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The first game of Iceland’s World Cup is in the books, a 1-1 tie against Lionel Messi and Argentina. I’m not usually a football fan, but I found myself bouncing, leaning, clapping, and cheering with the locals at the Blönduós community center, as Iceland held its own against a dominant Argentinian offense. The Icelandic goaltender, a 34-year-old filmmaker named Hannes Þór Halldórsson, made a few showstopping saves, including a penalty shot from Messi to prevent Argentina from taking the lead. When the clock finally ran down, you would have assumed Iceland won by the reaction of the crowd. The nation of 325,000 people, smaller than .01% of Canada’s population and .001% of the United States (both of whom didn’t qualify for the tournament) is the smallest ever to qualify for the World Cup, and they were heavily favored to lose.

THAT

WAS

FUN

I have written extensively in the past about the troubling aspects of professional sport and their relationship to identity and nationalism, and one need only look at the fallout of the Vancouver Canucks Stanley cup loss in 2010 or the Montreal Canadiens early playoff exit in 2014 to know what I mean, but these examples can be elaborated on another day. Today we witnessed the unexpected from a nation and a team that continue to pull off the unexpected. The coach doubles as a dentist, and another player delivers salt. With many of the players having “day jobs”, Iceland was never supposed to qualify let alone tie the top-rated team in their division. But who doesn’t want to see the underdog win? Especially a country so saturated in football, where one can’t walk anywhere without seeing children kicking a ball or more than five minutes without walking past a fully equipped amateur field. It really is a once in a lifetime (or maybe a once ever) experience to be in Iceland during this historic run. But as I, the visitor, take in the passions Icelanders have for football, I’m reminded of the other cultural feats Iceland excels at.

(The Overflow Seating at the Blönduós Community Centre, where locals gathered to watch the game. Image by me)

During the big bang of the mind roughly 50,000 years ago, humans began living in cities and developed religion, technology, and craft. Religion and art come out of this era, with professional sports later depicted in cave paintings around 15,000 BCE. I would like to remark on each because they are supplemental to human survival and are perpetuated on belief and faith. Artists gather in strange places to participate in obscure projects on the faith that someone will either care or the project will in some way have transcended the moment. Work that gets deemed exceptional gains followers who gather in concert halls or in galleries to be admired by the public. Followers of sports teams show faith in front of TV’s and stadiums, rooting for their team through wins and losses. Religious institutions are built on faith in a higher power, and many people I’ve met who participate in faith-based activities believe that all things done through the institution are in divine hands. With this faith, followers often raise extraordinary sums of money to build churches and conduct community work, with religious institutions playing key roles in historical cultural movements. In each instance people gather and experience something that transcends our individual lives, and as some believe, our own humanity. Based on what we know scientifically, each are equally superfluous and irrational, but each are integral to our constructions of culture. (Sorry to the devout reading this. Much respect to all of you <3)

Icelanders excel in each of these fields far beyond their population of 325,000 would suggest. Iceland is a cultural powerhouse, producing world-renowned musicians such as Sigur Ros and Bjork and visual artists like Olufar Eliasson (among many, many others). One in ten have published a book, and they have a rich literary history dating back to Iceland’s settlement by the Vikings in the 9^th century. Their island attracts 4.4 million tourists a year, over ten times the total population. Icelanders have many iconic churches, including the Blönduóskirkja here in Blönduós, but also have rich folklore that tells stories of elves, dwarfs, and fairies. The unlikely World Cup appearance and incredible tie with Argentina, when considering the cultural context, is continuing a long tradition Icelanders have of excelling internationally in cultural endeavors.  

(www.worldarchitecturemap.org)

So what of Iceland’s larger-than-itself cultural impact? One thing to consider is Iceland’s accrued soft power, a term used to describe a nations international influence not through coercion or force through economics or military (Iceland doesn’t have a standing military), but through co-option (encouraging others to want to be like you). Take for instance Iceland’s handling of the 2008 financial crisis, where they bailed out the people rather than the banks and jailed many business leaders and bankers. This gets referenced when talking about alternatives to America’s response that saved the failing corporations while the people lost their savings and homes. Iceland has a long history of gender equality and is often rated among the most equal nations in the world. Most Icelandic energy needs are met through renewable sources, making Iceland a global leader in climate change. This is in addition to the envy by the many large nations on the outside of the world cup, the nations that have few notable artists, and have coopted spiritual practices. It remains to be seen how far Iceland will go in the World Cup tournament, but a 1-1 tie to Argentina is another in a long list of exceeded expectations.

