recycling was essential for her and she was really skilled in manual work. Everything was guaranteed a second life in the hands of Elín Jónsdóttir: old socks and clothes seams were unpicked and the threads reused to make blankets or floor mats. Nothing was thrown away in her house. Even fishing nets and Christmas ribbons were re-worked to become unique shopping bags. But Elín Jónsdóttir’s abilities shine the most in her tapestries: she used to dye the threads by herself, using extracts from plants and vegetables, to create an earthy colors scale. A beautiful tapestry in the bedroom at Neðri-Háls has a particular design composed of both geometrical shapes and figurative decorations, a multilayered work which shows her will to go beyond the reproduction of the visible world, re-elaborating it by mixing some elements from reality, others from a board game and abstract forms.

The exhibition Mom’s Balls is set in three different places: Neðri-Háls, which is the old farm where Ágústa Oddsdóttir grew up with her mother Elín Jónsdóttir, the Old City Library in downtown Reykjavik, and the bar of Hotel Holt.

Getting to Neðri-Háls has an important role in the general experience of the show. The farm is an hour drive from Reykjavik, a lovely trip into Kjos, in Hvalfjörður, and I was lucky enough to go there in one of the few sunny days of this moody Icelandic summer. The mountains coated with bright green grass were flowing through my left car window, the beautiful fiord was gleaming in the sunshine on my right. The little farm has been preserved as it used to appear back in time: the old furniture, the sweet curtains with little flowers, everything looks just like frozen in time. Ágústa Oddsdóttir was there, to warmly welcome the visitors with a cup of delicious coffee and some Icelandic cinnamon rolls. She kindly told me about her mother, describing her as a strong woman and an inspiring figure.

Ágústa Oddsdóttir used to be a sociology teacher when she realized that teaching didn’t suit her anymore, so she decided to go back to school and to join the Icelandic University of Art, willing to move towards art. The influence she got from her mother is visible in her works: she creates big balls made out of stripes cut from old and disused clothes collected through the years. These works refer to a very intimate realm, our clothes are very much connected with ourselves, they function just like a second skin, and they can also be used to communicate our way of being in the world. By cutting stripes from old clothes and wrapping them together to form a unit big object Ágústa Oddsdóttir puts together memories and stories from all the family members.

This conceptual traverse of time and generations is perceptible in her whole practice: some journals on show are visual elaborations of stories her mother had told her. When Elín Jónsdóttir had a nervous breakdown, Ágústa Oddsdóttir used to spend a lot of time with her and they would go for long walks in the nature to have a chat. Elín Jónsdóttir would tell her daughter stories from her past and Ágústa Oddsdóttir would listen carefully, and, once she was alone, she would illustrate her mother’s words and write them down. Elín Jónsdóttir didn’t know about these diaries, otherwise, she would have stopped telling her daughter about her past, because she would have felt used. Ágústa Oddsdóttir has been keeping the journals hidden for many years until recently when she decided to show them.

Those journals show the intimate relationship between the mother and her daughter with an interesting narrative dynamic: Elín Jónsdóttir’s stories have been filtered through the imagination of the Ágústa Oddsdóttir, creating a sort of collaboration between them. The stratification of time alongside with narration are the basis of her work, and they remind us of the importance of recording facts and people memories, but they also remind us that once, before the humans invented the writing form, we were all storytellers, and narration after narration the stories would change and transform little by little, gaining something new from every storyteller.

This narrative aspect is a strong presence also in Ágústa Oddsdóttir’s boxes body of work: she recycles boxes by creating on one side a blank surface with white painting, on which she draws scenes which recall a past childhood. Some boxes are shown side by side and they form a kind of comic strips where each of them represents a scene of a whole story.

Looking at the descent, we can see that Egill Sæbjörnsson has inherited the same interest in narrations, in time-traverses and, in some way, in recycling. His grandmother has been babysitting him for over ten years, spending many hours per day with him and during that time he has absorbed a lot from Elín Jónsdóttir’s values.

Egill Sæbjörnsson has worked around the idea of two trolls, Ugh and Boogar, borrowing the Icelandic traditional trolls and recontextualizing them into the contemporary world. He has developed the concept of troll: Ugh and Boogar are curious about everything, they are eager to learn and to create, they imitate Egill Sæbjörnsson because they want to understand how the human beings have developed. Egill Sæbjörnsson gave the trolls a new life through his work. He created a new narrative for them to exist in the contemporary world, a process which is reminiscent of his grandmother’s approach to recycling.

Ugh and Boogar were actually born as a private joke – two alter egos he created just to have fun – but then he developed their stories through his artworks making them almost real. At the Old City Library, there is also a video of Ágústa Oddsdóttir getting into her alter ego character named Guðmundur Jónasson, a bus driver, another art piece which was born just as a joke but that has been transformed in an actual artwork.

Egill Sæbjörnsson’s interest in narration and time-traverse can be seen also in his piece Afi minn for a honum Rauð, on show at the Old City Library in downtown Reykjavik. This work consist of a photographic series based on an old Icelandic children song from 1998, Egill Sæbjörnsson has been once again borrowing something from the past and re-elaborating it to create a new narration. The process is reminiscent of his mother’s journals as in both of the pieces, the original story is filtered by the artist’s imagination which produces a personal interpretation, a meeting point of different times and of understandings of the story itself.

