Iceland – Skaftafell

I was surprised by how civilized and well serviced the Skaftafell campground was. It’s the Icelandic equivalent of Yosemite Valley – the perfect first campsite for all newbie campers in a great location with easily accessed walks. But unlike Yosemite there was hardly anyone about. Everyone was very respectful – playing card games in front of their tents! The showers were like hot volcanic fire hoses and the little cafe had draft beer, meat soup and other delicacies including skyr and great coffee (of course, its Iceland!).

After our second coffee we took of up the hill to view Svartifoss. Spectacular imbedded in its setting of black vertical hexagonal basalt columns.

Svartifoss from afar

Svartifoss from afar

The honeymoon shot

The honeymoon shot

Someone told the paparazzi that we were in town.

Someone told the paparazzi that we were in town.

Basalt detail

Basalt detail

Hiking up further you come out onto the long finger-like spur of Kristínartindar stretching southwest between the huge glacier Skaftafellsjökull (actually a spur of the Vatnajökull ice cap) and the once glaciated valley of Morsárdalur. As you climb you get increasingly open views of the glacial flats stretching out to the sea where huge floods of water and rubble (a jökulhlaup) spurt out every time a volcano erupts under the great Icelandic ice cap Vatnajökull.

alluvial plain stretching for miles....

Alluvial plain stretching for miles….

All the way out to the lonely cape of Ingolfsshofði.Which is where the first Nordic settler Ingólfur Arnarson over-wintered in 869 AD. Looks pretty godforsaken unless you like eating seagull eggs.

All the way out to the lonely cape of Ingolfsshofði.
Which is where the first Nordic settler Ingólfur Arnarson over-wintered in 869 AD. Looks pretty godforsaken unless you like eating seagull eggs.

The view as you climb the spur gets better and better. Especially looking down over the precipitous drop to the heavily fissured glacier below – frosted in ash and grime from the recent eruption of Eyjafjallajökull in 2010, as well as the usual melange of ash, algae and dust.

Climbing along the edge

Climbing along the edge

the sweeping ice floe - like a charcoal drawing

the sweeping ice floe – like a charcoal drawing

Detail

Detail

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The 15 km walk continues to the neighboring Morsárdalur which is now ice free.

Morsa valley

Morsa valley

And winds on until the marker which is there to help us find our location.

You are here!

You are here!

It has lots of interesting cultural markings on it to help me place myself in the landscape. However, the landscape itself made better sense to me.

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Iceland – Circumnavigation

I’ve just got back from a month of travel in New Zealand but I feel that I must  wind up my traveler’s tales from Iceland before continuing on to the latest expedition.

My last posts from Iceland were about the ‘Book of Baer’ that I was working on in my residency and the exhibition that we held at Baer on the last day. The next day Sandra arrived after a long flight from NY and a drive up from Reykjavik (tired, jet lagged and driving in a foreign country – brave lass!). We rested a day at Baer to give Sandra a chance to catch her breath and have a sniff around.

Then it was off on our circumnavigation of Iceland.  East across the Northern edge savoring the surprising and powerful waterfalls of Goðafoss (trans. – a good place to hurl carven images) and Dettifoss (trans – dental floss) en route.

Goðafoss where in 1000AD the Icelandic Loregiver Þorgeir Ljósvetningagoði abnegated Nordic paganism in favor of the minority religion Christianity for his whole nation by hurling carved icons of his deposed gods over the falls.

Goðafoss where in 1000AD the Icelandic Loregiver Þorgeir Ljósvetningagoði abnegated Nordic paganism in favor of the minority religion Christianity for his whole nation by hurling carved icons of his deposed gods over the falls.

Dettifoss, Europe's most powerful waterfall. Surrounded by a rocky wasteland with no good reason readily apparent for such a mighty flow.

Dettifoss, Europe’s most powerful waterfall. Surrounded by a rocky wasteland with no good reason readily apparent for such a mighty flow.

