Listin og aktívisminn – Töfrafundur áratug síðar

Listin og aktívisminn – Töfrafundur áratug síðar

Listin og aktívisminn – Töfrafundur áratug síðar

„Töfrafundur – áratug síðar” var yfirskrift sýningar þeirra Libiu Castro og Ólafs Ólafssonar sem stóð yfir í Hafnarborg frá 20. mars til 31. maí s.l.  Sýningin var beint  framhald gjörningsins „Í leit að töfrum – Tillaga að nýrri stjórnarskrá fyrir lýðveldið Ísland” sem sameinaði tónlist, myndlist og kröfugerð um innleiðingu nýju stjórnarskrárinnar og fluttur var 3. október 2020 í Listasafni Reykjavíkur Hafnarhúsi, á götum úti við Stjórnarráðið og Alþingi Íslands. Gjörningurinn sem er einn eftirminnilegasti listviðburður síðasta árs var unninn í samstarfi við Listahátíðina Cycle og Listahátíð í Reykjavík en var einnig risavaxið samstarfsverkefni þeirra Libiu og Ólafs við sýningastjórana Guðnýju Guðmundsdóttur í Berlín og Sunnu Ástþórsdóttur í Reykjavík, Stjórnarskrár félagið og Félag kvenna um nýja stjórnarskrá auk fjölda annara svo sem aðgerða- og umhverfissinna, tónskálda, tónlistafólks og grafíklistamanna. Fyrir þetta verk hlutu höfundarnir Íslensku myndlistarverðlaunin 2020.

Sýningin í Hafnarborg núna í vor var yfirlit verka þeirra síðasta áratuginn sem eiga það sammerkt að fjalla um stjórnarskrárnar. Þessi verk eru þó ekki fyrstu verk tvíeykisins sem hafa pólitíska eða félagslega skírskotun enda hafa félagsvísindi, pólitík, samtal og samvinna við aðra listamenn, félagsvísindafólk og fræðimenn ávallt fléttast inn í list þeirra. Gjörningurinn “Í leit að töfrum” hefur þó sennilega sprengt met þeirra í fjölda samstarfsaðila því að þessum stórbrotna myndlistar-, tónlistar- og aðgerðarsinnagjörningi komu vel yfir 150 listamenn og aðgerðarsinnar. 

Í gjörningnum var port Hafnarhússsins, Listasafns Reykjavíkur nánast þakið máluðum, áprentuðum og ísaumuðum textílverkum í formi áróðurstengdra borða og fána, auk þess sem stórar diskókúlur og lýsing ýfðu upp stemninguna sem var í senn hátíðleg, blönduð fögnuði, von og baráttugleði. Hver tónlistamaður eða tónlistahópur flutti sína kafla af tónlist hér og þar í salnum allt frá pönkútsetningum til klassískra kammertóna, raftónlistar og kórverka. Verkin voru ýmist sungnir, talaðir, rímaðir eða rappaðir stjórnarskrár kaflar, flestir fluttir á íslensku, en líka á pólsku, ensku og grænlensku auk þess sem barnakór, popparar og þjóðlagatónskáld tróðu upp.  

Eftir um fjögurra klukkustunda gjörning í safninu voru risavaxnir borðarnir bornir út þar sem hópur fólks, bæði úr Stjórnarskrárfélaginu, Samtökum kvenna um nýja stjórnarskrá, náttúruverndarsamtökum, listamenn og aðrir aktívistar tóku þátt í að ganga með borðana hrópandi kröfur sínar í takt við gjallarhornið sem glumdi í forgrunni. Gengið var frá Listasafninu að Stjórnarráðinu þar sem staldrað var við en endað við Alþingishúsið þar sem skærbleikir risaborðarnir sem mynduðu setninguna „Nýju stjórnarskrána takk!” voru hífðir upp með krana framan við þinghúsið. Skilaboðin einföld en eins og risavaxin upphrópun fyrir þingheim og almenning að vera minnt á að þjóðin á nýja stjórnarskrá.

Myndband með „Aðfaraorðum“ Lag og söngur: Lay Low.

Sýningin í Hafnarborg

Sýningin í Hafnarborg var stór myndbandsinnsetning sem lýsir ferli verkanna síðasta áratuginn ýmist í formi heimilda úr fréttum eða gjörningum um efnið, endurbirting muna svo sem á upprunalegum handritum stjórnarskránna frá 1874, 1920 og 1944 og tillögu Íslendinga frá 1873. Sýningin var einni vörðuð ýmsum þáttum sem tengdist gjörningnum í byrjun október svo sem textílverkunum/borðunum, skissum unnum fyrir gjörninginn og litskrúðugum stærri myndverkum sem lýstu tónlistabræðingnum. Einnig mátti þar finna potta og pönnur sem minntu okkur á búsáhaldabyltinguna sem nýja stjórnarskráin spratt upp úr. 

Í innra rými sýningarinnar sem vísaði til stofu í heimahúsi með sjónvarpi og fjarstýringu mátti setjast niður og leita að völdum köflum myndbandsins. Sýningin tók ýmsum breytingum yfir sýningartímann en samhliða henni var rekinn pop-up markaður á silkiþrykktum bolum og varningi með slagorðum. Auk þess voru settar upp vinnustofur – Töfrasmiðja – með prent- og saumaverkstæði og fundaraðtöðu fyrir aktívista. Þá var hengt upp verk á gafli Hafnarborgar sem seinna var fjarlægt og svo hengt upp aftur en það olli miklu fjaðrafoki innan bæði stjórnmála- og myndlistaheimsins.

Artzine ræddi við þau Líbíu og Óla um stjórnarskrárverkin og þann tíu ára feril sem leiddi til sýningarinnar í Hafnarborg,  gjörninginn sem færði þeim myndlistarverðlaunin og samtalið milli listar og aktívismans síðasta áratuginn sem inniheldur baráttu þeirra fyrir nýrri stjórnarskrá.

Artzine hitti þau Libiu og Ólaf og spurði þau hvaðan þessi mikla samvinnugleði sprettur og hvaðan áhuginn á því að vinna með pólitísk álitamál í myndlistinni kemur.

Libia: „Við höfum orðið fyrir áhrifum úr ýmsum áttum. Við heilluðumst sérstaklega af suður amerískum listamönnum, m.a. frá Chile frá sjöunda og áttunda áratugnum og af Neo-concretista hreyfingunni í Brasilíu. Einnig hrifumst við af Fluxus sem alþjóðlegri myndlistahreyfingu sem brúaði vestrið og Asíu. Staðan fyrir þann tíma í Evrópu var okkur einnig mjög hugleikinn í gegnum aðferðir Situationistanna en þeir voru bæði félagshyggjulega og pólitískt þenkjandi auk þess að koma úr fjölbreyttum áttum. Þar varð ævinlega til samtal mismunandi listamanna t.d. myndlistarmanna við ljóðskáld og arkitekta. Ef maður er að vinna með lífið og umhverfið út frá gagnrýnum félagshyggjulegum nótum þá er ekki hægt að horfa bara út frá einum fleti eða sjónarhorni. Það beinlínis kallar á samvinnu úr ýmsum áttum. Útkoman verður þá ekki eingöngu bundin myndlist heldur verður til víðara samtal svo sem samtal milli listarinnar við heimspekina, við sviðslistirnar, við blaðamennskuna og fleiri greinar”.