Mom’s balls recontextualizes work by Elín Jónsdóttir, whose potential has been seen by the British-American art critic Karen Wright, curator of the show. Elín Jónsdóttir’s creations have finally been placed in that context to which she had never had the opportunity to access. But the presence of her works in the show enlightens that of Ágústa Oddsdóttir and Egill Sæbjörnsson: the dialog through the works reinforces the artwork themselves, empowering them with a new strength and giving us the key for a new understanding of their practices.

Ana Victoria Bruno


Photo credit: Helga Óskarsdóttir

INFÆDD // NATIVE – Photographic works by Nina Zurier at Studio Sol

INFÆDD // NATIVE – Photographic works by Nina Zurier at Studio Sol

INFÆDD // NATIVE – Photographic works by Nina Zurier at Studio Sol

The newest addition to exhibition spaces in Reykjavik, Studio Sol, held its inaugural opening on Saturday, July 28th, 2018 with a solo exhibition by the photographer Nina Zurier. Located in the Höfðabakki neighborhood of Reykjavik, the space brings attention to often overlooked places around the city that offers much more space than the downtown area can provide. The curator of the new space is Daria Sól Andrews who grew up all her life between California and Iceland. She is currently studying in the art curation MFA at the University of Stockholm. Andrews settled in Reykjavik earlier this year, stumbling across a living space where she saw the potential to carry out her long-time plan of opening an exhibition space. As a home-based exhibition space, her goal is to keep the elements of its familial atmosphere instead of trying to fight against that inherent aspect to the space. “The aim,” she says, “ is to embrace the rawness of it being my home.”

“When I started this process I was considering heavily how much I want to veer away from the white cube aspect. I decided to let it fall into place naturally. I’m in Höfðabakki where there are a lot of warehouse spaces and car dealerships with a lot of artist studios popping up, too, however. Many people are relocating here from the center of Reykjavik and because it’s Reykjavik you can’t even call it an outskirt because it’s only a five minutes drive. I want it to have this aspect of allowing people to come out of downtown and away from their comfort zone. I want the space to operate in a mode of open experimentation with artist talks and curator talks and performances as well as exhibitions. It is very important to me that this space functions as not only a familial, community centered space, but a space that opens and facilitates dialogues that this home aspect can be especially conducive to perhaps.”

Studio Sol arrives as part of a long history of alternative exhibition spaces in Reykjavik, for example 1hv, or Fyrsta hæð til vinstri (first floor to the left), another home-exhibition space presenting contemporary art in Reykjavik. There was also Gallery GÚLP! In the mid-90’s, which held shoebox-sized exhibitions. There is currently Gangurinn (The Corridor), another small home-exhibition space set in a corridor. There was also Gallery Gestur, which existed in a small silver briefcase, which created the atmosphere of an exhibition opening in whatever space the briefcase was opened. There is also a gallery in a rusty shed, The Shed, which migrates around different inconspicuous locations around Reykjavik.

The opening of Studio Sol presents a solo exhibition by the American photographer, Nina Zurier. Zurier first came to Iceland in 2002, pulled here by a love of horses, and has been living between California and Iceland since 2011. Andrews says her interest in exhibiting Zurier for the opening of Studio Sol stems from the way the artist’s interest in Iceland and her inherent focus on darkness and light in photographing Iceland is also such an important part of being an Icelander. “In this way,” she says, “she straddles two worlds of being a photographer and being an Icelander. Her photographs have this element in which you look at them and if you are from this place or you are familiar to it you just get this immediate emotional memory to it.” The exhibition is titled INFÆDD//NATIVE and speaks to this question of home, roots, community, connection, and cultural memory. The notion of being native is presented as something that can be defined as being situated between that which is known and that which is unknown, an idea that resonates with global current events.

“Making a perfect image is not what I’m after,” says Zurier. “I studied photography in art school but I would like it to be something else. I’m also not interested in documentation or political or social content. So it really is about the image and creating a feeling for the image that I respond to that other people would respond to as well. So my work is sometimes beautiful, but definitely grim and dark. I’m really interested in framing. A lot of the ones in the exhibition are taken out of windows, so I’m very interested in the frame, even if it is not a window. I end up making something that is framing the image.”

The mostly black and white photographs by Zurier capture a feeling for Iceland that is difficult to name, but is expressed completely in the way the Angelica plant is captured bending in the wind and the way the sunlight creates a neon frame of light coming around the drawn shades through the window. In another photograph, the back of a horse’s head leans before you, with a light catching in the parting mane, appearing to pull the horse upwards to the light. Other scenes seem almost more real than memory because the scene is so commonplace; the concrete edges of a pool separating water from earth, a path of folded bracken leading to a low dark forest, child footprints in the snow appear in some kind of order, bird-like, almost a dance. Window reflections become part of the terrain in black and white, a fog that that the light makes part of a natural reflection from the sun. Zurier’s photographs seem to capture the vocabulary of imagery that has been built up in Iceland over centuries, contributing to the way cultural memory is eternally returning as a material form of memory, even in its ruin. In another photograph, there is a glimpse of youth in an everyday scene in which equipment becomes words in the landscape – set starkly into the lay of the land.