My friend and Icelandic cultural guide John Zurier, compared it to watching 50,000 gallons of cement being poured every minute.

We continued our way across the barren northern landscape savoring cracted laval fields and bubbling fumaroles (love saying that).

Cracked lava field

Cracked lava field

lava closeup

lava closeup

bubbling fumarole!

bubbling mud pits too!

Until Highway 1 dissolved into a mesh of dirt roads all feeding more or less East. After winding up and down creek lined and troll infested (presumably) hills we wound down on to a mist clouded South East Coast.

Lowering fog and drizzle

Lowering fog and drizzle.

Winding further south we finally saw the advancing tongues of glaciers flowing down from Iceland’s huge Southern Ice cap.

"sliding enexorably" or catastrophically evaporating? The latter it would seem.

“sliding enexorably” or catastrophically evaporating? The latter it would seem.

After several fleeting glimpses from afar, suddenly the highway crosses a lagoon of ice calved off from the nearby glacier.

Glaciers at the beach - only in Iceland!

Glaciers at the beach – only in Iceland!

Subtle and seductive color.

Subtle and seductive color.

Tourists taking a closer look!

Tourists taking a closer look! quick! quack!

Finally, after a huge lamb dinner, we arrived at our campsite at the foot of Skaftafell.

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Fall light

I can’t believe that it’s been 3 months since I last posted on this blog. I would like to assure all my readers (and most especially me!) that my absence is due to an incredibly hectic teaching, making and administrating schedule. Hopefully I can make up some lost time by posting a few entries over the next few weeks highlighting some of the interesting things that have been going on in my studio and at CCa.

But for the moment I wanted to share the Fall with you. We are in the midst of the first serious rain storm of the wet season here in Bayarea. It’s sweet to hear the rain coming down and to see the garden and the surrounding hills drink it all up.

The last of the light projecting the verandah view onto our bedroom wall

The last of the light projecting the verandah view onto our bedroom wall -
gum trees, kero lamp and a pinch of Pittosporum

The living room at dusk

The living room at dusk

Walking the dog

Walking the dog along the future tsunami’s path – from the West across the bay and through the Oakland port.

Strange creatures on the stoop

Strange creatures on the stoop – racoon/wolf hybrid?

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Baer – the ‘book’ – chapter 1

My final project here has a working title of ‘the book’. It has turned into quite a saga which might be a more apt title considering its Icelandic origin.

Its the Bær version of something I try to do in all of my residencies – put experience in a box. It’s always a challenge to try to distill some aspect of such a rich experience and then put it in a container that in itself speaks of the place in which it was made. My love of making is always played out here especially when I have the chance to work with local materials and processes. At Bær I’ve been limited to a basic set of tools and my own self imposed constraint of using only local materials – which includes rock, herbs, horse hair, fleece, driftwood, plastic and steel flotsam and, of course, sound and imagery. I mentioned that I was inspired by some finds at the National Museum of Iceland. This piece in particular has been playing on my mind and has acted as an inspiration for the piece I am making.

17th Century ivory compass

I’m intrigued by its combination of rudimentary craftsmanship and cutting edge technology. Scrimshandered from ivory and bound with thread or gut, its engravings show a certain opulence and appreciation for decoration, and on top of all that it is quite a sophisticated navigation tool. A piece of equipment which was useful, perhaps even crucial. My fellow resident Mark suggested that the Portuguese sailor who misplaced it is probably still looking for it –  the contemporary equivalent of losing an iPhone.

When I found this nice slab of driftwood, I thought of the ivory compass’ book-like form and decided to enclose my experience inside the slab.

Driftwood slab found on Bæjármöll – the stoney spit stretching out to Þórðarhöfði

Bær’s friendly building contractor deeped the slab on his SCM table saw for me cutting right through the rusty nails – I’m glad it was his saw and not mine!

Then I started to think what would go inside.

