Author: Florence Boucher

Florence Boucher

In the middle of the month of June, I decided to embark on a trip to Akureyri to see the work of the Table Collective with the rest of the group. Everyone was going, and I felt excited by the idea of leaving our tiny Blonduos, seeing the mountains, and feeling the landscape passing by quickly through the car window. Feel the speed again.

The roadtrip was great, hearing friends laughing was a blanket for my heart, and a herd of horses crossed the street, in a dramatic and spectacular manner. It all felt great.

Until!

We arrived in the city, and suddenly my body started to feel out of place. I didn’t know where to go, what I wanted to do. Everyone seemed to have thought of this before: which places they wanted to visit, where the best ice cream was, how to find a cheap fish and chips. Shops, restaurants, streets, cars, supermarkets. City things. Money spending. Yes Flo, Akureyri is a city, and this is where you wanted to go. What did you expect?

I quickly realized that I was not interested in cities since I arrived in Iceland. This feeling was confirmed when I walked an hour from downtown to the camping site, on a road crossed by fields, pastures, a little piece of forest, and breathtaking mountains. I feel a need to be in the tall grass in the middle of nature’s sounds. A silence filled by everything else.

I want to feel like a tiny creature between the mountains and climb them to prove me that I’m big. I need isolation and a huge calm. And not the kind of isolation that distances me from people, but the one that makes me see fewer of them, allowing us to get closer.

I left Akureyri very happy to have seen the Table Collective’s work. I can also say that I enjoyed our little moment in the Botanical Garden, all of us sitting in the grass with live music, having a glimpse of the Icelandic unpredictable summer.

(But yes I was reassured to be back in the silence that I got used to. Not the silence silence, but the birds-howling, wind-blowing, sea-singing silence.)

How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude!
But grant me still a friend in my retreat,
Whom I may whisper—solitude is sweet. (William Cowper)

🙂

Florence Boucher

Settling in – to stay, to rest

After traveling around Iceland for two weeks with my partner, a small car and a tent, I felt ready to stay in one place. The month of May was still cold, and the idea of having my own bed, in my own heated room, was (more than) exciting. A true luxury. I was also looking forward to discovering new rhythms in Blönduos. To try a slower pace, one that allows for deeper observations and a sense of familiarity with the place. To make home.

The very first day, I entered my room, the one that I craved so much when I was shivering in my sleeping bag. I was surprised to find myself a bit disoriented in that empty little nest. I immediately started to move the furniture. I unpacked a few rocks and skulls that I had collected during my trip and aligned them on the windowsill, pretending to be Georgia O’Keeffe. I placed my books on my tiny desk, orchestrated a mess as if I was already living there. Ok, I’m ok.

My first week in the residency was allocated to long walks where I discovered the abandoned port, the secret beach and its pebbles, some mysterious marine species, my favorite rocks, the forbidden island full of geese, the smell of the slaughterhouse, the sound of the river, the sound of the birds, the sound of the constant wind. I wanted and tried to grasp everything. But the knowing, the familiarity, demands slowness. So I tried to walk every day.

Settling down – to calm down, to transform

Inside of me I have something that makes me want to constantly move. I am struggling with constancy, regularity, or any kind of routine. I have a lot of trouble sitting down. While settling intentions for the residency, I wanted to challenge myself to live a simpler, slower life. In Blonduos, dullness felt good. I remember Jessica Auer talking about living in the isolation of Seyðisfjörður. She mentioned that the limited possibilities relax her nervous system, and it stuck with me. I found myself happy with a quotidien of walks, going to the pool, working on my projects, reading, writing, cooking, running, talking, talking, listening. Nothing else, except maybe going to the thrift store on Tuesdays.