Nina Zurier is an artist living and work in California and Reykjavík. Her work includes books and installations of her photographs as well as projects involving images from archives and other sources. Several years of research in the Reykjavík Photography Museum’s archive resulted in the book Ef ég hefði verið… Reykjavík 1950-1970, published in 2015 by Crymogea in Reykjavík, as well as an exhibition and large-scale artwork made up of small details from the archival photographs.

The exhibition INFÆDD//NATIVE will be on view from July 28th until September 15th, 2018.

Erin Honeycutt


Photos by Hlynur Helgi Hallgrímsson
Studio Sol address: Vagnhöfði 19, 110 Reykjavík
Website: Studio Sol

To Step into the perspective of the exhibition maker

To Step into the perspective of the exhibition maker

To Step into the perspective of the exhibition maker

In 2001, when Danish curator Aukje Lepoutre Ravn began studying art history at Aarhus University, the notion of the independent curator wasn’t yet on the radar in Denmark. In fact, there were no curatorial programs available, a condition familiar to students of art and art theory based in Iceland. This fall, both Aukje’s home university and The University of Iceland coincidentally will be launching brand new MA programmes in curating, thereby finally responding to a growing local need for higher education in the field. I first reached out to Aukje before news of both programmes had reached my ears, because I was curious to find out how an art historian, such as herself, found her way into today’s vivid role of the independent curator.

After completing her studies in 2008 Aukje has curated various contemporary art exhibition, discursive programmes and festival formats both inside and outside of Denmark. Before pursuing the flexibility of a freelancer, she has held the position of head curator at Röda Sten Kunsthall in Gothenburg, been one of two artistic directors of the GIBCA Göteborg International Biannual and served as the artistic director at Cph Art Week. When I got a hold of her she was in the midst of the process of organizing danish artist Kirstine Roepstorff’s current exhibition at Kunsthal Charlottenborg in Copenhagen. In her own words, Aukje has throughout her career experienced a shift from not having any terminology about curating at the start of her education to about five to seven years ago where the term “just exploded in our faces”. Since our first conversation, me and Aukje have once more continued our talk, about her first steps into the world of curating, her methods, views on the phenomenon as well as reflections on the need for an academic platform for curation.

Aukje: I am a classically trained art historian – but one that is interested in contemporary art. Because of that I’ve found my way into whatever role I think or feel that a curator is today. My whole process has really been self-taught in that sense.

Sunna: Could you tell me a bit more about that process?

Aukje: During my education I spent a lot of time in New York, taking courses and doing internships. Back home I was taught to be a mediator of the artist and the artist’s idea but in New York I observed that there was a completely different rhetoric, terminology and awareness evolving around exhibition making than in Denmark. I learned that there was actually something called an independent curator, where you are not necessarily just serving an institution that oblige you to do certain things. I saw that within this independent curatorial position there would be ground for choices and ideas to develop that could come directly from oneself. Today I see the role of the curator much more as someone that’s both the artist liaison as well as presenting own agendas.

Sunna: So is that how you perceive your own curatorial role?

Aukje: Yes. Whatever curatorial idea I have – it’s always informed by the work of the artist. On various levels. Wherever I go, I look for ideas to put into my curatorial practice by visiting institutions, seeing different places and making sure I get to meet local artists. I try to orient myself as much as possible towards topics which are currently circulating – not only amongst artists but other disciplines as well.

Sunna: Yes I’ve noticed that you work with many artists who can be described as cross disciplinary. They not only work with different mediums but their work could also be categorized within the frameworks of others disciplines, such as design, architecture or something completely different. For instance Pinar Yoldas, whose work places itself on the borders of art, architecture, science and technology. Could you elaborate a bit on your decision to work with these artists?

Aukje: This is something I find very interesting. Today, most artists don’t really care that much about disciplines. The artists who are currently educating themselves don’t usually identify with the character of the painter, the sculptor or the photographer. They don’t yield to identify as multimedia artists either. Actually they kind of fluently transgress these formats and descriptions that us art historians and institutions have come to apply upon them. For our convenience. Artists are naturally crossing and dissolving that others might see as boundaries. We have to start being less focused on this notion of disciplines within the art schools and the terminology that we are using. We are beginning to see more and more cross-disciplinarian practicians that are not just subjects of the aesthetic fields, but the wider scientific ones. Working with biologists, other kinds of scientists, with economists. You know, other fields that are basically important and defining for whatever contemporary society we are in.

Sunna: Does that relate to the themes of your curatorial projects which often revolve around political matters, such as decolonisation and the anthropocene?

Aukje: Well, as a curator I never just decide: “Ok Next project, I wanna work with gender equality. Start!” The process is not like that. For me it’s about trying to dissect the sum of what topics are currently circulating. There are so many discourses going on today, simultaneously! One of the most challenging things of curating, I think, is to fixate your focus. Not let yourself be too distracted by everything else going on, but staying with one core question and really explore it. That’s one of the reasons why I made this curatorial program at Röda Sten Konsthall in Gothenburg addressing the impact of the anthropocene. That was something that came about because I sensed through a lot of previous conversations I’d had with artists over the years that this was what they were becoming more and more interested in: Human relationship to nature, to technology and how those two phenomenon sort of intertwine and contrast.

Sunna: Well, it seems to me that your approach to exhibition making reaches beyond the academic tradition of art history.