Ferill hugmynda og verka?

Libia: „Við hófum vinnuna við stjórnarskrárverkin árið 2007 – útfrá þeirri hugmynd að gera innihald gömlu stjórnarskrárinnar opinbert og sýnilegt. Fyrri hluti þess verks var þá frumflutningur á tónlistargjörningi í Ketilhúsinu á Akureyri í mars 2008 sem liður í sýningunni Bæ, bæ Ísland í Listasafninu á Akureyri en við höfðum fengið tónskáldið Karólínu Eiríksdóttur til að semja í samstarfi við okkur tónverk við alla núgildandi stjórnarskrá.“

Ólafur: „Á þessum tíma hófum við samningaviðræður við RÚV um hvort áhugi væri fyrir því að sjónvarpa verkinu beint en svo reyndist ekki vera. Einhver áhugi hafði þó kveiknað og hafði fréttastofa RÚV samband við safnið í kjölfar flutningsins og óskað eftir myndbroti sem svo var sýnt í fréttunum. Í áratugi hafði myndlist nær eingöngu verið sýnd í lok fréttatíma sem enda innslag eða niðurlag frétta og textinn jafnvel runnið yfir listina með undirspili úr frægum kvikmyndum.

Við vorum því nokkuð ánægð með að fá pláss í sjálfum fréttatímanum og þótti það fréttnæmt í sjálfu sér. Eftir þetta hafði RÚV samband við okkur og vildu fá að flytja verkið í heilu lagi í útvarpi. Við höfnuðum því þar sem við vildum reyna áfram að fá verkinu sjónvarpað og töldum að það gæti dregið úr líkunum á að fá það í gegn ef verkið hefði verið flutt í heild sinni í útvarpi. Að endingu samþykktum við gerð langs útvarpsþáttar sem byggðist einnig á viðtölum við okkur og Karólínu. Hluti af tónlistinni hennar varð svo þematónlist þáttar sem Ævar Kjartansson og Jón Ormur gerðu seinna um stjórnarskrárnar.“

Libia: „Árið 2011 gerðum við svo annan hluta verksins en á þeim tíma var búið að kalla saman stjórnlagaráð og skrifin við nýju stjórnarskrána hafin. Ólöf K. Sigurðardóttir hafði boðið okkur að vera með einkasýningu í Hafnarborg og við ákváðum að leita aftur eftir samstarfi við RÚV sem í þetta sinn gekk eftir. Við tókum verkið upp í samstarfi við sjónvarpið í myndveri RÚV og var það bæði sýnt í Hafnarborg og því sjónvarpað. Á þeim tíma var áhuginn fyrir stjórnarskránni orðinn meiri í samfélaginu. Þá hjálpaði það til að við værum fulltrúar Íslands á Feneyjartvíæringinn þetta sama ár.

Fundurinn í Gerðarsafni 2017 var svo haldinn á fimm ára afmæli þjóðaratkvæðagreiðslunnar um nýju stjórnarskrána á samsýningunni Sovereign | Colony sem Listahátíðin Cycles stóð fyrir en þar sýndum við frumrit stjórnarskránna frá 1874, 1920 og 1944, ásamt prentaðri útgáfu af dönsku stjórnarskránni frá 1849, fjölrituðu eintaki af nýju stjórnarskrártillögunni frá 2011 og fl. Þetta urðu ákveðin tímamót hjá okkur einnig því þarna leggjum við grunnin að áframhaldandi vexti verksins. Við heilluðumst líka af umrótinu sem nýja stjórnarskráin spratt upp úr en pólitíski jarðvegurinn sem hún verður til í er svo gjörólíkur þeim sem sú gamla kemur úr. Hún verður til í eftirleik hrunsins, samin af stjórnlagaráði, 25 manna margbreytilegum vinnuhóp sem var kosinn til verksins af almenningi. Fundurinn í Gerðarsafni átti að spegla það og innihalda mismunandi raddir en við buðum stjórnmálafólki og listafólki til fundarins að ræða innihald og samanburð nýju og gömlu stjórnarskrárinnar. Okkur langaði að halda nýju stjórnarskránni á lofti og sjá til þess að hún félli ekki í gleymsku strax.

Það hefur verið stöðug barátta stjórnarskrárfélagsins að halda nýju stjórnarskránni á lofti með markvissum aðgerðum og stemma stigu við þögguninni sem hefur átt sér stað í samfélaginu gagnvart henni. Verkin okkar eru hluti af þeirri baráttu. Við gengum til liðs við Stjórnarskrárfélagið á sínum tíma og fórum samhliða því að þróa þá hugmynd að setja alla krafta okkar í að vinna að framgangi nýju stjórnarskrárinnar. Setja hana í tónlistarlegan búning og kallast þannig á við verkið sem við gerðum með gömlu stjórnarskrána.“

Textílverk eða áróðurfánar?

Ólafur: „Vísirinn að þessari textílmaníu, varð eiginlega til þarna í Gerðarsafni 22. september 2017 þegar við málum textann „20. Október 2012” á vegginn. Dagsetningu þjóðaratkvæðagreiðslunnar um nýju stjórnarskrána. Á sýningunni okkar í Hafnarborg sýndum við „textílverkin” okkar sem í öðru samhengi kallast „bannerar” eða „áróðursfánar”. Í upphafi máluðum við á vegginn en fórum svo að mála með akrýlmálningu á textíl. Við færðum því kjurra veggjalist yfir í hreyfanlega textíllist sem svo sprakk út í allskyns textílverkum, saumuðum, máluðum og þrykktum. Ég talaði oft um textílverkin okkar sem „bannera” sem er ekki hugmynd úr listheiminum svo núna er ég meðvitað farinn að vísa til þeirra einnig sem textílverka, sem þau líka eru.“

Tónlistarleg hámenning og lágmenning:

Ólafur: Í vinnunni með gömlu stjórnarskrána ákváðum við að nota klassíska nútímatónlist og þá annars vegar þar sem form hennar er svo teygjanlegt. Þannig getur t.d. tímarammi slíks verks auðveldlega spannað 8 blaðsíður af texta. Hinsvegar höfum við lengi vel skipt menningunni í há- og lágmenningu og þar sem klassísk tónlist hefur jafnan flokkast undir hina svokölluðu „hámenningu” þá ákváðum við að nota klassíska nútímatónlist. Í ljósi innihaldsins og virði þess fyrir samfélagið var það meðvituð ákvörðun að nota svona gildishlaðna „hámenningarlega” tónlistartegund. Karólína valdi í samtali við okkur að semja verkið bara fyrir píanó, kontrabassa, tvo einsöngvara og kór. Í gjörningnum í október vildum við svo hafa aðra nálgun. Okkur tókst ekki að hafa allar mögulegar tegundir tónlistar innan verksins, ha, ha…. Þá unnum við með fjölda tónskálda auk þess að reyna að innvikla eins mikla samvinnu og samtal inn í verkið og hægt var.