From the moment you get on the purple WOW Air airbus A330-300 to Iceland, it’s apparent that the Reykjavik based company is selling you an experience.  The cabin lights shift from green, to blue, then yellow, mimicking the northern lights that are common in northern countries. The flight attendants are dressed in cardigans and skirts, intensely purple from top to bottom. The pocket in front of you has maps and magazines talking about different Icelandic excursions and destinations, listed with times, costs, and duration.

(www.airplane-pictures.net)

The Blue Lagoon tour is among the most popular and is a geothermal spa on a lava bed. Its website invites us to “experience the wonder” of it’s beauty and vastness. On the golden circle tour, guests are reminded that Iceland is tectonically active, with geysers that erupt several times an hour, a volcano crater, and Thingvellir national park, a long rift where the tectonic plates of North America and Europe meet. On the Into the Glacier tour, one can go by snowmobile or ice vehicle to the ice caves that have been hollowed out at the centre of Icelandic glaciers.

 

(www.bluelagoon.is)

 

On the Into the Volcano tour, guests are lowered into the centre of a volcano that erupted 4000 years ago. Both are considered “extremely family friendly”, with only the most basic winter gear required for full enjoyment (and a camera, for those “indescribable” moments!). The tour bus and the extreme looking all terrain vehicles are equipped with full WiFi and USB charging ports, with comfort being a top priority. Behind these experiences is a perceived danger, presenting the landscape as powerful, rugged, and awesome. Iceland has a reputation for being a beautiful place, but I believe that this description of Iceland is miscategorized, as the primary draw to the Icelandic landscape is sublime.

Edmund Burke (1729-1797) published A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Beautiful and the Sublime. (1757) Burke argues that the sublime and the beautiful are often considered to be opposite ends of a spectrum but are in fact unalike. He defines both as stemming from passions. Beauty stems from our passion of love, as we find beautiful qualities in flowers, in human bodies, and in pleasing landscapes. Things that are beautiful are often smooth, delicate, and pleasant. The sublime stems from our passions of fear, dealing with the rugged, the unexplored, and the dangerous. Sublime characteristics are found in vastness, infinity, and magnificence. The sublime instils awe by reminding the viewer of an imminent danger and the finality of death, without an actual present danger.

(Wikimedia Corp)

             In Reykjavik, I made a friend who later added me to Facebook. She was a lawyer working in the United States and was kind enough to offer me drives to different places in the mornings. She had rented a four-wheeled vehicle to travel on Iceland’s most extreme roads, which allows one to see the most rugged parts of the land. Her posts come across my Facebook feed and present a slew of hashtags, such as #detox #bliss #serenity #bucketlist #wanderlust. The term wanderlust is seen in psychology as the desire for development by experiencing the unknown and confronting the unforeseen. The images presented with these hashtags include vast landscapes and pictures by roaring waterfalls and rocky cliffs. Google, Facebook, and Twitter searches present many more photographs like this, with various travellers presenting themselves near similar Icelandic staples. These sentiments are echoed in both online and print advertisements, such as the ones available in the seat pocket of the big, purple WOW Air Airbus 330-300.

(www.icelandreview.com)

Beauty seems to be only a small consideration of the tourist gaze on Iceland. It appears that those who travel here are far more concerned with an experience, something that transcends imaginations rather than pleases eyes. The concerns here are undoubtedly sublime, placing the visitor face to face with the awesome and harsh realities of natural forces.

We had parallel knitting workshops at the Icelandic Textile Residency  for beginners — some of our crew had never before held knitting needles — and those who were a little more advanced. Such fun and BIG thanks to Jóhanna Erla Pálmadóttir and Gudrun Hannele Henttinen  for their knowledge, patience and good humour!

 

It took a few days for me to settle in and realize that it was indeed a textile residency that I had signed up for. On one level I knew that this wonderful field school opportunity would mean a month of working with fibers… but I don’t think that my hands knew and understood what they were getting into. Three days in, after spinning wool and weaving tapestry in workshops, I found that I could not let myself sleep until I was finished the small tapestry I had started earlier that day. My hands just wouldn’t stop and not only that, but some nearly manic compulsion had awoken in me to Produce!

“Produce! One more row! Keep at it! One small step at a time!!” said my inner voice beating the drum in my ear.

The midnight sun did not help to calm this drive. Our studio at the Textílsetur has windows all along the western facing wall and we are so fortunate to be able to watch the sun setting over the sea as we craft. Those of us who caught the weaving bug worked into the night as the setting sun gradually filled the studio with an orange glow.

