Nes Artist Residency - Skagaströnd, Iceland.
Over the past year working in
the props industry I have often pondered with fellow workers over the
mass of supportive non-objects that get made and used. By non-objects, I
mean the all the things that get used to aid us in producing the art
work/prop/product, whether its handmade or shop bought.
Endless
jigs, trestles, make shift working booths, formers, tables, racks,
trays, clamps, straps, strops, ropes…. the list goes on and on.
All
of these objects are imperative to the production of the final work,
but hold little or no value. They are the understated, sometimes
unrecognisable, manifestation of process. The energy lies in their form
to help us create.
Since arriving in Iceland I have noticed how
important support structures are in a land where the weather is so
volatile. There are endless triangles. The shape of strength. Its in the
architecture, in the fences, on the roads… Initially I thought perhaps
there was something more to this than its structural qualities, but
after some research, other than a possible tenuous link to the fishing
industry, it is solely for its resistance to the weather.
Iceland
has a mere 320,000 people living in it. The population of Edinburgh, in a
country the size of England means community is essential and strong.
Its no joke when they say Iceland is a country governed by its weather
with one main circular road with gravel tracks as b roads, no motorways
and no trains. The countries meteorological website is practically a
religion. It seems only fitting to begin this body of work in a place
where the role of the ‘support’ is so vivid.
Day one
I sat on the verge of panic
as the silence wrapped itself around my chest.
This is what I’ve been primed for,
with that Suffolk root
but nothing could prepare me for the muted,
thick timelessness of northern Iceland.
The sky changed its colours as quickly as a newborn breaths.
Read more at https://voidbeforecreation-blog.tumblr.com
slinking around me,
seeping in like a narcotic.
Inky tones and fifty types of snow,
joined unceremoniously in a dance with the wind.
My every move dictated in the breath of this isle.
Thank goodness for snow boots.