Libia: Við byrjuðum að vinna með níu tónskáldum, bjuggum til þrjá hópa með þremur í hvorum svo tónskáldin áttu líka sitt innbyrðis samtal. Svo ákváðum við í sameiningu að tónsmiðirnir fengju tilfallandi greinar til að vinna með, úr hinum ýmsu köflum stjórnarskrárinnar, þannig að verk þeirra fléttuðust saman, en endanlegur flutningur var þó línulegur.

Faraldurinn:

Ólafur: Þegar við hófumst handa við að vinna að gjörningnum í Berlín og þegar við vorum að prufukeyra fyrstu hugmyndir tónsmiðanna á Íslandi haustið 2019 höfðum við ekki hugmynd um það sem koma skyldi. Upphaflega vorum við að hugsa um að gjörningurinn gæti rúmað þátttöku allt að 800 manns auk almennings. Seinna vorum við komin með spurninguna um hvort við gætum yfir höfuð framkvæmt þetta vegna Covid faraldursins.

Libia: „Það er í raun ekki hægt að horfa á verkið án þess að setja það í samhengi við Covid. Það hefur verið krefjandi í þessu ferli að vinna í kringum það. Við þurftum að breyta ýmsu vegna faraldursins en við náðum þó að halda í þá grunnþætti sem við vildum. Uppsetning verksins hélt flæðinu sem við höfðum hugsað okkur en var líka ákveðin málamiðlun þar sem dregið var úr ýmsu og við þurftum auðvitað að takmarka hópa áhorfenda í ákveðin tímahólf. Þá var verkinu einu sinni frestað og dagsetningin færð frá júní fram í október og næstum einnig frestað þá, en við ákváðum að halda okkar striki.“

Samvinnan og stærðarskalinn?

Libia: „Ferlið við gjörninginn var unnið með sýningarstjórunum Guðnýju Guðmundsdóttur sem hefur tónlistarlegan bakgrunn og er framkvæmdastjóri Cycle listahátíðarinnar og Sunnu Ástþórsdóttur í Reykjavík sem hefur sinn bakgrunn í listfræði og starfar á Nýlistasafninu. Ferlið var bæði skipulega unnið og kaotískt í senn. Í upphafi vorum við bara fjögurra manna teymi en svo förum við að vera í sambandi við tónskáldin og tónlistarfólkið, Listasafn Reykjavíkur, sjónvarpið og svo auðvitað aktívistana og aðstoðarfólk svo þetta var stundum dáldið brjálað. Covid kallaði auðvitað líka yfir okkur þetta dásamlega kaotíska ástand. Þá var samvinnan á fjölbreyttum grunni og mikil samskipti sem urðu á köflum yfirþyrmandi en þetta var líka ferli sem tók tvö og hálft ár í vinnslu.

Þar sem við erum að vinna með lifandi ferli þá á verkið sér einnig sitt sjálfstæða líf. Verkið krefur okkur um að vinna á þessum stærðarskala því málið sjálft er samfélagslega á þessum stærðarskala. Við erum að tala um lög og grunnstoðir þjóðríkis. Stjórnarskrárfélagið er lífræn hreyfing  sem hefur þurft að glíma við þöggun og þá jafnvel minkað en svo aftur stækkað á víxl. Þetta er eðli aktívismans. Hreyfingar þróast og breytast og á einum tímapunkti geta verið fimm einstaklingar að þrýsta á og halda uppi málstaðnum en svo getur allt sprungið. Okkur fannst að listræna upplifunin yrði að vera eins almenn og stór og hægt væri. Við vorum að ramma gjörninginn inn innandyra í safninu í þessu myndræna formi með því að líkja eftir stóru tónleikahúsi en svo var ekki síður mikilvægt að yfirgefa safnið og halda áfram á götum úti í almannarýminu”.

Aktívismi eða list?

Ólafur: „Skilgreiningin á því hvað sé list og hvað ekki er ekki til sem eitthvað endanlegt og formfast og sama á við um aktívisma. List er alltaf í endurmótun og tilvist hennar byggir á samhengi við menningu, hugmyndafræði, valdastrúktúr og valdaforræði hvers tíma í sögulegu samhengi. Hún er bara eitthvað sem við finnum upp á, viðhöldum, breytum, brjótum upp, berjumst fyrir, storkum eða enduruppgötvum jafnóðum“.

Libia: „Þetta er raunar bæði list og aktívismi sem getur vel gengið samtímis. Það er nauðsynlegt að láta ekki draga úr sér móðinn vegna einhverra strangra skilgreininga sem tíðarandinn setur manni hverju sinni heldur halda áfram að spyrja og storka listinni í gegnum reynsluna og verkin sjálf. Listin er niðurstaða þess samkomulags sem tíðarandinn setur okkur en hún er líka verkfæri til að endurspegla hann og jafnvel gagnrýna hann og ásamt öðrum greinum og fræðisviðum spyrja spurninga og reyna að hafa áhrif til breytinga”.

Þöggun eða ritskoðun?

Ólafur: „það má velta vöngum yfir ýmsum þáttum þegar kemur að fjölmiðlum og þeirri athygli eða kannski stundum fálæti sem sumir fjölmiðlar sýndu á ýmsum stigum í vinnuferli okkar með stjórnarskrárnar.  Það má einnig velta því fyrir sér hvort sjónvarpsmiðlarnir þurfi ekki að taka meiri þátt í að starfa með myndlistarfólki og móta sér þar skýrari stefnu. Kannski þurfa allar menningastofnanir að átta sig betur á hlutverki sínu við að miðla og styrkja list því innihald verka sem á einhvern hátt eru samfélagsádeila eða hafa pólitíska skírskotun eiga ekki að vera sniðgengin eða þögguð niður af ótta við að stofnanirnar sjálfar séu að taka málefnalega afstöðu. 

Listafólk verður að hafa frelsi í sinni listsköpun svo lengi sem ekki er farið yfir ákveðin siðferðisviðmið. Við göngum ekki svo langt að segja að verk okkar hafi verið ritskoðuð af fjölmiðlum en mörgum þótti stundum grunsamleg þögn í kringum ákveðna hluta þessara verka.  Sýningin í Hafnarborg hefur þó óumdeilanlega orðið fyrir ritskoðun því sunnudaginn 2. Maí var textílverk sem við hengdum á  gafl Hafnarborgar samkvæmt leyfisveitingu verið fjarlægt. Verkið var uppstækkuð eftirmynd eins af þjóðfundarmiðunum, nú víðfrægu, frá þjóðfundinum 2010 sem innihélt eftirfarandi skilaboð til þingheims „EKKI KJAFTA YKKUR FRÁ NIÐURSTÖÐUM STJÓRNLAGAÞINGS”.  Okkur var tilkynnt símleiðis um morguninn frá starfandi forstöðumanni Hafnarborgar að bæjarstjóri Hafnarfjarðar Rósa Guðbjartsdóttir hefði fyrirskipað að verkið yrði samstundis tekið niður. 