It was then that I finally realized (and relaxed into it). At last, here in Blönduós for the month of June, I had time to craft. A passion for fibres that has literally been stuffed into closets and put away because there is simply not time for quilting and tailoring in the busy school year, finally taken off the back burner and set to boil.

Fibre art is a time-based labour. One stitch at a time amounts to many. The slow growth can be addictive. All it takes is time. Just give your time.

 

Many days of labor are contained within one sweater, especially if we consider all of the steps required to transform wool off the back of a sheep into a fine yarn for knitting. There is an artist here in residence that is doing exactly that. Deborah Gray (deborah.gray7 on instagram) is cleaning, carting, dying and spinning the wool, everything short of shearing the sheep herself. And perhaps now this work is considered extraordinary, especially since a short walk to the grocery store would allow her to purchase all the yarn she needed, in whatever colour, in whatever thickness. What is now a unique and perhaps meditative hobby, used to be an essential skill. “It was for subsistence. If you wanted to be clothed, if you wanted rope or fabric for your sails, you needed to know how to work with fibres and you put in the time.” she says.

Industrialization has surely sped up the processing of fibres as well as removed the obligation of holding fibre skill and knowledge in our hands. But in our choosing, if we find a rhythm with wool and wheel, a spinning wheel can be a time machine. A warp and weft can arouse a body memory older than the bones in our hand and an age-old craft can be followed back on a thread many generations. But it takes time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While attending knitting festival in Blönduós last weekend, I was intrigued by the colourful leather I saw, which I believed to be snake skin. Later on, I spoke to Hjördís Þorfinnsdottir who made some colourful buttons from the leather and I found out the material was actually salmon skin. She showed me how to make a button from salmon skin step by step.

After that, we conversed and she informed me about a tannery centre in Sauðárkrókur, about 40 minutes bus ride from Blönduós, where she bought all the salmon skin displayed at the festival. After the festival ended, I decided to go to the only tannery visitor centre in Iceland, Gestastofa Sútarans in Sauðárkrókur with some Concordia students and Deborah, a residency artist/teacher from Scotland.

At the Gestastofa Sutarans, we were greeted by Marianna Margeirsdottir. She gave us a tour where the fish tanning process took place at the back of the visitor centre shop.  It is also a place where staff and workers process the skin of lamb, horse and sometimes seal and other skin, according to the customers’ order.

The tanning process for fish skin takes about a month, because every fish is different – different texture, oil content, etc. The fish skin that the Gestastofa Sutarans use are wolffish, perch, salmon and cod. None of these fish are on the endangered species list.

The fish skins are purchased from commercial fisheries and shipped in boxes. The combination of chemicals are used to remove all the fish oils so that there is no fish odor anymore. Through a month chemical and mechanical process, the skins are churned, soaked, fleshed, vacuum dried and dyed. The special tanning treatment prevents the fish leather from becoming stiff, once all the oil from the skin is taken out. Unfortunately, we could not see the earlier processes of tanning the skin. The following pictures are half of the processes of fish tanning that Marianna had shown us.

The fashion world is in constant flux, always changing and innovating. Within the last couple of decades, one of the most exciting trends to have emerged is the use of fish skin as leather. Fish produce a variety of textures from the vast amount of species, which has astounded leather specialists around the world.

Working with demonstrations from master weaver and teacher Ragnheiður Björk Þórsdóttir (centre), Concordia University students learn tapestry weaving at the Icelandic Textile Center. This was just the beginning of creative adventures to come!

Sitting in the fantastic weaving studio at the Textílsetur Íslands in Blönduós, enjoying the vast panoramic view of Northwestern Iceland, I think about the wilderness, the roughness and the isolation of this small town.

I start to wonder about times before the roads and modern heating systems. The times where there was no road no. 1 connecting the north to the south and the villages to towns. How did the first settlers of Iceland adapt to the fresh, blowing wind that is still so chilly, even in mid-june?

Jóhanna Pálmadóttir farm, Icelandic sheep, Photo: Ryth Kesselring 2018

Looking at the scenic seaside my thoughts start wandering and I imagine myself here in a different century. Even if I know that Blönduós was founded during the 19th century, I imagine myself here at the times of the Vikings, arriving after an epic journey on the cold and rough Norwegian sea somewhere between the 9th to the 11th century. Trying to adapt to the isolated cold winter season on an Island surrounded by ice and and snow.

