Reykjavík Grapevine - 21.06.2013, Blaðsíða 32

family know you’re going, but you’re
still very far away from everyone and
everything—for the duration of the
trip you are only really close to the
people directly involved.
When you return, you are some-
how changed because of what you
experienced on the expedition. I
think any big project is like this, es-
pecially one that spans such a long
time and demands such energy to
accomplish; it renders you a little bit
different. At the end of the expedi-
tion, you come out a slightly differ-
ent person than you went into it.
It’s a journey creatively. You start
with a certain premise, a question, a
set destination. On your way to the
answer, new questions arise that
you try to address in the piece. Ul-
timately, there is a point where you
think, “well, I suppose I’m going to
have to address this question in my
next work.” And that sets the course
for the future.
Problem solving
We have a tendency to envision
thinking as a sort of problem
solving activity. When you picture
a person deep in thought you
usually imagine them facing
some sort of conundrum or
dilemma—pondering the answer
to a difficult question. Does this
transfer to your creative thought?
When you sit down with your
sketchbook, do you conceive of a
problem to address?
For me, the creative process is a dia-
logue between me, the artist, and a
given material—a given idea, space
or situation. Rather than precon-
ceiving a problem or a question, my
process is often that of resolving, ar-
ticulating or examining further some
phenomena, idea or dimension that I
am drawn to. Sometimes this means
that I identify a question to set the
parameters I am working within
and then commence the ‘answering
of the question’ or ‘solving of the
problem.’ It’s a simple structure for
thinking that sometimes is useful to
work within. This method of working
usually leads to more questions, to
be further explored, and this cyclical
process repeats itself.
I can imagine that my work some-
times seems very technical. For me,
material and technique are not tools,
they are part of the language itself.
Say I am working with a certain ma-
terial and gain a positive outcome.
But I see that there is some aspect
of the material that I could continue
to perfect, some quality that I didn’t
know of when I started, something
that is only revealed through the
process of work. It’s this same cycli-
cal process.
In this way I pass through topics
and materials. And then the pas-
sage usually brings me to new top-
ics to explore, new materials. New
questions.
The emotion and
poetry of science
Based in this, it seems fair to say
that you approach your work
in a scientific or research based
manner. If your work follows
the model of scientific enquiry,
and that you conduct your
creative process discursively, as
a scientist would, one must ask:
is there a main, fundamental
question or proposition that you
are investigating?

When I give a quick introduction to
my work, the ‘Cliff’s Notes,’ I usu-
ally say that I deal with place and
memory, and that place is often
manifested through the language
of architecture, through various
forms of landscape visualisation
and through cartography.
This means that I use a language
that has a technical, a sort of anti-
emotional alphabet, to describe
something that is maybe the quite
the opposite, that essentially was
never meant to be described in such
a language. It could be likened to
the process of writing poetry using
the Periodic Table of the Elements.
A contemporary
predicament
In your own words, how
would you describe what
you’re showing?
I’m showing a very large, bi-di-
mensional architectural element.
In many ways, the whole of it deals
with archaeology, with the memory
of two buildings—one fictional, one
pre-existing— and this memory is
suggested and symbolised through
the installation.
There are so many different
ways of talking about this piece.
Right now, I’m inclined to say that
it’s about different ways of account-
ing for architecture and this sort of
double perception, where you have
different strands of memory inter-
weaving in the same place. I think a
complex and sometimes conflicting
spatial perception is something of a
contemporary predicament, some-
thing we experience all the time,
because even without ever setting
foot on an archaeological site, we
are still always happening upon
ruins or evidence of one structure
within another, one time or place
within another. This can be exter-
nally evident, but just as often it's
just a type of mnemonic overlay that
gets projected in our mind’s vision.
This piece relates to previous
works of mine that deal with the
idea of the ruin, The Unbuilt series
that I’ve worked on since 2004, and
then this more recent series that’s
based on Langahlíð 11, Reykjavík,
my childhood home.
Does showing at the
Venice Biennale have a special
significance for you? Is it some-
thing an artist strives for? And
does this reflect in the work
you present?
Of course it has a significance. This
is the first and probably only time
I am officially a representative of
Iceland, and I am naturally very
thankful for that, and very proud.
It’s not a goal you set out to attain,
though—you don’t make showing
at the Biennale an objective to work
towards. And there’s no clear way
to reach it... through time, you’re
perhaps found worthy... That’s all.
If this project differs from oth-
ers, it is simply because it marks the
only time I will officially represent
Iceland in such a forum. Of course,
I always see myself as represent-
ing Iceland in a way, wherever I’m
showing. It is the country where
I was born and raised, a society
which I am still part of; an artistic
community that I continue to en-
gage with.
Would you say that being
officially decreed a Represen-
tative Of Iceland affects the
context of the work presented?
Being appointed by the ad-
ministrative body of Icelandic
arts, under the banner: “this is
who we are now, this is who
we’d like to speak for us...” That
must entail some pressure...
I really don’t think so. I’ve never
seen it that I’m supposed to go
about my work in a different way
for this project than any other—
and simply, I would never do that.
The context is slightly different,
as I am in a different place in my
development as an artist than I was
one year ago or ten years ago; the
floor plan is different, the budget
is different, everything is different
in the way that each new project
is different from all the previous
ones. But the mandate is my own,
the work itself, not set by the com-
missioning body. And I believe I
am commissioned exactly to do
this: to make my work the way I
always have, and not to illustrate
some preconceived notion of what
is Icelandic.
I don’t believe that “national
identity” constitutes an essential
32The Reykjavík Grapevine Issue 8 — 2013
3 m/s - electricity generation begins 15 m/s 28 m/s 34 m/s - turbine shutdownOptimal conditions for electricity generation
Into the wind
Visitors are welcome to the interactive exhibition on renewable
energy at Búrfell hydropower station, a 90 minute drive from
Reykjavik. North of the station you will find Landsvirkjun’s
first wind turbines, part of our research into the possibilities
of wind farming in Iceland.
Landsvirkjun is the National Power Company of Iceland.
Open daily, June-August, 10 am to 5 pm:
Búrfell Hydro Power Station
Interactive exhibition on renewable energy
Fljótsdalur Hydro Power Station
Végardur Visitor Centre
Krafla Geothermal Station
Visitor Centre
More info and route instructions at
www.landsvirkjun.com/visitus
Art
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