Þegar við svo mættum á staðinn skömmu síðar var þegar búið að fjarlægja verkið án nokkurs samráðs. Við sáum okkur ekki annað fært en að kalla til lögreglu og tilkynntum um hvarf verksins þar sem engin ummerki voru lengur um það eða hvar það væri niðurkomið. Verkinu var síðar skilað til okkar af bæjarstarfsmanni en skilaboðin skýr. Verkið skyldi ekki hanga uppi. 

Þessi aðgerð og aðför að listinni er auðvitað stóralvarleg en við höfum sýnt um allan heim, jafnvel á Kúbu og í Tyrklandi og höfum aldrei orðið fyrir álíka uppákomu af hendi stjórnvalda. Málið fór fyrir bæjarráðs- og bæjarstjórnarfundi í Hafnarfirði og eftir yfiirlýsingar frá Íslandsdeild ICOM, BÍL og fleiri aðila fékkst verkið hengt upp á ný en tveimur vikum síðar”.

Eftir að sýningunni í Hafnarborg lauk hóf textílverkið víðfræga „EKKI KJAFTA YKKUR FRÁ NIÐURSTÖÐUM STJÓRNLAGAÞINGS” í hringferð um landið, m.a. til Ísafjarðar og Akureyrar.

María Pétursdóttir


Ljósmyndir: María Pétursdóttir, Myndband / Video Libia Castro & Töfrateymið / The Magic Team.

Stars are the flowers of our skies: The Wildflower

Stars are the flowers of our skies: The Wildflower

Stars are the flowers of our skies: The Wildflower

 

in conversation with Becky Forsythe and Penelope Smart

 

In The Wildflower, we’re transported into a disorienting horizon full of flowers, non-flowers, stones, glass and jelly. Bringing together artists and writers from Canada and Iceland, the exhibition questions, uncovers, and challenges various problems and possibilities surrounding nature, land, landscape, and what it means to those who dwell on it. 

As I sink into thoughts about my personal relationship to both the Canadian and Icelandic landscapes, the initial parallels are clear. They both carry postcard-like perceptions of vibrancy. Large, open space, fresh air, and curiosity – from fjords and hot springs in Iceland, to great lakes and tall trees in Canada. They share northern geographies and similar flora. Contemplating the propositions that the show offered brought forward many questions. What is considered an Icelandic landscape, and what is considered a Canadian one? Whose perspectives are given space and whose voices are missing? Where do these stories intersect, and where do they part? 

This conversation with curators Becky Forsythe and Penelope Smart, much like The Wildflower itself, spanned countries, viewpoints, and time(zones). Generously offering a glimpse into their collective vision of the show and beyond, we spoke about traditional craft in contemporary spaces, what inclusion means, notions of past, present and future in landscape, as well as the added labour of distance.

Juliane Foronda: Your shared connection to nature is quite evident. What other interests or curiosities informed this show? 

Becky Forsythe: Themes circulating nature are so vast and varied — and saying The Wildflower is solely grounded in nature only scratches the surface. Our intention was a layered exhibition, and first and foremost one about artists whose works are exciting, re-envision natural material, personal history, or land in new ways. This was sparked by an interest in reimagined craft-based practices as a way to narrow in on familiar, foreign, future landscapes and unfold the layers in those concepts. It is also quite natural for us to work with female artists spanning generations and most definitely emerging into their practices.

Penelope Smart: I think craft based practices have a lot to say to traditional visual art practices in a gallery. They are often connected to domestic skills or “women’s work”, and are now seen as something extremely alive in a contemporary art space. 

BF: Arna weaves, but none are present in the show. She does however weave together preserved flowers in Untitled (2014). Her practice is very conceptual, and I am not sure that she would consider her practice craft-based. But her work stems from a long history of weaving and conceptual fiber sculpture in Iceland with people like Ásgerður Búadóttir (1920-2014), Hildur Hákonardóttir and G.Erla (Guðrún Erla Geirsdóttir), who have opened up the reading of “women’s work” in contemporary art since the fifties, sixties or seventies.

PS: As a curator who loves craft, there’s a powerful point in the idea of permission, responsibility and ownership. Craft can immediately connect you to a community that may or may not be your own, and you may or may not have permission into it. Where I am in northern Ontario, I think there are really generative experiences of how craft is connected to Indigenous communities, traditions, and other histories that you may not be trusted into just because you think it’s interesting. We were thinking about representations of nature in the future, and there is a paradox presenting works that connect to craft practices and traditions. That tension is consciously at play in this show.

BF: This tension in the exhibition plays with work elements that would be identified as craft-based, and how they appear in the artists’ work through other means. For example, Nína’s work, where she embroidered the tablecloth with local flora. This is a skill she acquired as a young woman, and she utilizes her skills, as any artist would, in conceptualizing an installation which is in some ways about the traditional practice of stitching, but reaches beyond that and into an atmosphere of cultural awareness. 

JF: What was your motivation behind fostering this conversation between the Canadian and Icelandic landscapes, and why was this important to you? 

PS: The idea of Iceland and Canada sharing latitudes and plant histories because of their geographies is something we were interested in. The work that was coming out of the studios in each of these places were often related to each other, especially between Newfoundland and Iceland. There’s so much more research that can be done, we’ve just skimmed the surface.

JF: Both Iceland and Canada have strong and specific overarching narratives around what it means to belong to, represent and live on these lands. Many of these narratives surround notions of home, heritage, legacy and access. Are varying perspectives and experiences, such those from the many refugees and immigrants who also inhabit these lands represented in The Wildflower?

PS: I don’t know if all those views are represented. The artists included in the show from Canada and the North are Indigenous, mixed ancestry, or white and/or of European descent, and are drawing from their own experience. I’m okay with someone pointing out that there are people and stories missing from the show, because that’s definitely true and for me, isn’t a reason to feel like the show fails in terms of a show that’s thinking about landscape. If The Wildflower does play a part in bringing up conversations about what’s lacking, where stories are missing about the experience of landscape, or what it means, if anything, to talk about flowers in a northern landscape, that’s great. These conversations are hard, but they’re important.

BF: The view we present is not a universal vision of land or landscape, but an act to deconstruct or counter or address imbalance in contemporary conversations on the topic. The exhibition itself wasn’t so much about transporting the experience of Canada here, or matching it to the experience of Iceland, but about creating a dialogue where questions would arise. Break up out-dated representations, I would say, and present a new potential for landscape. There are experiences that are missing, and that is okay, this is just one open possibility gathered from many voices.

 

Installation view with Jón Gunnar Árnason, Blómið, 1967, The Wildflower, Hafnarborg 2020. Photo: Kristín Pétursdóttir

Asinnajaq, Where you go, I follow, 2020, digital photograph on polysheer. Photo: Kristín Pétursdóttir

Katrina Jane, Tools of Being, 2020, Portuguese marble. Photo Kristín Pétursdóttir

Leisure, Narrative no. 9 (cotton grass, berry hand, summer 1943 on Bonavista Bay and women picking berries on the barrens 1912-15/2016), Narrative no.13, 2017, photo montage and Invisibility Cloaks, 2020, haskap, blueberries and cranberries on canvas. Photo: Vigfús Birgisson

JF: Is nature and/or land(scape) inclusive? 