Weaving studio at Textílsetur Íslands, Photo: Ryth Kesselring 2018

Looking at the old-fashioned floor looms around me, I am imagining the weavers of the past creating soft and warm fabrics out of wool to keep their loved ones warm. The very same wool I have been learning to tame since the day I arrived in Iceland. The wool that seems to contain the beautiful wilderness of this Nordic country, and that materializes the rawness of its surroundings. The wool that comes from the northern Europe short tail sheep, brought by the Vikings from Norway and isolated on this island so that it became one of the purest breeds of sheep in the world. The wool that I am learning to spin, that I have dyed with different Icelandic plants and that will be my chosen material for this month of artistic research and exploration.

Continue reading “Epic Wool”

As Jóhanna Pálmadóttir, director of the Textílsetur, drove us to her sheep farm, she told us about the fishers who rent out her lake. When we asked if she gets some fish from the lake as well, she jokingly added, “there is no darkness here, so I can’t go in the night and steal the fish when they aren’t looking”. Although this was a jest, it did get me thinking about our relationship with the dark. Night is the time for loud parties, movie nights, and theatre. As a puppeteer and performer, I quickly became interested in the interpersonal relationship one has to the sun and its patterns. How does living half of the year in sunlight and the other in darkness affect people’s lives?

A quick chat with a Blönduós local in the hot pools on Friday evening gave me some insight. He told me that kids were often taught about bedtimes with blackout screens in their rooms, and bedtime/rules changed depending on the family. This seems to hint at the necessity of a sort of separation between the internal habits and the external world.

That being said, some research on blogs documenting human experiences living in 24-hour-sunlight has also revealed the amazing flexibility of humans to adapt to their environment.  Trausti Thor Johannsson, an Icelander living in Scandinavia, wrote that the light and dark of the summer and winter months never bothered him growing up since it was all he had ever known. It was only later on when he had moved away and would return to visit that he felt some negative consequences during the dark winter months such as grogginess and irritability[1].

Since arriving in Iceland, I have had many different emotions in response to the brightness outside my window. I’ve woken from a nap and even though I had slept three hours, the sun would make it feel as if no time had passed. It can be disruptive for certain activities, like watching a movie on a computer screen. It has also proven a new challenge in designing a puppetry show, as the focus light needed in theatre is very difficult to achieve.

On the other hand, the midnight sun can be extremely liberating. Morning walks can be taken at any time during the day or night. Yoga on the lawn is equally possible at 9 am or 12 am. Suddenly, the patterns and habits I make aren’t connected to the sun going down.

As an anonymous Northerner wrote humorously on the blog mentioned above, “If you are out on a sunny evening, you tend to forget time, and you end up coming back from a hike at 3am. or 6am. Who cares. As for meals, who cares if it is breakfast or dinner. Or 2nd dinner.”[2]

There is definitely a balance that needs to be achieved when living in 24-hour sunlight. It has wreaked havoc on my sleep schedule. Many of our group commented on how the sunlight has altered their internal clocks during our class. Dave mentioned, “Everyone I’ve talked to is having some weird experience with sleep”. It does become necessary to regulate your habits and activities regardless of what the sun is doing, oftentimes leading to the external and internal being extremely separate. There we are, tucking ourselves in for a goodnight’s sleep while the birds chirp loudly as if it was already 6am.

This can also be true with emotions and feelings. During our class yesterday, Kathleen spoke of the 24-hour-sunlight stating, “You really notice what is going on inside of you…if I’m feeling anxious it’s not an external cause, but something going on in my own mind”.

I wrote a poem about this experience of 24-hour-sunlight; the separation between internal emotions and habits and the outside world.

Light/Dark

written on June 12, 2018

Without dark there is no you
only seas of blue
blue being what my eye lets in
when it lets in everything

without dark there is no day
no way to take the pain away
it cycles in and out like waves
a painful memory

without day there is no dawn
no way to justify a yawn
no up, no down, its all around
the birds just stay awake

without change the sky just makes
the colours of a mood
it’s sometimes bright, it’s mostly light
it’s occasionally rude

it ebbs and flows as the ocean goes,
it’s rough, it rows
it moves and throws
it can throw me all around
but without dark
there’s no way to mark
I’ve even hit the ground
without day there is no way
the birds can make a sound

and so it goes, it spins and throws,
everything to keep me on my toes
and no one know where the dark goes
until it shows its face
perhaps it grows straight from my woes
the darkness out of place

 

[1] https://www.quora.com/What-is-it-like-to-live-in-places-with-24-hours-of-full-daylight-or-darkness-How-is-life-affected-due-to-these-extremities-Is-there-visible-impact-on-business-governance-and-essential-activities

[2] ibid.