Aukje: I’m not really thinking a lot about it like that. I’m not trying to go beyond or step aside as such. I just do what I think makes sense and try to trust my intuition. But if you take for instance the exhibition format, what is that? Is it just a tradition of display of art works throughout art history? Yes, but is also so much more. Art history has shown many, many times that this idea of a standardized exhibition format is impossible. Everything is relational. The place, the space, how the artwork resonates within these elements. My starting point is always the artists idea of their work and thinking about how to present that the best way possible – with whatever means you have. Another thing is anchoring your practice within the contemporary society. I recently came home from a two-day workshop on the exhibition as a ritual in connection with the ARCO Art Fair in Madrid. In the secularized society here in the northern countries, there is hardly any religion that binds us together. And we take pride in distancing ourselves from belief. The effects of non-belief in society is causing a lot of segregation. The notion of ritual is something that you connect to some ancient practise. Today we have the community versus the individual. For flock animals such as ourselves I don’t really think that individualism is a natural phenomenon. So I’m thinking a lot about how we can be making new rituals bringing us together, bringing us closer to nature, within the secular society.

Sunna: So as a self-taught curator, what do you think is the biggest asset to gain from these new MA curatorial programmes, for students interested in working in this field?

Aukje: It is great, that students interested i this field, are now able to study the history of curating and exhibition making from the perspective of the exhibition maker rather than from the viewer. And really get into depth of the theoretical and critical thinking foundations that have shaped how we understand curatorial practice today. I have sometimes missed having this foundation in my own practice. But at the same time I do think that curating is just as much about making practical and aesthetical decisions on site, with the artists and together finding the best ways to communicate the work. From the curatorial perspective, and my own experience, I love when curating becomes this very fluent and organic process, where you never really know for sure what the end result will be.

Sunna: Last question, as an inspiration for upcoming curators. What’s your vision for the role of the future curator?

Aukje: I would love for the curator to gain a stronger political position within our society. As instigators, opinion makers and critical voices. Today, the field of contemporary art in Denmark does not have a strong priority within cultural politics in general. It is looked upon as “dressing”. I find that extremely discouraging and a missed opportunity. When working with contemporary art – a field where you find so many inspirational and creative ideas being shaped and formed – you want it to be recogniced as something valuable within society – something that a larger audience can learn from and be inspired by.

Sunna Ástþórsdóttir


Photo credit: Image to the left, courtesy of Aukje Lepoutre Ravn. Image to the right is a detail of  Kirstine Roepstorff’s work. Courtesy of

Aukje’s website: www.aukjelepoutreravn.com

Black is Light by Claudia Hausfeld and Klara Sofie Ludvigsen

Black is Light by Claudia Hausfeld and Klara Sofie Ludvigsen

Black is Light by Claudia Hausfeld and Klara Sofie Ludvigsen

The exhibition, Black is Light, by Claudia Hausfeld and Klara Sofie Ludvigsen is on view at Harbinger until the 24th of June. In the exhibition, black and white analog photographs are not as they appear on their surface. As one scans the surface of the images, the conflicting meeting place between the proof of the image and the imagination of the observer is constantly revealed. Both slight and blatant manipulations made by the artists disrupt the reception of how one usually absorbs a photograph, demanding a sharpening of the gaze. Such is the magic of painting with light in the darkroom, as well as the suspension of working in with darkroom processes which the artists shared with me in the following interview.

Erin: As I was looking around at the works and noticing how well they work together, the question I really wanted to figure out how to answer was: Whose is whose? I think it is because the photographs work so well together. How would you describe a way to differentiate between your works?

Klara Sofie: I think there are many ways of answering that question. One concrete thing is how we work in the darkroom. I work in the layer with the negative whereas Claudia works on the paper so that is a difference but you can’t really see that. It’s just something we know.

Erin: That is the exact kind of information about the work that I think is so interesting to know because it’s something we would never know, or see.

Claudia: I think you can even say that it is all darkroom images, which is a fundamental ingredient in our work, and that it is done in the darkroom and that it is chemicals and light which made the images.

Klara Sofie: It is important as this process is informing the outcome. Claudia is doing it on the paper like stopping the light from working on the surface whereas I am doing it with the negative by taking new negatives on glass or on transparent paper with different techniques. So I’ve always stopped the light when the negative is on a layer.

Claudia: The enlarger we use in the darkroom functions like a reverse camera. The paper we print on is like the negative in a camera, and the negative itself is like the thing you take a picture of. The higher up and further away the negative is from the paper, the larger the image. And by doing it Klara’s way, by putting a drawing or painting on glass together with the negative, you also enlarge the painting on the surface of the image, so you see these lines that were painted on glass or plastic were enlarged along with the image, whereas mine were printed directly on the images so it is not enlarged. It is more of a photogram, like a direct copy.

Erin: That really gives it a totally different sense. When I look around I feel like they have a totally different depth feeling to them.

Claudia: I was wondering about this one for instance. It is really difficult to tell what is image and what is negative.

Klara Sofie: I think it is lead because this is a negative combined with a positive. What you are looking at, the white part, is a positive, which comes out negative, which means it is a black lead lying on the foreground there as salt storage. That is the light blended into the other images which is a negative coming across as a positive.

