#thatwhichispastthatwhichisnow

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The last morning in Reykjavík, before my flight back.

I cannot say how wonderful Iceland was, for my work in this time and also the stark beauty of the land. It really solidified my pull towards nature. I grew up in the forest, yet have spent much of my twenties in big cities, mainly Oakland and Los Angeles. My heart yearns for bare feet in the grass, the smell after a heavy rain, sunlight through the trees. Iceland is a community that is based on the land. The ability to exist in such a culture that is well-educated, yet set so apart from the consumerist world allowed me to return to my own grounding. I return to a big city, to the rat race, and the essential marketing of myself and craft to just prove that I can exist as part of society. I wonder if it is not where I will make my best work. However, not only can I revisit moments of solitude and beauty from this trip, but I understand my own self more, in traveling there, and will bring that with me and to my work wherever I can provide a space for it and myself.

That which is past, that which is now had it’s struggles and failures, as well as discoveries and success. I am now an internationally showing artist. Thank you to all who supported me through this journey, as well as all the many simultaneous journeys I often find myself on. I cannot adequately express my gratitude for this life and all the people who have become a part of it. But I can say that I am grateful for this ever expanding and encompassing heart, of which Iceland has opened up even more with love for myself, mother nature and all it’s creatures.

As to my work, I am so excited to paint and paint and paint, and create a visual story relating my experiences of Iceland. First, I must relocate my art studio in Los Angeles, find a stable job, and move back into my apartment. I can’t get that job done fast enough. I assure you good things will come. Everyone who supported this and followed along has gifted me with the ability to make these dreams come true. Thank you, to the moon and back. Icelanders aren’t ones for proverbs but I will end with two: Kemst þó hægt fari. You will reach your destination even though you travel slowly.( We rode slow, but we ride sure.) and Sá vinnur sitt mál, sem þráastur er. He who is most stubborn will win.(God is with those who persevere; Persevere and never fear.)

And keep posted, I think I’m going to keep this blog going with more film and adventures.

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Líst i Ljosí

was a very successful festival. The whole town came out, and all the artists had many companions with them as well. The event was curated by Celia Harrison, an installation artist and creative director from New Zealand, and Sesselja Jónasardóttir, a designer and production manager from Iceland. The two worked extremely well together, and the program was run very smoothly, along with the help of the Heima Residency and students from The Lunga School. I appreciated every correspondence leading up to the event being both supportive and professional, much like a partnership. Which is what international events like this are often meant to dictate - creative partnerships worldwide. 

Most of the artists arrived Thursday night. We had dinners catered at Skaftfell bistro and Hotel Aldan. I met a woman from Denmark who told me a few stories of her journey to being a self-supporting artist. She had an illustrative video installation, with stories from abandoned Icelandic farms. My friend from home joined me in my room, as well as two other artists coming from the next month at Fjúk. Nataliya, a Canadian electronic artist had a small light and sound piece about fireflies.

Friday the more intense installations began preparations before a number of events happened in the evening. Most had to do around the community, but after dinner we all walked out to the old fish factory to see a sound installation by a young artist. I met another artist from Singapore who was very excited to geek out about coding. He also reminded me about the secret spy number stations that are still broadcasting. I was a bit dragged to the local bar, but it was karaoke night, and international karaoke is the only way to go. I had a great conversation I don’t remember with a French artist, and I danced with some darling birds with beautiful voices. The locals finally joined us at 1:30 and at 4am the bar closed it’s doors on us. 

Saturday was the day of install, and a beautiful sunny day it started out as. As with a singular outdoor festival, time is of the essence. For my piece, I think I failed in the presentation of it. It’s a quiet piece, meant for a secluded space but also one to interact with. I chose to do it out in the open, because I liked it existing in a vast expanse, but it became too busy, as well as attention to the structure supporting it was not in it’s favor. Lessons for next time. Most enjoyed my piece, lots didn’t get it, but I wouldn’t either without the explanation of the process.

I think my favorite of the festival was a good friend I made in Marco Barotti. His piece Swans, consisted of floated speakers in the shape of the bird. The recorded sound came from a piece he asked various brass instrumentalists to improv. The score was written in emotions. The last one, death, all musicians started breathing into their instruments. This segment he used to emit in these swan speakers, sometimes making ripples in the water, sometimes soft. The festival was curated with many, many different projects. Some were amazingly savvy with image mapping, some were very radical and experimental, and others were still pushing their explorations into visual completion. 

