she said as if I was of earth and the earth grew from my roots.
She gathered the ends- bundling wild yellow straw in her hands.
I can trim it for you if you like.
When nurtured- it would grow and grow, and she would brush it away as it fell into my eyes, it looks tucked away from your face she would say.
Now as an adult, it breaks dead at the end, tired and broken.
Hold still, she would say to child me, as she trimmed it, brushing it back and collecting it up from the bathroom ground, off the linoleum she hated but would take years to replace.
Come let鈥檚 leave it out for the birds for their nests, our feet touching the grass as my straw flew away in the wind.
I spent my childhood playing with various materials, collecting what others considered waste鈥攆rom paper and fabric scraps to sand. I created dolls’ clothes, sand paintings, and temporary toys using dough. These activities, unbeknownst to me at the time, were deeply influenced by my experiences on the farm with my father, observing my mother crafting in the afternoons, and spending summer vacations with my grandmother. Sensory memories of my grandmother preparing food for livestock, surrounded by heaps of dry fodder, and hand-spinning in the afternoons, while I made dolls from twigs, yarn, and fabric scraps, profoundly shaped my future.
This photo was taken during our yearly visit to my Grandmother’s home in Thar Desert, I am just pretending to spinning on her Charkha (Spinning Wheel) (Year 2014)
Anchi Devi, my grandmother, would sit outside the Gahdal (our mud house/living room), an open space welcoming anyone passing by to rest, spend some time, or have lunch. This was her daily afternoon activity.
Everyday Pattu’s: wool blankets with multiple uses鈥攕erving as blankets at night, raincoats during rains, and draped clothing during the day.
Ceremonial Pattu: Handspun black sheep wool (now rare to find) by ‘Naani’ (grandmother) Anchi Devi, woven by a local weaver in exchange for grains, and hand-embroidered by her for a personal touch. She used bright colors to contrast with the desert browns and bring life to the garment, with motifs inspired by her surroundings.
Photo taken by Vanessa Randall_Using a spinning wheel, a newly acquired skill from the field school, I hand-spun Icelandic black lamb wool.
Here’s my everyday setup for spinning wool 馃檪
Under the midnight sun, I wind freshly hand-spun yarn.
After our evening pool sessions, as sunset gives way to sunrise, my second part of the day begins, eagerly anticipating a midnight stroll to the beach.
Unconsciously, these early experiences guided me towards a career in design. Studying at India鈥檚 first design school, NID (National Institute of Design), exposed me to India’s diverse material culture and rich cultural experiences. My projects began to focus on wool and its various applications.
These photos were taken in 2012 during the Craft Documentation module at NID. This time, I have traveled to Kinnaur, Himachal Pradesh, where I discovered a similar connection with fiber. Here, a 90-year-old weaver is seen weaving thin patti (stripes) that can be used as belts or to adorn woven Dhoru (blankets and shawls).
Women adorned in various types of draped Dhoru/Pattu, hand-spun and hand-woven textiles.
Hand-spun yarn and cords.
Hand Spun yarn on drop spindle (Sheep and Yak wool)
Now in Iceland, as I explore historical pieces in museums, I’m reminded of my experiences in the desert with textile pieces like Pattu, crafted using narrow pit loom fabric strips joined to form larger pieces. My craft documentation in the Himalayas further emphasized the universal language of working with wool.
Loom at National Museums in Reyjavik
Narrow belts woven on tablet weaving in National Museums in Reyjavik
Woven textile from The Textile Museum in Bl枚ndu贸s
My weaving set up during the summer school.
One common thread across these diverse regions鈥攄eserts, mountains, and now Iceland鈥攊s the use of sheep’s wool and other animal fibers like camel, yak, and horse. These regions share extreme temperatures, and wool, with its insulating properties, anti-dust, flame-resistant, and biodegradable nature, emerges as the golden fiber. This universal material forges a deep human connection, reflecting a shared heritage of resourcefulness and adaptability.