Collaging elements – found steel, compass roses, the orbital path of the sun, found plastic, bone, ….?

I wanted to include a sundial and a compass like the original inspiring piece, and a digital element including time lapses and a sound piece incorporating some  of the local soundscape I’ve been catching. I started by making some simple tools to engage with and map the environment.

My simple sundial has really helped me understand the movement of the sun here at high latitude. Augmented by the observable fact that the days have gotten shorter by over an hour during the few weeks I’ve been here. The sun now sets to the left of Þórðarhöfði rather than in the sea to its right (north) – almost 15 degrees further south on the compass dial. Two days ago the almost full moon rose far in the south, barely climbed into the sky and then promptly set slightly west of south  - following the winter path of the sun. I can now tangibly feel my place here on the top of the earth and see the diurnal cycle being played out around me in real time!

Sundial

The second instrument I made I’ve dubbed the Bærnjo – made from driftwood, 80lb fishing line, horseshoe nails, found plastic flotsam and local hardware and tuned to standard G tuning for the 5-string banjo. It can be played by hand but it was designed to be played by the wind like an Aeolian harp.

Bærnjo

“Playing” the Bærnjo

The Bærnjo provided the soundtrack to accompany a 24 hour timelapse that I made on a wet and windy day two weeks ago – 24hrs compressed into about 3 minutes, then looped. The elusiveness of the island of Drangey and the stone outcropping of Kerling as they fade in and out of the video reminds me of their  legendary origin. Kerling was once a troll woman who was taking her cow (Drangey) to market and was surprised by the rising of the sun and so turned to stone. Her troll husband Karl was following up the rear and suffered the same fate but he collapsed into the ocean in 1755.

I plan for this video to be included in the book too as a tiny video and sound component. I’ll go into some more detail about the construction of the book and its other components in a future entry – chapter 2!

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Baer – Opið Hús

Tomorrow is my last day here at Baer before Sandra and I take off for a week of traveling around Iceland. Its very sad to be leaving what has come to feel like a second home. Our host Steinunn Jónsdóttir, her husband Finnur and the great team here (Eiðer, Bjarnveig, Sunna, Símon and Símon Jr.) have been so welcoming, accommodating and generous over these last four weeks. All of us feel like part of a large extended family.

Last night we enjoyed a big ‘Open House’ where hundreds of local folk came out to enjoy Baer hospitality and to see what we’ve been up to. Everyone was very interested, engaged, curious and complimentary. I had printed up a selection of the series of images I have been working on and displayed them in the ‘barn’. My studio had many of the images in process, as well as my ‘book’ project in process.

Seeing the images full size for the first time.

The pin-board in my studio

The final knolling of precious finds from the shoreline. And my ‘bærnjo’ to the left.

It was great to see everyone else’s studio. We’ve been aware of what each other has been up to but it was exciting to see how much work everyone had done and to think about the connections and different perspectives we’ve all had.

Tove’s spontaneous watercolor musings

Tove’s 10ft tall fabric, fish leather and pigment collages.

Linda’s 20ft long mutli-media drawing on crumpled printmaking paper

detail

Diana’s intriguing nature table including her paper-wrapped rocks and flayed rock skins.

Rock skin – kozo paper laid over stones when wet and then worked with charcoal, and local natural iron pigments.

I enjoyed the resonance between Diana and Linda’s work and also with the series of rock surface investigations by Mark with his large format view camera.

The one person who’s work I can’t included is Mark. All of his work is on 4×5″ plates and 120 rolls awaiting processing – he’s had two special deliveries of more film from NY in the last two weeks to maintain his habit. I’m really looking forward to seeing the 4×5′s. The best way to get some idea of Mark Hartman’s work is to see some of his snappy images on instagram.

On my next post I’ll go into a bit more detail about my final project – the ‘book’.

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Baer – Wayfinding

I love maps. I thought I’d just admit that publicly!