BF: The way that nature’s been handled is not inclusive. I guess it depends on who is telling the story? Whose nature is it? And who has access? But if you think about this in the environmental or cultural context, then nature has been misused in a way that’s not inclusive at all and has kept certain cultures, genders and races repressed. 

PS: This is such a good question. I do think this comes up in the sense of nature as a resource. And who has access to it. In the exhibit, there’s the idea of nature as a resource related to different histories and in terms of the materials themselves, the view of nature as something that gives or has given, and gives innately, and how we take.

JF: While this collaboration was always planned to have an element of long distance to some capacity, you came across many unexpected challenges due to COVID-19. Can you talk a bit about the obstacles, joys, added labour and findings that came from this?

BF: The long distance nature of our collaboration meant the transition into the reality of COVID-19 just happened. We had worked in a lot of research and preparation that would take place onsite in Iceland, that was affected quite early on and became impossible. We pivoted in this new vulnerability, like colleagues, exhibitions, museums and galleries everywhere are currently doing, and found new approaches. This transformed our selection of work, but also pushed us, in a good way, to reconsider the place of our work in the field.

PS: It’s unfortunate that I wasn’t able to go to Iceland. At times it felt like constantly asking do we cancel this? became the work. But this was happening for everyone. I often felt like I couldn’t do my fair share because I wasn’t physically there. It didn’t change how the show went for me in the end, as it looked exactly how it would have if I had been able to be there. It makes me excited for the next thing we get to do together.

BF: We were lucky that we walked into this with a consistent working practice, weekly meetings and reliable communication. Onsite/online, we weren’t only doing this long distance, but between time zones too. I really see the labour that went into this exhibition as balanced— whether conceptual, physical or intellectual. It was heartbreaking that Penelope couldn’t be here, because we had organized to a certain extent, but also left room to respond together in the space once we were in it, and we really didn’t get to experience that. That’s an exciting part for me to really feel works in the space, get in there and respond. 

JF: (How) will this collaboration exist after this exhibition is over?

BF:  I think we did walk into it with the idea that this project, and at least the beginnings of this research extend into something beyond. Our list of artists, contributors and writers was so huge. We definitely couldn’t include everyone that we wanted to in The Wildflower, and that leaves us with exciting research to continue. The fact that we’ve survived this massive exhibition at this time, long distance – across countries and with COVID, it’s left me really excited to attempt something new. Whether that’s realised as an exhibition or another format, it’s still up in the air. There’s still a lot that we haven’t unpacked and it’s about finding the right time for those things to happen.

PS: The ways that we experience and engage with art are shifting. It’s no longer about getting on a plane to do research and studio visits, and a lot more art is now happening outside of traditional gallery settings. This means that we have to think about how our work as curators can continue to be of value to audiences moving forward. I’m interested and learning how to talk about land, how to belong to it and where I belong, what does belonging actually translate to, how does history play out in a landscape, how do you claim it or not, and how do you revisit yourself in land. I want to be able to work with artists who are looking at these questions.

——————

Following my question about if nature and landscape was inclusive, Penelope posed a series of questions back at me. She asked how inclusivity feels, where it lives in the body, and what emotions are present when we talk about if nature is inclusive. These questions in relation to my personal relationship with land and nature have been circulating in my headspace since being asked, and I will likely continue to sit in the reality of these thoughts for some time.

I immediately thought of my family’s first winter in Canada, and the small toboggan (sled) my parents got us so we could all play in the snow. I thought of the first time I realised I didn’t know how to ice skate or ski like most of the kids at my primary school could, who were predominantly of white settler-colonial descent. I also remembered my first trip to a friend’s cottage in my teens, and how they taught me how to canoe at sunset. My thoughts also fall back to listening to my father tell me stories throughout my childhood about his rural village in the northern region of the Philippines – stories of mango trees, being showered by the warm tropical rain, playing with spiders, stones and banana leaves, and about how bright the stars were at night. This landscape is completely opposite to the one I grew up in and is one that I barely know myself, but I feel inherently connected to it from these stories that have been told and retold to me over the years. I also thought about when I moved to Iceland, and how my body surrendered to the slow pace of the dark winter. I remembered the first time I saw the northern lights, and I can still hear the sound of the strong winter wind whistling through my window. I also often think of that soft pink light that peeks out around February, which breaks the darkness and makes the whole landscape seem to glow in silence for a few moments.

These thoughts and memories led me to realise that experiences with/in nature and landscape often carry multiple markers or milestones that reveal how much you conventionally belong or fit in. This is particularly true for lands where nature and landscape are deeply interwoven into culture and cultural norms, such as in Iceland and Canada. It’s a curious place, where nature mixes with culture and its conventions, making clear that nature often exists as a refuge or pleasure for the systemically privileged, while it is a border or boundary for many others. The very specific narratives placed around land and landscape affects people’s psyche and their sense of belonging. It also brings up the notion of nature as legacy – what you pass down and leave behind. I often wondered why my father’s village feels so emotionally familiar to me, and I’ve come to realise that knowledge and histories can transcend time and physical space through the radical care of sharing one’s skills, experience and stories with others.

In an attempt to answer Penelope’s questions, inclusion and exclusion, for me, lives in the space(s) between my tear ducts and my chest. My lived experiences and the feelings they come with trigger a quickened pulse from my heavy heart, a tickle in my throat, a runny nose, and misty eyes. Nature exists in multitudes, and for me, can bring up feelings of wonder while often being laced with a mix of gratitude, guilt, clarity and confusion. I like to think of my relationship with nature as a private one in a public space; it’s complex, changing and challenging, and it’s the only one of its kind that I’ll ever know. 

This conversation exists in two parts, with the other being on Femme Art Review.

 

The WildflowerVilliblómið, was exhibited at Hafnarborg – Centre of Culture and Fine Art (Hafnarfjörður, IS) between August 29 – November 8 2020.

Artists included: Arna Óttarsdóttir, Asinnajaq, Eggert Pétursson, Emily Critch, Jón Gunnar Árnason, Justine McGrath, Katrina Jane, Nína Óskarsdóttir, Leisure, Thomas Pausz, Rúna Thorkelsdóttir

Curated by Becky Forsythe and Penelope Smart

Becky Forsythe and Penelope Smart met at the Banff Centre for the Arts and Creativity in 2017. Their shared work is based in new and meaningful conversations about nature, materials and the feminine. The Wildflower is their first collaborative project.

Becky Forsythe is a curator, writer, and organizer in Reykjavík, Iceland. Penelope Smart is curator at Thunder Bay Art Gallery and writer based in Ontario, Canada. 

Writer’s note of Land Acknowledgement: 

For thousands of years, Tkaronto (Toronto) has been the traditional territory of many nations including the Mississaugas of the Credit, the Anishinaabeg, the Chippewa, the Haudenosaunee and the Wendat, and it is still home to many diverse First Nations, Inuit and Métis from across Turtle Island (North America). Tkaronto is covered by Treaty 13 with the Mississaugas of the Credit. I have lived on this land for the majority of my life, and it continues to significantly shape and impact my trajectory. I acknowledge and recognize the many privileges that I have because of immigrating to and having grown up on stolen land. I conducted this interview from Glasgow, Scotland, where I am currently based. 