Claudia: I just don’t understand this image. You know this thing with photography where you know you are dealing with something that was actually there but you just can’t believe it. Did you cut on the negative?

Klara Sofie: No, when I placed them on top of each other this is what came through because the salt is white and when it is a positive that is where the light shows through and it gave room for the negative to show.

Erin: This is the positive and this is the negative?

Klara Sofie: No, that is just the opposite. It is very easy to get dizzy when it comes to positives and negatives because part of the process is to constantly turn it which is what the title is playing on as well because what is black in the negative stops the light, and becomes light in the photograph.

Claudia: For this image I made a torch with this little nose out of paper, like a funnel. So the light only came out of this tiny hole. I placed the paper with a red filter so it didn’t expose it and then I switched it on the torch and went all over the place with it, making a drawing.

Erin: So you made black with light?

Claudia: Yes, because that is how the photographic paper is burned; it turns black.

Erin: And this is Claudia’s?

Klara Sofie: No, that is mine. But this is a strange one because it is also painted on glass in the same size as the negative and then doubled so it is a painting and a photograph. This is a special version because it is light leaked on the paper which, in a way, relates them even more to Claudia’s because it is not something I usually do.

Claudia: What I like is that it has this randomness in which you can see how light behaves in these stripes.

Klara Sofie: I don’t understand the logic of it. I don’t know how this appeared because it doesn’t really make sense the way it is placed.

Erin: How does it feel to work with something that you don’t always understand the logic of?

Claudia: It is so exciting; I really love it. I guess I work like this because I do something on the paper itself. The thing is, you are in this room and you can have this red light on so you see quite a bit and you take out this white sheet of paper and you place it there and then you put some light on it and when the light turns off the image is still white. It seems like nothing has happened but you know that latently there is an image on that white sheet of paper. Then you take it and you put it in this tray and magically something appears; this moment is such magic every time.

Erin: It still has so much variation at that stage in the process of creating the image you want.

Claudia: Yes, of course. You can take it out earlier and you can switch on the light and change everything up.

Erin: How did you two meet?

Klara Sofie: We were paired together. We had never met before and we were asked to do a collaboration together. First we had an exhibition in a gallery in Bergen in April 2018. That was the first time our works met and we were pleasantly surprised. It was a very funny experience because we saw that they spoke so well together. We were laughing quite a lot.

Erin: Can you tell me more about this one?

Claudia: It is a little bit of an experiment because I wanted to illustrate the whole darkroom process in an abstract way; painting an image in layers. So I took that idea and decided to make shelves, also inspired by Klara who was making these shelves with glass. This sequence of images I made by walking around a hole and every step taking a picture. I wanted to make the hole three-dimensional to keep true to the process. In the darkroom, I placed this tiny piece of paper in the middle also and crumbled it smaller and smaller until it almost disappears at the bottom-most shelf.

Erin: There is a lot of illustration of the photographic process going on in the exhibition.

Claudia: Of course, because it is very process-based and also very playful. Actually, with none of the works was I preconceiving that I was going to make this kind of image or that one. I browse through my negatives until I find something that I’d like to play with.

Klara Sofie: For me, for years I found photography to be quite a stiff medium. It’s very formal because it has so many processes that make it feel very controlled, unlike painting, which is more improvised. I am working to make it more improvisational and playful because I wanted to have more fun, so eventually I just had to give up control. So, this way of working is just a result of this release of control and matching what I’m painting with different negatives and seeing what compositions appear and sometimes it clicks and sometimes it doesn’t but it does after a while. It’s just a constant process.

Erin: Photography does carry with it this heritage of stiffness.

Claudia: It is actually a theory that I would like to explore a little bit further. I’ve been looking for literature about this digital/analog dichotomy. Photography released painting because, after the inception of photography, paintings didn’t have to concern themselves anymore with the representation of reality and it could sort of fall back on itself and research itself. This was always the thing that photography had to deal with: representation and depiction of what was there. Now it is digital photography that has taken that in all forms like scanners and surveillance cameras. Now that everything is digital photography, analog photography can finally concern itself with itself. It doesn’t need to represent anything anymore. The need to show that ‘this is what existed’ is gone. It feels kind of fresh and free because now it is really painting with light.

Erin: It is being returned to its core, so to speak.

Claudia: It is so funny because it isn’t a painting. It isn’t a pure invention of my hand and brain. It is still real stuff but I can tweak it and play with it.

Erin: The way you are both manipulating the photographs in the darkroom process really disrupts the observer’s ability to ‘scan’ the image. It’s like you are dismantling the whole linear process of one thing leading to another and creating your own world within the photographs – breaking the spell of the photograph. Any final words?

Claudia: I would like to add that it is such a nice feeling knowing that people can work together, yet separately, on a collaboration. We just played on our own and it came together. Now, when I’m working in the darkroom I love knowing there is someone else out there doing the same.

Erin: Thank you Claudia and Sofie.

Erin Honeycut


The exhibition was on view from June 2nd to June 24th as part of a collaboration between Tag Team Studios in Bergen, Norway and Harbinger Project Space in the context of the B-Open Project ‘Norden TIL Bergen.’

Photo Credit:
Featured image: Erin Honeycut. Exhibition photos: Claudia Hausfeld.

