Reykjavík Grapevine - 11.02.2005, Page 31

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More Money than
You’ll Ever See Again
I am standing outside the Art Museum of Akureyri along with
the curator. The northern wind is blowing gently but, being the
northern wind and this being just below the Artic Circle, even a
gentle breeze makes its presence felt. The curator rings the doorbell,
but no one seems to answer. The museum security, due to arrive
at 12, is not here yet, so we withdraw to the warm locales of Cafe
Karólína and wait for their arrival.
OUTSIDE REYKJAVÍK
The reason for the curator being
stripped of her powers to open
museum doors is not due to a
demotion on her part, but rather to
the fact that inside are considerable
valuables. The valuables are neither
portraits of halfsmiling Italian
chicks, screaming Norwegians or
marble statues of Michael Jackson
and Bubbles, but 100 hundred
million krónur in cold, hard cash.
Warriors of the Wallet
The cash is part of an exhibition
called Warriors of the Heart by
Iranian-born American artist Ashkan
Sahih, and bears the subtitle “100
Million in Ready Cash and Tibetan
Chanting.” If nothing else, it lives up
to its name. The cash is kept in glass
display cases in various amounts, in
total adding up to the titular round
figure. The chanting is a playback
tape, and there is also plate with
incense on the floor.
But that is not all there is to it. As
the curator goes off to curate, I am
left alone in one of the two rooms
constituting the exhibition. But not
for long. Sigurður, one of the two
security guards, comes in unarmed,
but with a disarming smile, and
offers me a guided tour. Who am I
to refuse?
He tells me that he has guarded
both banks and museums before, but
this is one of the tightest operations
he’s ever run. In fact, most banks
don’t have as much money in their
vaults as there is here. As he points
out, with all the plastic going round
these days, it’s rare for huge sums
of cash money to be kept in any
one place at any one time. Some of
it was lent by the Central Bank of
Iceland, but not all of it. As yet, they
haven’t disclosed where the rest of
the dough came from. Some of it is
freshly printed, but quite a few of the
batches are in unmarked bills. This,
surely, makes the temptation all the
greater.
Money is more tempting than art
“It is more tempting to steal piles
of money than works of art which
it would be hard to resell,” says
Sigurður, “but Akureyri is one of the
few places where you could have an
exhibition like this. Everyone knows
everyone, and it’s hard to disappear
into the crowd. Down south, they
have more people, and more drug
problems.” Down south is what
Akureyrians tend to call Reykvikians.
Drugs are in fact another part
of the exhibition. On the wall,
pictures of persons in various states
of intoxication stare with varying
degrees of lucidity at the loot. These
are not your usual collection of
creatures of the night, but normal
people (whatever that means) on
their first high. “None of them got
addicted,” Sigurður explains, “it was
all regulated by doctors.”

Who is to judge?
There is one more room, hidden
behind curtains, and easily missed
by guests not enjoying the expert
guidance of Sigurður. Inside is a row
of hospital beds. “No matter how
much money we have, some things
are unavoidable for everyone, such
as death,” Sigurður says. In a small
room leading in from the beds is
another, with a wheelchair and a
television showing a program about
how to paint. Money withers, life
withers, perhaps art is the only thing
that’s truly eternal.
All the works in the exhibition
are for sale. The price for a batch
of money is the displayed amount
plus 25%. The case is included.
But is money on display a work of
art? Is it a satirical comment on our
obsessions, a postmodern take on the
real values in the art world or simply
a shortcut to selling out? “Whether
this is art or not is not for us to
decide,” says Sigurður. We leave
that, dear reader, to you.
by Valur Gunnarsson
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