Penelope spoke to me from Thunder Bay, Ontario, located on the traditional territory of the Anishinaabeg, which is covered by the Robinson-Superior Treaty. She is grateful to live and work on the traditional territory of Fort William First Nation. Becky spoke to me from Reykjavík, Iceland. She acknowledges traditional territories of the Huron-Wendat, the Haudenosaunee, the Anishinaabeg, specifically Ojibway/Chippewa, the Odawa and Wahta Mohawk peoples whose presence on the land continues to this day, and where her time and experiences lived on this land continue to influence her person and practice. 

Femme Art Review is based out of the traditional territory of the Anishinaabek, Haudenosaunee, Lūnaapéewak, and Attawandaron peoples (London, Ontario). Artzine is based out of Reykjavík, Iceland.

 

 

Cover picture: Nína Óskarsdóttir, The Feast (Veislan), 2020, mixed media, table cloth embroidered with Icelandic wildflowers and assorted beer jellies. Photo: Kristín Pétursdóttir

Museums in the time of CoronaVirus – A Conversation Around Digital Efforts

Museums in the time of CoronaVirus – A Conversation Around Digital Efforts

Museums in the time of CoronaVirus – A Conversation Around Digital Efforts

The rise of Covid19 and the government imposed social gathering ban has taken its toll across all cultural platforms of consumption in Iceland, not least of all on the arts. Many museums like Hafnarborg, Gerðarsafn, Listasafn Árnesinga, and Nýlistasafnið, to name a few, have had to temporarily close their doors while our country comes to grips with this health crisis. The Icelandic art scene is a small but flourishing one, but one of course, like all others across the globe, which is dependent on social interaction.

How have art institutions been dealing with these imposed regulations and closures? Hafnarborg was forced to cancel or postpone all concerts and guided tours, and have rescheduled their DesignMarch exhibition until June. Gerðarsafn has postponed two exhibitions until the summer as well. Thankfully, having to temporarily close their doors won’t have massive repercussions on most museum programming, as Kristín Scheving at Listasafn Árnesinga explains: “as all museums in Iceland we needed to close the doors to the public but that didn’t really stop our programming, we just had to postpone some events and move some to the internet. As this situation will come to an end, it won’t change anything for us in the long-run.” This alienating time has then opened up possibilities for museums to take on important projects that have been on the back burner. At LÁ Kristín tells me they have been using the time for renovations, “We have been using this time usefully, with fixing interior issues for example: building walls, painting walls, installing a new major AC system with a dehumidification system which would have been hard during open times.” Nýló, Listasafn Árnessinga, and Gerðarsafn have all increased their use of social media and are thinking of ways to be more digitally visible. In this way museums have been making the most out of an unideal situation and creating something positive out of uncertainty.

Hafnarborg has used the extra time to create digital material that can be experienced online, for example sharing a concert recording of Jennifer Torrence performing Tom Johnson’s Nine Bells. Ágústa Kristófersdóttir, the museum’s director, explains that they signed a contract with Myndstef “which has been in preparation for some time now and allows the museum to share images of the collection through the online database Sarpur (www.sarpur.is). Then we are also producing short videos with guided tours of the exhibitions, as well as music performances – since our music program is a very important part of our work.”

At Gerðarsafn, director Jóna Hlíf Halldórsdóttir and her team have created an exciting live streaming project with the Culture Houses of Kópavogur (Menningarhúsin) and the newspaper Stundin called Culture at 13/Kúltur klukkan 13. “We have asked Einar Falur Ingólfsson and Halla Oddny Magnúsdóttir to discuss the exhibition ‘Afrit’ (e. Imprint), and then we got three artists to talk about creative projects for families, which we call Gerðarstundin (e. ‘Gerður’s Workshop’). The artists introduce fun and interesting ideas that children and grownups can create from simple and easily accessible materials at home. All the events can be seen through the Facebook pages of the Culture Houses and Gerðarsafn.”

Courtesy of Hafnarborg.

Gerðarstundin (e. ‘Gerður’s Workshop’). Courtesy of Gerðarsafn.

Courtesy of Hafnarborg.

In considering potential economic repercussions, for Hafnarborg at least Ágústa explains that the museum is run by the municipality of Hafnarfjörður and only a small percentage of resources come from other sources of income: “aside from our more apparent activities, collection and preservation are an important part of our roles, which we have chosen to focus on during this crisis – a part that quite often gets put aside due to the hectic schedule around events and exhibitions.” Similarly at Gerðarsafn, crowd control measures will not have major impacts on the museum in the long run, as Jóna Hlíf tells me: “Of course this unsettles our exhibition program and affects our artists and technicians. I think this is a challenge, but we are in a favourable position as we are not all-dependent on income from tickets or visitors.”

In this vein, at a time of such global distress and panic, it is easy to question why we should even be worrying about art and culture when the global perspective requires much more dire attention. Why is art still important, relevant even, in times of global crisis where more urgent matters seem to take the forefront? As Dorothee Kirch at Nýlistasafnið says “art is food for the brain and heart. It will always be important and relevant.” Art has the potential to “release people from the constraints of fear, oppression and prejudice”, as Jóna Hlíf explains: “as a mirror for society, as an influencer and as the critic’s voice. Art is by its own nature indestructible and unbreakable, yet at the same time constructive for the mind and the soul.” Kristín relevantly points to the important healing possibilities within art as well, particularly in a time like this: “It can help you reflect on the situation, it can move you and it can teach you.” Art is perhaps especially important precisely in such a moment of global uncertainty – as Ágústa mentions, “Art can make us see the world and ourselves through a different lens and when, if not now, isn’t that necessary?”

The increased virtual presence of museums in these times does however in a way function as a “band aid” solution for our current situation, as Dorothee comments: “I am happy to wait until the pandemic is over to enjoy an exhibition with all my senses again. For me, the virtual platforms will never replace the real bodily experience of an artwork or exhibition, no matter what medium. It has too much to do with our perception of our surroundings in relation to our body. No virtual platform can create that. I believe that Art is a reflection on how we stand in the world, but to experience it we, well, have literally to stand in the world… not look into a window…” Of course nothing can replace an in person visit to a museum, but like Kristín at LÁ points to, “I think (digital efforts are) a wonderful way to reach those who can’t come here. Not only during these times, I have been talking with artists who are making a project with inmates in Litla Hraun (a prison in the county), which I am very interested in collaborating with them in. A virtual tour of an exhibition for someone who can’t come here could be a really interesting way to reach out. Also to people who are in hospitals and so on, children who live far away from the museum etc.” Jóna Hlíf also comments on the importance of the physical museum space in itself. “Museums are not just places to experience art, but also places to come and meet other people, enjoy and create. Gerðarsafn is a venue for active discussion and powerful collaborations and we seek to connect to our guests in new ways, to deepen the discourse, interest and understanding of art and culture. Museums are places to pause and to be with others, for contemplation and fulfilment and for channelling provocative and/or challenging ideas.”