On the Journey to Find Connection with Wool and Sustainability
When we arrived in Iceland, the 24 hours of daylight and the breathtaking surroundings鈥攆rom the view outside our windows to the paths we walked towards the pool鈥攊mmersed us in a surreal experience. The limited resources available pushed us to become incredibly resourceful, prompting us to craft new recipes from what we had. Observing how the same few ingredients, like potatoes and mushrooms, could be transformed in numerous ways by drawing on our past experiences was a remarkable lesson in creativity and adaptability.
Connecting dots and creating art from and with nature 馃檪
Photo taken by Sharmistha Kar _During our Natural dye material forging session
Spending time in nature, often going on long walks with friends, allowed each of us to interact with the environment according to our unique creative practices. Dale used found plastic and sand to create new artworks, Sabrina painted with sand, while I collected materials to explore the interplay between fossil fuels and natural elements. Sharmi, meanwhile, planned to observe the sea and its sounds to inspire her tapestry work.
Writing letters to my Grandmother from Ocean of Iceland to the Desert of Rajasthan, India
Getting inspired by nature’s bounty
Throughout these experiences, we shared moments of laughter and fatigue, yet the rejuvenating swims in natural hot springs and the awe-inspiring landscape continually inspired us. This environment fostered a deep connection with nature and among ourselves, driving our creativity and collaborative spirit.
Made sprouted Moong-Daal salad for one of our communal dinner (we had many and enjoyed every bit of it with everyone’s recipes.
Friends from our last supper together in the Bl枚ndu贸s
This field school for Concordia students is meant to have a feel of an artist residency but it being a university course open to all educational levels we are tasked with reflecting upon the phenomenon of “artist as tourist”.
Prior to the trip to Iceland, we reflected together on what it means to be an artist in a time of environmental degradation and climate change by humans. Although tourism may provide an economic boost, it is often perspective which treats the natural world as backdrops for human experience rather inviting care and concern for the local cultures and ecological which make the place worth visiting in order to remain self-sustaining.
As artists who are working from a place-based lens, I found we take direction from the subject and materials of the place we work. For example, a place-based practice might look like, as we learned in the workshop on natural dying and spinning, making pigments from sustainably foraged plants or buying wool from the local farmer to spin.
When foraging for plants we chose plants which are invasive such as the Alaskan Lupin here in Iceland and follow a 10% responsible foraging rule. Lupins brought a nice blue-green, Northern Dock = highlighter yellow and Rhubarb mustard yellow. All which we modified with iron and soda for different variations. See colors below.
In the final work for the IFS, I was thinking about how I could make a map which reflected the feeling of a place which would grow out of my experiences here. In my Geography course this past fall I learned about “story maps” and other alternative kinds of map-making often taken up by artists interested in the power of the map. I knew I wanted to make this map out of a spotted brown and white sheep wool, from Nova Scotia when I helped assist a farmer on shearing day.
While in Akureyri for an afternoon ( the most far northern city in Iceland), I found a book called: The Viking Discovery of North America by Anna Yates. It is a rigourous but non-academic style text whose subtitle I prefer: “The Story of Leifur Eiriksson and Vinland the Good”.聽I found another book, The Norse Atlantic Saga by Gwyn Jones, an older, heftier text, which I bought for the cool map illustrations, let’s be real. ( See below as part of art installation, in the dye shed.)
The former text inspired my final work here in Iceland and the ease of using the Felt Loom at the textile lab. The felt loom is a large diameter of 60 inches which is good news, since working the sample I found it is hard to keep the project small……. Once you pass the wool through several times the work has a tendency to grow and grow and suck up more and more wool. Thankfully earlier that day, I visited the wool washery in town, and asked what they were planning to do with the wool discarded on the floor which had already been washed. It was wool that had been felted and stuck on the rolls so its destiny was garbage! This additional bagful of brown wool made it possible for me to enjoy creative freedom with the size of the piece, balancing out the white and black Icelandic wool I had copious amounts of from a local sheep farmer and spinning instructor- extraordinaire, Johanna.
What started out as a modest half circle, grew into a giant Icelandic sheep horn! Another surprise was how well this shape wrapped around my body.
Textiles are beautiful as well as offering other potentials a soft, gentle and flexible and protective medium. An oil painting wouldn’t keep you warm in Iceland, unless you set fire to it and that’s only a temporary solution, not a sustainable one.