I think Icelanders love of maps too. At least you’d think so from the quality of the atlases and maps I’ve seen here. Maps are a means of not only knowing where you are and of delineating territory, they are a way of finding a place for yourself in the world.

Here is Iceland, a small island in the midst of the North Atlantic surrounded by deep, cold seas.

The view from the ‘edge of space’.

Though the island is relatively small in area and population, in many ways it’s also vast. The the landscape seems huge when you are in it – the horizon is far away, the mountains are ice capped, there are no trees to break up or soften the views. It’s very easy to imagine getting lost in the snow, turned around in the fog, lost in a storm at sea or simply confounded by the sheer scale of space here.

My first inclination on heading somewhere new is to find a topo map of the region. On my first day here, I was delighted to find a huge 3-D topo map as the central display in Reykjavik’s City Hall. The whole island reduced to the size of a small swimming pool.

Oðin’s eye view

Skagafjöður on the giant topo looking from the North. Baer is left of center. The red patch is the nearby town of Hofsós.

On a map it looks like this.

Detailed topo of the ‘hood’ – see Baer above Hofsós

Older maps give another view of the place and another view on ways to view the place!

Ortelius’ map of Islandia from 1590

Love the whales!

Fearsome Creatures!

Frontispiece from another early atlas.

When my residency finishes I’ll be heading off with Sandra to circumnavigate the island. Heading east to the coast and then down around the south where the glaciers spill out into the North Atlantic across giant lava sand flood plains that flow with water and rubble whenever the volcanoes beneath the glaciers vent their larva into the capping ice.

I’ve never seen such a strange topo map! The glaciers flowing between the escarpments, the huge flatlands stretching to the sea with a thousand small streams taking the runoff from the melting glaciers. I can’t wait to see the reality for which the map is a simulacrum.

Skaftafell

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Baer – New Work 1

I’ve been absorbing, recording, sketching and thinking and have started several projects which are in various stages of gestation.

The project that has proceeded the furthest and smoothest to date is a series of detail images of the natural and cultural landscape here which I have been working with in Live Trace. I began this way of working at a residency at Anderson Ranch in 2006 and I’ve used it at the Headlands Center for the Arts and at the For-SITE Foundation in the Sierra Nevada. But I’ve had a chance to really explore and exploit the technique at Baer. I have been surprised by the vividness and bright colors of the landscape here – the water, the brightly painted houses, the wildflowers, the sunsets (of course) and even the horses and birds. It’s not a tropical explosion of saturated color but contained flashes of color which appear even brighter against the generally subdued colors of the landscape. Most of the art I’ve seen from Icelandic artists is also subdued in color, so I decided to focus on the intense – almost electric – colors I have been finding.

All of the images I’m selecting have a fractal quality to them. I catch a part of something that extends much further and concentrate on the interesting detail which holds up under changes in scale. I love the way that Live Trace also creates a fractal quality in the final image. From a distance it’s fairly easy to see what the image is, but up close the larger picture dissolves into complex interweaving patterns of disjunct but interconnecting colors. The image dissolves/resolves into a topographic gradient of color, shade and form.

Here’s one image of nets piled up at the harbor-front at Sauðárkrókur, followed by a detail of the image to show approximately what it looks like full size.

Seine

Seine – detail

Here are a few more images from the series.

Rust

Brennisóley

Toredo

Dried fish

detail

By reducing the complex original image into as few as 5 (or as many as 200) single colors the image becomes abstracted. I’m particularly interested in the way the software algorithm ‘makes decisions’ about where one color or shade ends and another begins and then draws a vector line as a best approximation delineating the different color zones. I’ve been reading John Cage as part of my research here as I’m interested in finding ways of relinquishing authorship and decision making in my work. Live Trace provides an arbitrariness and complexity to these images which is largely out of my control and in doing so it reveals another fractal layer in the images from (and my experience of) the landscape.

The final images are will be 24″ square and I’m working towards a series of 26 images in the final selection – one for each day of the residency.

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