In this way, although we cannot fundamentally experience art in the same way through a computer screen, some positive implications to our current situation can be gleamed. Ágústa says that the current closures “have really helped us gain confidence in that (digital) matter and take more active steps in that direction. Of course, it will not replace the real thing, but it is a very welcome addition, I believe. Like many others, we have thought about branching out in this way before, increasing our visibility on social media, but such ideas or projects often get put aside in favor of the day-to-day schedule.” Similarly, the Culture at 13 programming at Gerðarsafn is something Jona Hlíf plans on utilising in the future; “It is both a great way to access art by those who do not have a chance to go to museums, or are forced to stay away because of sickness or distance. Also, this can become an important archive for the museum and the artists.” These virtual efforts raise interesting debates for how our society may permanently change after the Coronavirus, with regards to how we experience culture. Perhaps post virus we will see a society that is more and more characterized by virtual art experiences and online platforms. How can we continue to support our favorite producers, exhibitors, creators of art in such uncertain times? Visit Gerðarsafn after the crowd controls are lifted, “and even invest in an ‘árskort’ (e. annual ticket) to the museum. We will have a need for meeting, seeing something new, living, creating and enjoying again.” At Nýlistasafnið, Dorothee suggests becoming members or “Friends of Nýló” through their support program, or buying Christmas and birthday presents in their museum shop. Kristín similarly asks the public to be supportive of Listasafn Árnesinga on social media, “keep on reading and learning about things. Use the internet in a positive way. Learn things!” Ágústa recommends supporting Hafnarborg by watching “the content we are creating, ‘like comment and share’ with family or friends. This is a time when we all must find new ways of establishing connections with each other, both as individuals and institutions.”

 

Daría Sól Andrews

 

Gerðarsafn: https://gerdarsafn.kopavogur.is/

Hafnarborg: https://hafnarborg.is/

Listasafn Árnesinga: http://www.listasafnarnesinga.is/list/

Nýlistasafnið: http://www.nylo.is/en/

Snip Snap Snubbur: a shift in Guðmundur Thoroddsen’s practice

Snip Snap Snubbur: a shift in Guðmundur Thoroddsen’s practice

Snip Snap Snubbur: a shift in Guðmundur Thoroddsen’s practice

Guðmundur Thoroddsen is best known for paintings and sculptures which used to embrace the irony and dreamy qualities of surrealism, opening a window to a parallel universe where absurdity is presented as ordinary, works which have been often connected to a critic to masculinity and to our patriarchy society. His solo show Snip Snap Snubbur at Hafnarborg features some new works which demarcate a new step in the development of the artist’s practice, a shift towards a more abstract aesthetic enhancing the material aspects of the works.

His will to engage in a more material-orientated practice has been hindered by his parallel need for a narrative, an important part of his practice which he couldn’t let go completely, and which functioned as an anchor to prevent him from sinking into the uncharted waters of abstract art. Through the use of the oil paint on canvas the two urges converge into pieces where subjects and recognisable elements are present but unified in a single level of existence: characters, objects and backgrounds cohabit blended in masses of colours where shapes are defined not by distinct boundaries but by the diverse patterns and textures. The same process is visible in his sculptures: he has ceased using the wheel, an instrument which used to give some kind of stable shape to his works, and decided to make them manually from start to end, playing with piling up clay in different layers. The sculptures, just like his paintings, look like melted, collapsed, formless objects made by children in a kindergarten, suggesting a certain enjoyment and lightness behind his practice, but prompting an uncanny feeling in the viewers because they resemble human beings and familiar objects, but deformed and not quite matching the way we see people and objects in our everyday life.

In his new works the focus on material aspects gained more importance in the composition of the paintings, taking over the meaning of the works themselves: the references to the real world are reduced to echoes, mediators in this shift from a figurative practice to a more abstract one. His new works feature men smoking, walking around anxiously, in small interior scenes or in imaginary landscapes, deconstructed and melted within the background, like visions from a different universe where there is no third dimension, no perspective and no physical borders between entities.

The technical aspects of his new paintings have been influenced by Andreas Eriksson, Swedish painter whose practice focuses on landscapes transformed into abstract representations in which viewers can recognise their own places. From Erikson’s painting Thoroddsen took the ability to synthesise the variety of nature’s color gradients and shapes into simplified masses which abstract the original view, creating a sort of new nowhere land. In Eriksson’s paintings the brushstrokes are visible, a style which uncovers the importance of human gestures over a realistic portrait of reality, of human instinct over rationalism. Guðmundur Thoroddsen follows Eriksson’s research for a primordial act, an impetus which comes directly from inside the artist, whom is not trying to emulate but to create, an attempt to produce something beautiful, when „beautiful“ is understood as natural and honest.

Thoroddsen’s new works are reminiscent of the series of paintings Otages (“Hostages”)  by Jean Fautrier, paintings with great material qualities representing humans’ featureless heads and torsos floating into a no-landscape, barely recognisable as parts of a human body. Jean Fautrier was active during the post second world war, and he, as many others, was dealing with the lack of faith in humanity following the brutality of the war, which he experienced in first person. In Jean Fautrier’s work the dematerialisation of the body, the fade of the subject into the landscape, was a metaphor for the cancellation of identities, and therefore humanity, in the context of the war. Guðmundur Thoroddsen’s work does not have such a dramatic implication, but there is something in those interiors scenes of men smoking which recall a sort of subtle and sneaky universal anxiety in regards of modern times.

The figures in his paintings seem to illustrate what Noam Chomsky reflects on in the documentary Requiem for the American Dream (2015). Noam Chomsky talks about the changes in the contemporary ages through a comparison to what was happening in the 70’, when despite the economic upheavals that followed the postwar economic boom and the war in Vietnam, fights for the rights of mistreated social groups such as black people and women were taking place all over the world, and people believed that the situation would get better at some point. Nowadays, Chomsky says, we are hopeless in regards to a world where conditions are not improving, on the contrary humans rights are called into questions by politics, the environmental problems are growing, and, as a result we don’t see anymore the light at the end of the tunnel. The characters in Guðmundur Thoroddsen’s paintings can be read in relation to this new human condition: they are hopeless, trapped into a room or in a nowhere landscape, overwhelmed by the surroundings, unable to find their identities, lost in the liquid modernity’s flow, the characters are eventually frozen in a time with no future.

In Guðmundur Thoroddsen’s opinion art is about having fun and he switched to a more abstract approach because he felt his practice was becoming repetitive and he needed to engage in more stimulating work. This prompted his desire to dig deeper behind the surface of his imaginary world and to experiment with a more complex physicality in his practice. The show Snip Snap Snubbur presents a new exciting stage in Thoroddsen’s art, a new direction which could bring to deeper explorations of the material if he continues walking this way. These new works represent a starting point for something new and we are thrilled to see how it will develop, if characters and objects will disappear completely absorbed into the abstract, or if figurativism will take over again. The path is open, Guðmundur Thoroddsen just has to decide if he wants to walk it all the way.