Artists websites:
Claudia: claudiahausfeld.com / Klara Sofie: klarasofie.com

A Triangle Dreaming of a Triangle – an Interview with Ignacio Uriarte

A Triangle Dreaming of a Triangle – an Interview with Ignacio Uriarte

A Triangle Dreaming of a Triangle – an Interview with Ignacio Uriarte

In Ignacio Uriarte’s exhibition, Divisions and Reflections, now on view at i8 gallery until August 4th, the black and white drawings create a suite of connective material, like the tissues of the same organic world of shapes. Uriarte is known for his background in business administration which he has carried into his artistic career by using the same tools of the trade – those belonging to the office. However, in this office space, the traditional ways of looking at the use of objects are given a new formula that explodes the mundane aspect of the work to touch on the body-machine relationship where tools are extensions of bodily functions still restricted yet extended. In an interview, the artist spoke about the way narrative is written into signs and symbols in a way in which the signs and symbols can be nostalgic and even dream of themselves.

Erin: Your background in business administration has really been the focus of a lot of the writing I have read about your work. I watched one of your earlier works in which an actor performed the sounds of a typewriter. It really gave these tools an embodied aspect, like a Cronenberg effect. It seems like a similar effect goes into your drawings by making a caricature of the body as a tool.

Ignacio: The typewriter is a writing instrument but it is almost played like a keyboard with the sounds of a percussion instrument. It used to be the soundtrack of the office and was used in movies when you wanted to announce that someone is entering the pressroom or the office. The typewriter just belongs there, but it’s a bit of a pity because the typewriter really inherits that world wherever it goes. I wanted to do homage to the sound qualities of the typewriter without showing a typewriter.

I recorded in a technology museum where they have thousands of typewriters and every couple of years they have a different model, electrical ones or ones with digital memories with each typewriter having a different sound. The actor is basically listening to the original sounds and recreating them with his mouth. The History of the Typewriter Recited by Michael Winslow (2009) is the name of the piece. The work had so many reactions with people from the art world reacting in a certain way, typewriter fetishists reacting in a certain way, and beatboxers reacting in another way. It was so funny to have all these reactions.

Erin: That’s the magic of how a simple thing put into a new context can have a different meaning for so many people. Off the top of my head, Naked Lunch is my first typewriter association.

Ignacio: Yes, a typewriter turned into a living being. I think a lot about Cronenberg [David Cronenberg, the director of the film Naked Lunch based on the novel by William S. Burroughs] in my work in general and the interactions between man and machine. Often, with him, it’s the physical connection of man to a machine.

Erin: There is a really strong connection when you think of office work and this constraint put on the body, as in the typewriter; the act is so physical.

Ignacio: I find with the typewriter that there is another aspect of the way we become digital. For the people who grew up with pre-digital technology, the typewriter has given us quite a lot of help. You have the idea of the function of a paper where you can copy things and take them out again. These physical things were taken from the computer screen.

Throughout the filming, I came up with these very constructed drawings that often take a letter or a sign like in concrete poetry where they take a word or a concept that is a visual image but is also a visual result. So I started moving in that direction of taking a sign and seeing what sign is makes in space. Now, I do a lot of drawings in that manner. Sometimes it becomes way more organic than you would expect from an instrument. I make curvy lines by slowly rotating the paper and it gives you images you wouldn’t expect from a typewriter.

Erin: It really brings together the notions of art and poetry and art and writing. I was thinking a lot of the Oulipo (Ouvroir de littérature potentielle, or workshop of potential literature) movement in the 1960s in France, a group of writers who put these constraints in their writing to make it sort of mechanical, similar to how you work within the constraint of using office supplies. These writers would create a boundary for themselves from which to write so that the whole meaning of what was within these boundaries could be expanded: writing poems using only one vowel, for example.

Ignacio: For me, the use of office material was a way to stay rooted in reality. I tend to go for these images that are rather universal, minimal, or abstract. When you restrict yourself to certain tools, as well as methods, it is not the typical gestural painting of beauty out of intuition, but more about someone adjusting and obeying an everyday life situation.

Erin: It seems that this exhibition is more of an organic geometric world with these kinds of shapes, much more so than your previous works.

Ignacio: It is very new for me to move into the shape to begin with. This is the second show in which I’m influenced by geometry. You can see the influence of these Swiss designers, like Max Bill. First of all, it is a very reduced language; Bauhaus didn’t invent it. The Catholic Church began it. We’ve been doing this for a long time – when you want to find a universal symbol you tend to reduce it. I remember being taught in a Montessori Kindergarten in which kids are taught to read with symbols, so the verb is a red circle, as it is a movement that’s jumping around, and the article is a triangle, as it is set in place. In a way, I’m using what the Bauhaus educational system used. It’s appealing because I’m still bringing the empty container in which everyone can bring his or her own whatever-is-in-their-mind. It is a very playful way to explain the world and there is some optimism. I think the show even looks a little bit nostalgic of the 1960s.