Final Exhibition Piece “In Search of Vinland” Vanessa Randall
There is a new legend in Bl枚ndu贸s: the Aluminium Lady. She emerges from the soil and can be seen in random places in the little town during the week following the Summer solstice. When her visit is done, she needs help to go back home… through the soil… until next time.
What I have always loved most about art making, is the ability to connect to others through the repetitive tasks where you share ideas, speak your frusterations and support one another through the making process. This experience allowed a group of sixteen people the chance to connect through practices new to most of us.
We were able to learn to spin fresh wool while soaking in the sun.
Some of us making butterflies of yarn using the skein winders, in preperation for our workshop on weaving with our teacher Ragga.
Natural dyeing with lupin flowers, dock leaves and rhubarb bark.
On June 2nd, I join a little road trip to Sau冒谩rkr贸kur with Sabrina, Dale, Sylvie, and Emilie to return a rented car.
Since there are only two buses per day to bring us back to Bl枚ndu贸s, we took the opportunity to spend a couple of hours at the Black Beach while waiting for the next bus.
On the way, we saw a monument on the right side of the road and decided to stop. It was an observation point to look at the landscape, and beyond the sea.
In this picture, we look like a boy band who is about to drop a new album. In this picture taken by Sabrina, from left to right: Dale, me, Emilie, and Sylvie.
The wind was very intense and threatening our balance, way more than the doors of the Mont-Royal metro station (if you know, you know).
We also made a little detour when we saw these houses. These are the Glaumb忙r Farm & Museum. We spent half an hour enjoying the view of the Glaumb忙r Old Turf Farm. The first farmhouse on the hill at Glaumb忙r was built around 900 AD with turf, stones, and timber. The buildings have the same form as in the 18th and 19th century..
Back in the car, we drove for another 15 minutes and arrived at the Black Beach of Sau冒谩rkr贸kur, black sand beyond the horizon.
I collected samples to examine them with my microscope for future photo and video projects.
Back to my bedroom, in the night that never comes, with a precious view on the water, I spent lovely hours looking at this black sand that reveals so many colors under the microscope.
On the 23rd of June, I went for a walk on the old side of town. Past the cemetery,聽 the road of beautiful houses and onto the hill. It was 11pm, golden hour at its finest when suddenly, a far away scream resonates in the air.聽
The most adorable lamb comes running towards us. this tiny black and white, super curly haired baby jumps the fence to say hi. He was running around between my legs and the best part: he was ok with me picking it up. Cuddling with that baby for a couple of minutes will forever be a core memory for me.
Even though we got to hold and feed lambs at Johanna鈥檚 farm a couple of weeks before, it felt like this baby knew me, and came running towards me.
I am now convinced that this lamb was a friend of mine from another life. And despite the fact that when we walked by on our way back he seemed to not care about us and he might never recognise me again, I will hold him in my heart for as long as I live.
To summarize, 23rd of June 2024 was the day I fell in love with a baby lamb on top of a hill, in front of a sunset in Iceland.
Coming to Iceland, I intended to explore aspects of Norse mythology and its many creatures, but what I had yet to expect was my proximity to creatures that these myths speak of. One I have been fascinated by is the selkie. Selkies can change form from seal to woman with the help of their seal coats. Many stories are told of their existence, where sailors fall in love, some stories speak of men taking their seal coats for ownership, some of partnerships, but ones I think most of are like that of my favourite film, Song of The Sea, where the selkie returns home to the sea.
During a hike, a group of students stumbled apon a cove of seals! So excited by the prospect of watching seals do what they do best, flop around and swim, we headed over the next day.
So we began our hike up the wobbly hills by the ocean.
Secluded black sand beach at the start of our hike.
The hills we passed on our climb.
Seashore enclosure where birds live within the crevises of rock.
Seashore meets sea stack.
And finally !
The seal cove, where we were lucky to see a seal pup.
Once we found them, we sat down and observed them, and quickly, they did the same. We spent a long time staring at each other, feeling the sea breeze and listening to the birds swooping overhead.