 

Ana Victoria Bruno

 


Photo credits: Ana Victoria Bruno

 

Come Rain or Shine by the International Young Female Artist Club

Come Rain or Shine by the International Young Female Artist Club

Come Rain or Shine by the International Young Female Artist Club

Human beings have always had a peculiar love-hate relationship with the weather. Our existence on earth is possible thanks to the atmosphere, the set of layers of gases surrounding our planet, and the first of these layers, the troposphere, the one closest to earth, is associated with the weather, since here is where most of the clouds we see in the sky are. When human beings weren’t in possession of any tool to protect themselves from the weather conditions, they used to just adapt to the external climate, but through the centuries we developed specific techniques: we discovered the fire which kept us warm, we sewed clothes, we built houses, we invented umbrellas, and time after time our relationship with the weather changed, storms ceased to be feared, uncontrollable and destructive forces of nature, because we learnt how to deal with them. We became more and more independent from the weather, and we are now able to carry on with our lives despite the meteorological conditions. But we went too far, we lost all respect for the weather and for nature, our anthropocentrism took over and we forgot how we used to live in connection with nature.

We only just recently started to think about the way our presence in the world influences the weather: we are around 7.5 billions individuals and we can’t pretend anymore we are not a factor in the environmental changes happening on planet earth. We need to acknowledge that such a large population has a huge impact on nature, the earth itself is begging us to review our behaviour toward nature: destructive natural phenomenons are becoming more and more frequent, signs of warning are everywhere.

The philosopher Timothy Morton claims that the humankind urges to rethink its approach to non-human entities, such as animals, plants, and nature in general. He states we need to reconsider the effects produced by our intrusive existence on earth, we need to find a new balance to re-establish a healthy relationship with the planet and the its other inhabitants, and in order to achieve this, we need to get over our anthropocentric view.

The show Come Rain or Shine moves toward this direction: the artists collective IYFAC (International Young Female Artist Club) aims to awake the viewers’ conscience by showing them how deeply we are connected to the weather. The works by Ragnheiður Maísól Sturludóttir and Ragnheiður Harpa Leifsdóttir reference to a time in which the meteorological conditions used to have an active role in our daily life, when we used to interpret the future by looking at the sky, to use stones to navigate the sea, a time in which we used to respect nature and to live in symbiosis with it.

Sturludóttir created the series Placing a Ranke in a Field with Its Teeth Toward the Sky which is a sort of calendar reporting traditional knowledge connected to specific days and to the weather. For instance, the 9th of March is the Knight day, and “The weather on this day predicts the weather for the next 7 weeks”. This work reflects about the way the inhabitants of a place find a logic in the way the weather changes, and, time after time, deduce general rules from what they see. This folkloristic knowledge affirms our deep connection with the atmospheric changes: we wouldn’t have bothered to try to understand the way weather works if it hadn’t been important for us. Alongside this calendar the artist presents pictures which catch the consequences of the weather on persons and object: the sunshine softly getting across the curtain and projecting a light into the room, a mounting pole of a windsock bent from the wind, a wrist with a mark from a watch, elements which are witnesses to certain meteorological conditions.

Ragnheiður Harpa Leifsdóttir hung a long yellow drape from the ceiling of Hafnaborg all the way the floor downstairs, creating a “golden waterfall” which embodies a ray of sunshine. The light and soft material and its warm colour reflect our perception of the sunlight: a peaceful, joyful and embracing immaterial entity which gently warms up our bodies and our states. This site specific installation has been thought in relations to a particular architectural element present in the space: a little circular window on the top of a wall functions as a natural clock: by looking at the way the sunlight come through it we can deduct the height of the sun, and so the time.
Leifsdóttir contributes to the show with another beautiful and poetic work: the installation Polarity is constituted by two videos of close ups of hands turning the pages of the book The Sorrow Gondola by Tomas Tranströmer and placing on them an Icelandic spar, a transparent local stone through which everything looks double. This stone has been used by the vikings to navigate the seas, the properties of the stone allowed them to individuate the position of the sun despite it was hidden behind layers of clouds.

The artists Steinunn Lilja Emilsdóttir and Halla Birgisdóttir decided to work on the individual’s inner and intimate connection with the weather, a precious and unique relationship each of us develops with our surroundings.

Steinunn Lilja Emilsdóttir’s work It’s escalating deals with extreme natural phenomena, she transformed pictures of natural disasters such as desertification, the melting of icebergs, forest fires, tornadoes, and realaborated them into abstract and geometrical collages, associating each of them to a personal thoughts about the dramatic event portrayed. Her work aims to have an aesthetic impact on the viewer: within the frames the images are deconstructed in a style which resembles the Neoplasticism Art of Piet Mondrian, breaking the connection with reality and focusing on a subjective representation, a personal understanding of these tragedies. The sentences the artist wrote underneath each piece emphasise the belonging of the images to the her personal sphere, letting us get a glimpse inside her thoughts and inviting us to reflect on how those dramatic events are understood by us.

Halla Birgisdóttir’s work highs/lows occupies a long wall of the room filling it with drawings topped with short sentences, sometimes just single words, which express feelings, states, thoughts of the characters portrayed. Her work adopts the guises of a sort of comic stripe with no narrative: the characters appear just once, the words do not conform to comics’ dialogs, but they are captions of inner states or thoughts. The only element these drawings share with each others is the role of the weather which arouses emotional responses in the characters. Birgisdóttir portrays men, women, human beings caught in intimate moments, she explores the many ways in which the weather still influences our inner selves by illustrating our inner weather forecast. 

Sigrún Hlín Sigurðardóttir works within the contemporaneity, she sees clothes as a meeting point between the weather and the human beings, layers of fabrics which create an intermediate bridge between us and the natural elements. For the show Come Rain or Shine she created a huge winter jacket, which, despite its big dimensions, gives an impression of lightness: it is made out of fluffy plastic material stuffed into a semitransparent fabric, and hangs from the ceiling as it was floating in the air, suspended in the space, resembling a cloud formation standing in the sky. Winter jackets, as well as many of our clothes, have an inherent contradiction: they are made to protect us from the weather, but the synthetic material they are made of, plus the consumerism affecting the contemporary society, transforms jackets into a non recyclable waste in a short time, contributing to the increasing of pollution. We protect ourselves from the weather by using something which damages our planet and, consequently, affects the weather, so that we will need to shelter ourselves into more layers, and the history repeats itself over and over.

The curator Marta Sigríður Pétursdóttir has been able to coordinate a show where the pieces by the five artists work together: each of them apports a personal research to shape a comprehensive overview of the environmental problem the world is facing, sending out a clear message.

We are part of something bigger, and, as Timothy Morton says, the whole is not bigger than its part, but instead it is smaller: a hand it’s made of five fingers, countless muscles and nerves, but it’s just one hand, which sounds extremely reductive. If we endeavour to invert the course of the progressive destruction of planet earth individually, we may achieve some results, but first we need to realize how important the weather is for our lives, and the show Come Rain or Shine has this first step covered.

Ana Victoria Bruno


Photos by: Ana Victoria Bruno

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