This one, in particular, Ten Documents (2018), with the op-art effect may remind you of when people were using drugs in the 1960s, like the doors of perception. The work is actually about the size of the DIN system. In Europe, the sizes are designed by German engineers in which DA 0 is exactly one square meter and if you divide it by half, which is half the space, then it is DA 1, DA 2, DA 3, and so on and if you turn it around it is exactly the same orientation. There is a lot of method involved. It was invented for the First World War and for a really big war you had a lot of office administration. So for this square, if you calculate it, you can easily think that if you need this many pieces of paper, you know you will need this many pieces. Many things were invented for war purposes that had a very positive use in society and they usually put a lot of research into it. The thing is, you don’t think of war as being in the office. So, although the work has this op-art effect depending on the perspective, I call it Ten Documents to bring it back to reality.

And with this one, Eight Circles Forming a Square (2018), it is rectangular and I tried to make a square with eight circles by playing with halves. The end result is these overlays, typical things you use to explore shapes.

The whole show was made with the same pen. There is something about transparency and overlap in Four Rotating Squares (2018), the way the more you overlap the darker you get. There is a kind of summing up of surfaces in the way that this is a circle trying to become a square and this is four squares becoming a circle. It is a very simple gesture in which you have these shapes and then you have this effect. It is so simple and universal, this shape; it is like a sun freeing the shape of the sun. There is always a bit of transformation happening – a triangle dreaming of a triangle.

Erin: Creating triangles with triangles sounds like a format for concrete poetry. It almost seems like a formula in which you can only use the thing you are creating to create the thing you are creating, almost like a mise en abyme event.

Ignacio: This triangle also relates to the square. It’s very constructed. That’s why, to me, the exhibition space is a choreographed space. They are part of the same fabric – a suite of works that talk to each other.

Erin: Has anyone commented on the overt hairiness of these strokes?

Ignacio: In other pieces, people say they look like sweaters. One idea with the strokes is their relation to chance more than to scribbling. It has this very chaotic, organic, physical, almost biological feel to them. The making of these strokes is so anthropomorphic, as well. The repetition and the natural movement reflect the size and radius of your wrist. This work is called Chiasmus (2018), like the narrative structure used in literature. It could be representative of this narrative structure in which the second part is mirrored against the first part but with a role reversal.

In these works (Two Quarters, Four Eights, and Eight Sixteenths (2018)) you can see this Cronenbergian worm that is being divided. The space each shape needs is compacted. Because I left the same procedure for each one, the paper is what gives it shape, but it is almost like the space has to give it shape. I am not trying to distract from it. You’re getting into the consequences of a system that works very well on the viewer and the reader and then suddenly your personal story becomes extremely universal of that consequence. The question in any art form is: What do you want? Do you want an artwork or do you want to live in an artwork? Do you want to distract or, through it, understand reality better or do you want to come to a realisation of something?

Erin: With these questions in mind we thank Ignacio.

Erin Honeycut


Photo credit: Featured image by Marcel Schwickerath. Images of works: Vigfús Birgisson.

Beyond Human Impulses goes to Greece

Beyond Human Impulses goes to Greece

Beyond Human Impulses goes to Greece

The performance arts festival, Beyond Human Impulses, began at Mengi in Reykjavik on February 2nd, 2016 as a monthly performance series occurring on the first Monday of the month. Between its inaugural performance and July 2017, 75 performances were realized. The festival was initiated by five female Icelandic artists: Bryndís Hrönn Ragnarsdóttir, Ingibjörg Magnadóttir, Eva Ísleifsdóttir, Ásdís Sif Gunnarsdóttir, and Katrín Inga Hjördísar Jónsdóttir, who all share equally the role of curator while also performing in the festival themselves.

Before Beyond Human Impulses, a disparate group of artists established Leikhús Listamanna, a platform for performance artists in Reykjavik that began in 2003 and lasted on and off for the next decade. Other than that, there have been no other platforms of this kind devoted to performance.

When Eva Ísleifsdóttir opened A-DASH, an exhibition space and art residency in Athens, Greece in 2017, it became an obvious place for the next incarnation of the festival. On the weekend of April 12th-14th, Beyond Human Impulses held its first festival in an old paper warehouse in the commercial district of Athens along with the help of Athens Intersection, Athens Trigono, and CheapArt, an organization that secures short-term art venues in empty buildings in Athens.

The festival opened on a Friday night with the performance Apogee or Nobody by Bryndís Hrönn Ragnarsdóttir. A fitting inaugural piece, the robotic vacuum that roamed the floors of the old warehouse seemed to bring awareness to the little corners and crevices of the decaying building, showing the viewers a new point of reference for vision that would set the tone for the rest of the festival. The saucer-shaped vacuum with its internal whirring motor spun in circles and sensed the space´s corners, the columns that stood under the balcony, and the feet of viewers who followed its movements patiently as though being sniffed by a wild animal. As the robotic vacuum explored the space, it sang a melancholic song in acapella through a speaker placed on top of it, echoing throughout the building.

Humming of Venus by Berglind Águstsdóttir.

The Storm is Coming by Maria Nikiforaki.

Reflex by Yiannis Pappas.

Ego Friendly Love by Katrín Inga Hjördísar – Jonsdóttir.

Radar LXXVII by Ásta Fanney Sigurðardóttir.

B – Be – Bee – By – Bí – Bý – by Steinunn Gunnlaugsdóttir.

Braid Choir – Solidarity by Gunnhildur Hauksdóttir.

Apogee or Nobody by Bryndís Hrönn Ragnarsdóttir.

Exiting… by Eva Ísleifsdóttir.

Reality in other words by Rakel McMahon.