We deinstalled at midnight as the snow came in. An Icelandic singer-songwriter gave us a sleepy concert in the church, and then an after party was held at the hotel for us artists. I connected mostly with a London-based Icelandic producer, and we had a great talk with a younger Swiss-American artist from the Lunga school. Berlin-based Marco met up with us and we hopped around to the hotel lounge and the hostel kitchen speaking about all kinds of life lessons. It was a proper moment to say “I felt young again,” but truly the experience of meeting new people and really having poignant talks and establishing great friendships in a matter of a few hours just doesn’t happen every week like it used to do during my travels in my early twenties. When I returned to my room, exhausted and happy, I found the other two artists dressing to get on the road in the early morning. C'est la Vie

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That Which is Past, That Which is Now, 2016. Wool, cotton, sea moss, sea bone, electronics. The final weaving and presentation exhibited as part of Líst i ljósi festival celebrating the annual rise of the sun over the mountains surrounding the town of Seyðisfjörður. The festival was held at night allowing 80 independently programmed LED’s to be the main focus. People crowded around, touching the wool and moss, some understanding the meditative aspect of the piece, and some passing by. 

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Texture

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That Which is Past, That Which is Now pt IV.

The last motion of this process piece is the weaving of the textiles together. I have stripped cotton, my scars and my dreams written across, then faded from the ocean. I have raw wool, dyed dark. Raw wool dyed dark and then bleached light. Wool dyed, bleached, and dyed again. And finally, wool dyed, bleached, dyed, and then washed. Over and over and over again are these cycles; the same, yet always new. The light in Iceland changed from 4 hours of daylight, to almost 8 during the month of this process. This piece explored death as a change, as a new beginning, rather than an end. It explored the cyclical patterns of change throughout our self, as with nature. The piece is not yet finished in this state, yet, but the process is complete. 

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Feb. 8, 2016. Bakerí, Húsavík.

I have completed the performance part of the work. The documentation was not as complete as I had hoped but I must make due. I’m glad I opted to do it in solitude, rather than with an audience. Thank God for Keegan reminding me to be malleable, and that discovery comes with change, and that I listened. I was worried that I was leaning towards no live performance because I was scared, and I was really looking forwards to pushing myself and work into the realm of performance, but this piece just didn’t call for it. I incorporated performative aspects, and I think this same motion could work very well for an interesting performance art piece. But, this specific piece is about the process, and I was able to continue to explore, discover, and work things out during the work as it was a video performance, more or less. 

I feel a huge breath of release, the material looks amazing - very raw and animal like. As well as a little panic that always occurs right before a deadline. No major troubleshooting or problems have arose yet, so I’m almost waiting for that surprise. How can a work go so smoothly? What’s wrong with it?

It has been hard as the other artists aren’t really interested in exploring theory or talking about each other’s work. It’s felt a bit difficult to get inspired and odd to do work in an open studio with little discourse. That’s part of the discovery, of really delving into ideas and thinking in new ways about them, it’s what I’m missing in Los Angeles. Or perhaps it’s just after art school, paying rent consumes life moreso than contemplating art theory, hence the purpose of the a residency. 

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Jan 26. 4:17pm, Bakerí

As I read my fathers college journal I realize how like him I am. I never knew how apart he felt, how ostracized by his family, how he doesn’t seem to really connect or fit in with most and how he didn’t know whats truth or reality or if it’s all the same. I realize he mentally overcame intense despair. I understand his lack of love in his childhood made him not understand what a good relationship is. I am grateful for the love and emotional support my family was able to give me my entire life. 

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That Which is Past, That Which is Now, pt III

Motion 4 of part III - performance/transformation. I repeated the gestures of motions two and three. I took textile that had already been dyed and bleach, and I dyed again. Some, I bleached again. I took more untouched roving, bleaching, dying, and repeating. This signifies the cycles we go through, mimicking the cycles of nature, of light and dark, of life and death, of creation and destruction in everything. 

I let the water collect on the floor in puddles, I walked through them, I kneeled in saturated water. I tore the roving, I rung it out, I hung it up, I pulled and tugged, and placed, and moved. It was quiet, still, and the water moved slowly out of the wool. The textures were interesting, and the material dried twice it’s size.