Author: Shan Collar

Blönduós kitties

This past month, as I’ve been triangulating between the studio, the grocery store and the pool, I’ve pet a lot of cats. I like to imagine stories about their lives. Here are some things I made up about them.*

Loki 

Black fur, purple collar, most popular girl on Árbraut. 

Named after the god of mischief in Norse mythology, Loki keeps herself busy as an acrobat with a traveling circus. Currently on her summer holiday, she still performs the occasional trick and can always entertain a crowd. She’s often spotted on house roofs, drinking rain water out of their gutters. 

Rusty

White fur with gray spots & stripes, squinty eyes, lap sitter. 

Rusty likes to roll around in the dirt. Some of us hated when the town workers were using the backhoe to plow through the walking path along the river. Rusty loved it because it meant there was all sorts of fresh and soft dirt for her to roll around in. Sometimes she goes down to the river bank to roll in the black sand, but it doesn’t stick to her fur as much as the other dirt, so she only does that occasionally. 

Casper

Long black fur, impeccable taste, connoisseur of fine art. 

Casper wandered into our exhibition on Saturday with one goal: to find an artist worth representing. Being an art dealer in a small town is hard. And it’s not made easier by being a cat. No one takes him seriously until the claws come out. Alas, in yet another example of this, everything at the show was hung too high on the wall for him to see it. He’ll be writing Concordia a strongly worded letter on cat accessibility. Me-ow. 

Tangerine

Long ginger fur, alluring, mysterious. 

Tangerine is a bad boy. Under his fur, he has a growing collection of patchwork tattoos. He owns a motorcycle, but he can’t drive it yet because he doesn’t have his license. He drinks Gull beer and is in a long distance relationship with a cat in Reykjavik. 

Tuxedo Tony

Black and white fur, keeps his cards close. 

Tuxedo Tony, also known as Cow Cat, is an undercover spy with several aliases. Although we still don’t know who sent him or why, we know his mission involves monitoring our cohort on the Textile Center grounds. Tuxedo Tony prowls around, watching us, hiding in tall grass, and retreating into the shadows when seen. Suspicions are growing that Tony was responsible for the disappearance of the House 35 bird. Maybe it knew too much…

Itsy bitsy 

Brown and gray tabby, large in spirit, small in size. 

Itsy bitsy is the youngest of the Blönduós cats, making her the rambunctious wild card of the group. Having been spotted on both sides of the river, it’s unclear where she actually hails from. She can’t be tied down. She likes giving kisses. She has a loud meow.

*Loki and Casper are the only cats whose name I actually know. I made the other names up. Mwah to all the Blönduós kitties! 

Shan

Dribs and drabs

I brought 3 books to Iceland: All About Love by bell hooks, The Subversive Stitch by Rozsika Parker, and Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo. Two smart books and a fun book, I thought, planning to give myself extra credit for reading all 3 while I was here, despite having started both smart books long before leaving Montreal. Since arriving, I’ve only cracked the cover of the fun book. 

I talked to an Icelandic woman who works as a kindergarten teacher. When we complained about the expensive grocery prices we’ve encountered, she told us to try dumpster diving. She explained her strategy that she uses at home in Reykjavik. Then she taught me how to knit. 

Zoé and I spent the last week dressing one of the countermarch looms in the weaving studio. I have the first turn weaving on it. I’ve been wondering about the women who worked on these looms before me. Ragga told us that the looms were built on the Textile Center grounds in 1924. Many of the looms have names of past students crudely carved into them. I feel the previous weavers watching over me as I pass the shuttle back and forth between sheds. I hope that they’re not judging my selvedges. 

It’s been extremely windy here for what feels like a full week. To get some respite from it, we’ve started taking the river path to the pool instead of the sidewalk. My boots got dirty and Andre showed me how to clean them with his horsehair brush. 

I woke up today to a scratchy throat and stuffy nose, having finally caught the House 35 cold. I filed that away in my pile of evidence that this is in fact the real world, accompanied by: I still interrupt people when they’re talking, I always seem to be running late, I look for hummus at the grocery store. Counter evidence includes: my hair always looks good despite getting wet at the pool every day, I’ve yet to get a substantial sunburn, and that it never gets dark outside. 

Overall, I’m still me.

Shan Collar