Homo Bulla Est by Erin Honeycutt.

With the space now mapped by these beyond human senses, the evening could begin in earnest. “Thank you for believing in the moment,” Eva Ísleifsdóttir announced on the opening night. Performance thrives in the moment, the fleeting image or sound or combined effect, the unique audience, the circumstantial arrangements of the space, the day, month, era – all a moment (that can’t be purchased, although for sale throughout the weekend were posters with quotes from each of the 18 participating artists.) The passing moment that is so circumstantial in performance art, although in some instances can be restructured in similar surroundings and set-ups, are inevitably tragic, in a way, as it can never be documented for posterity in its true form.

The decaying paper warehouse on the cobbled, winding street called Chrisospiliotissis set the stage perfectly for these fleeting moments to appear and then dissolve. The space was characterized by its high ceilings and ornate decoration encircling the lighting fixtures in a state of decay, the tall, obscured windows with iron bars crossing them, the dust that covered every surface, and the wooden staircase that was a little too noisy to imagine lasting many more events like this one. Even the part of the ceiling that came crashing down overnight in a crumble of pieces on Saturday was a performance on the part of the building, a reaction from the space itself.

What better location for three evenings of performances that all seemed to relay a comment on the tragedies taking place in the world outside and the inner catharsis that may seem personal, but speaks to those events as well. Since we are in the realm of performance art, however, we do not have to serve the proper function of tragedy, regardless of how eloquent our poetry or how fine our choreography because this was Beyond Human Impulses, which became a running question throughout the weekend. What exists beyond human impulses?

We decided it was, more or less, when we decided to go beyond the human impulses of anxiety and worry to embrace an impulse that is co-creative, empathetic to the world at large, and creating a container in which to perform and enact rituals that transform the performer and include the audience in the transformation. Consider Katrín Inga Hjördísar Jónsdóttir’s Sunday performance Ego Friendly Love: a ritual in the nude in which she placed flowerpots and triangular mirrors around the room with audience members involved in the reflections.

On Friday evening, Gunnhildur Hauksdóttir enacted Braid Choir – Solidarity, a piece that has been performed before in different compositions of choir members and lyrics. With a gathering of long-haired women standing outward in a circle, Gunnhildur stood in the middle braiding the hair in a single circular plait while the choir spoke and sang sometimes in unison and sometimes as lone voices. The piece was dedicated to the two young Greek soldiers who were taken into custody in March 2018 for allegedly entering a Turkish military zone on suspicion of attempted espionage and who still remain in custody.

However, in Dionysian fashion, tragedy is followed by dancing and rapture – this was brought in full aesthetic qualities of Beauty and Significant Form in a performance by Berglind Águstsdóttir titled Humming of Venus who opened with the recorded sounds of the planet Venus borrowed from NASA. In her flowering kimono, bubble-blower, tinseled rotating fan and bright red lips, she became a new kind of demigod, singing along to a track overlapping Indian ragas with the duet ‘Islands in the Sun.’

Imitation, Aristotle argued, is a natural human impulse that humans enjoy and is our greatest learning mechanism. In this way, he defended tragedies, stating that they could appeal to the mind, the emotions, and the senses, and if confronted in a healthy manner, bring about a cleansing emotional catharsis, which is definitely the experience of a performance by Berglind – propulsion by catharsis.

Saturday opened with Eva Ísleifsdóttir’s Exiting…, an embodiment of the human inability to escape from the signs and symbols that surround us. Eva lay beneath the humongous exit sign, surrendered to the external meaning it purported to portray. Following Eva’s contemplation under this very physical and heavy sign under which she literally lay crushed on the pavement was a performance by the author that also dealt with our connection to universal signs and the meaning we make from them. In a baroque hair-do of the same era in which the German Romantic poet Friedrich Hölderlin lived when he wrote in Athens in the early 18th century, whose writings were quoted throughout the performance, a series of planetary aspects of the day were read.

Mars trine Pluto, for example, was applied a meaning based on observations taken from walking around the city in the few days leading up to the festival. Does the brimming strawberry cart on the square imitate Venusian effects? Is that couple fighting by the fountain an imitation projected in our earthly reality of Uranus’ interaction with the moon today? While there are thousands of opinions by astrologers to be found especially on the internet, the real answer is not as important as the place the question takes us, which is back to the mythic imagination, a reminder that our 40,000-year-old brain has not changed since the time when we couldn’t tell the difference between mythic reality and reality – they were both an equal reality, just a moment in time.

Following are names of the artists that participated with links to artists websites:

Amalia Charikiopoulou, Aristeidis Lappas, Ásta Fanney Sigurðardóttir, Berglind Águstsdóttir, Bryndís Hrönn Ragnarsdóttir, David Kirshoff, Erin Honeycutt, Eva Giannakopoulou, Eva Ísleifsdóttir, Gunnhildur Hauksdóttir, Ingibjörg Magnadóttir, Katrín Inga Hjördísar Jónsdóttir, Maria Nikiforaki, Ragnheiður Sigurðardóttir Bjarnason, Rakel McMahon, Snorri Páll, Steinunn Gunnlaugsdóttir og Yiannis Pappas.

Erin Honeycutt


All photos courtesy of Georgios Papadopoulos.

Websites:
Beyond human impulses
 A-DASH

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