Reykjavík Grapevine - 29.07.2011, Síða 30

30
The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 11 — 2011
This July 10 to 17 marked the
11-year anniversary of the
LungA young artists’ festi-
val in the far-eastern town
of Seyðisfjörður. Following a
weeklong workshop process
in visual and performance
art—hosted by some of this
country’s leading artists—
the festival culminated in a
weekend of art openings,
performances and concerts.
We sent our two youngest
(and brightest) journalists to
report on their experiences
at the blowout celebration.

FRIDAY
12:00 We follow the one winding
road that zigzags over the Fjarðarhe-
iði mountain pass. Meandering onto a
downward slope where the small town
sits cradled like a pearl in the clasp of
a clam. Narrow tumbling waterfalls ap-
pearing in chorus as the matted black
rocks caress the water’s base, like
burnt embers embracing a fire. The fog
hovers just above my line of sight. We
have finally reached Seyðisfjörður. ML
18:00 The festival has rounded up a
collection of houses throughout the
town, provided to official participants
in LungA. The house allocated to us
is a tan, modest home, nestled about
a three-minute walk from the main
festivities. The living room—with its
autumn coloured floral rugs and uphol-
stered club chairs—has the feeling of a
cosy 1960’s artists’ hangout. A handful
of musicians including members from
Jón Þór and Muted, are staying in the
house as well. Bjarni Rafn Kjartansson
(of Muted), who was one of the last to
arrive, commented: “when I first walked
in, I thought you guys were all close
friends.” Though most of us had just
met, after only a few hours of lounging
and conversing the feeling of cama-
raderie was unavoidable. The premise
was buzzing with friendly faces, like a
dorm building on the first day of col-
lege. ML
22:30 At Herðubreið community cen-
tre in the heart of town, Árni Sveins-
son’s documentary, Backyard, is
screened. There is not an empty seat
in the theatre, and the audience is ef-
fusive, roistering after each musical in-
terlude. The pacing of the film matches
the stamina of the audience—which
is to say, the spirit of the festival—and
immediately the air takes on the jovial,
furry feel of life in the wake of one’s first
beer. It was as though the temperament
of LungA—and the anticipation for the
nights to come—had been distilled into
70 homemade minutes. VÞ
23:45 I ask a boy from Akureyri what
he thought of the movie. “Reykjavík
hipsters,” he says, “act like everything
is so effortless. Like, ‘oh, I have a cold,
but I’m just going to perform this con-
cert anyway!’” I’m not sure what the
problem is. Isn’t feigning effortlessness
what being a hipster is all about? VÞ
00:00 The police car yields as I amble
across the street, sipping on a plastic
glass of wine. I lift the glass upward as I
pass—as if to brazenly indicate, ‘cheers,
officer.’ He raises his hand in turn, as if
to say, ‘cheers, young, drunk person.’ VÞ
01:00 A party in a neat, spacious house
at the top of the hill. With a view over the
inlet, and the community centre below,
where four Danish DJs—advertised as
“foreign”—are holding court. A member
of the lucky band awarded with this, the
homeliest of donated accommodations,
describes the town’s charm in terms of
its abundance of waterfalls: “The hills,”
he says, “are lactating.” VÞ
SATURDAY
13:00 Heading towards the main street
along the inlet, I can see and hear the
improv workshop group running in a
chaotic huddle, dressed in matching
white T-shirts. “Generosity!” they shout
in chorus as they cross the street sud-
denly, causing cars to stop and pedes-
trians to shuffle to get out of their way.
Björn Thors, the group’s instructor, fol-
lows from a distance with a notebook
in one hand, his son in the other. Two
young boys on bicycles also watch from
a distance, not interfering, perhaps
used to it. VÞ
14:00 Instead of the yellow brick road
we are commanded to follow the yel-
low helium balloons, but the journey
is equally magical. Everything comes
together in the form of a vintage glass
bottle, to which a string is tied to har-
ness the balloon’s freedom. Stepping
into Rakel Gunnarsdóttir’s exhibit feels
like a porthole into her personal nostal-
gia. Girlish extremities, from pink glitter
and Hello Kitty, to painted women with
flowers, decorate each installation. Her
portrayal of memories preserved in
the form of a Ziploc baggie, denote a
decaying of innocence, with a tinge of
exaggeration. ML
16:00 The musical portion of the festi-
val has just begun. The first musician is
our laidback comrade and housemate,
Muted. He performs his equally relaxed
DJ set created on his Macintosh laptop,
featuring down-tempo electro lounge
good for head bobbing and cigarette
smoking. The loitering crowd, though
hung-over from the previous night,
seems to slowly be crawling out from
their dwellings, music over the PA sys-
tem serving as their alarm clock. ML
17:00 Sardine sauna, layered with hip-
sters. Through the windows of the pool
I can hear Klive begin to play. Outside in
the concert area, people pass through:
in and out, stopping in the grass to
drink a beer, off again to prep for din-
ner. VÞ
17:30 At Samkaup to buy a single-shot
grill because my brother won’t lend me
the one he and his friends are using;
Young Hearts
LungA turns eleven
Words
Valgerður Þóroddsdóttir &
Melkorka Licea
Photography
Alisa Kalyanova
The LungA celebration is an art festival for young adults, in the
remote village of Seyðisfjörður, pop. 700.