Reykjavík Grapevine - feb. 2021, Blaðsíða 8

8 The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 02— 2021
THE PRESENT IS OVER:
The next generation of
Icelandic artists is creating a
new world Words: Hannah Jane Cohen
Photos of artists: Art Bicnick
When talking to Björn Loki Björnsson
and Elsa Jónsdóttir of art collective Krot
& Krass, you’ll find they focus almost
exclusively on the positive. Both are
unflinchingly uplifting, rejoicing in the
silver linings of 2020—the most promi-
nent being the regrowth of the Icelandic
art scene.
“It’s good now in Reykjavík. My friends
in the creative industry—many have
gotten studios. Housing is freeing up.
That’s super positive for us,” Elsa says. “A
year and a half ago, everybody was having
problems with studios.”
Loki nods. “People were thinking
about moving to Athens or abroad to
cheaper places, but a lot of people are
coming back now,” he interjects, smiling.
“That’s very nice.”
For the duo, the pandemic offered
a moment of renewal. Known for their
work exploring typography and the
deeper meaning of words and written
language, they were now given space to
dive into new hobbies and projects. They
painted their van, which they have lived
in on their travels and spent time explor-
ing more eclectic interests, from sing-
ing with a few close friends to analysing
handwriting.
Old meets new
But the biggest change the pandemic
brought about for the duo was a new
studio space—a large warehouse in
Gufunes called FÚSK, which they’ve been
renovating for the past six months. You
could say it’s their own personal contri-
bution to the aforementioned revitalisa-
tion of the Icelandic arts scene—and it’s
a big one.
“It used to be a fertiliser factory,”
Elsa explains. “Yes, it’s a big space.
1,200 square meters with seven
meter ceilings,” Loki adds. The pair
envisions it having not only studios
but also a gallery space, offices and
maybe even a music venue—eventu-
ally.
“We’ve always been working with
the theory of the-old-meets-the-
new,” says Elsa. “We work with a lot of
stuff from Icelandic art history but trans-
lating that into new times, and we’re also
doing [that] with this house. Taking old
materials and collecting things to build
with.”
The two look at the warehouse as a
physical manifestation of this philoso-
phy. It is—quite literally—an old insti-
tution that’s being revitalised into
something that’s needed now. And there’s
something beautiful about the fact that
Loki and Elsa used their pandemic time
to prepare for a better post-pandemic
life for not only them but for the whole
community—even when there was no
end-date in sight.
“There’s a communal structure to the
place, which made us interested in build-
ings and religious architecture in itself,”
Elsa explains. “What makes a space holy?
How can you make your own holy place?”
Building for the future
Above all else, Elsa says that pandemic
has forced people to look closer to home,
which has promoted sustainability
and more conscious consumption. The
pair are trying to renovate their ware-
house using only salvaged materials and
jokingly suggest that they’d like that
point to be advertised in this article in
case anyone has any extra plywood laying
around. Well—here’s the advertisement:
their website is krotkrass.com
“It’s been a safe haven. You go there
and you just think about possibilities,”
Elsa concludes. Loki smiles. “It’s not
happening now. It’s happening when this
is all finished,” he says, before pausing.
“Everything being built there is for the
future.”
“Just before COVID, I was reading a lot by William
Blake and I was getting interested in the idea of a
sort of final struggle between the industrial world
and the environment. I had a go at writing a few
poems with these apocalyptic themes, a kind of
war between the environment and industry, and
all these monsters were coming out. So it was
something in the air,” Arngrímur Sigur!sson
explains. “I’ve always been working with the idea
that people are subject to natural forces rather
than the other way around.”
Arngrímur’s work runs the gamut of styles, but
he’s most well-known for his visceral depictions
of fantastical creatures and beings—monsters,
mainly. And perhaps it’s because Arngrímur
spends so much time dealing with such dark
subject matter, but he’s remarkably pragmatic
when he talks about the pandemic. Unlike most
others, he doesn’t take its effects personally but
regards it merely as a part of the life cycle.
“It’s a natural catastrophe,” he states simply.
“It’s like predators. Their role in nature is a symbi-
otic one. The ecosystem is dependent on all these
different sorts of factors to keep it in balance. And
when you mess with that…” he trails off.
History repeats itself
Arngrímur is more interested in humanity's
response to chaos and points to the current world-
wide reaction to the pandemic as the ultimate
evidence of the phrase “History repeats itself.”
“With any sort of monsters, especially in folk-
lore traditions from more extreme climates, they
usually manifest as symbolic representations of
natural phenomena depicted in a way that fits
a certain worldview or moral narrative. People
often try to make some character out of it—to
anthropomorphise natural forces,” he explains.
“This same tendency to cherry pick unrelated
events and causally connecting them to fit a
certain worldview is something you can also see
in COVID.”
He points to the rise in conspiracy theories as
evidence.
“The internet and social media is full of magi-
cal thinking and groups [like] QAnon present an
ideology that, like folklore, is both supernatural
and superstitious. Their reality has borrowed the
classic mythological theme of the battle between
good and evil, with Trump as the hero archetype
uprooting the evil forces that lurk in the under-
growth,” he continues.
“Artificial Intelligence is emerging as the story-
teller of our age. Algorithms profile your behav-
iour online and target you with material you are
likely to click. So if your behaviour suggests you
are susceptible to conspiracy or superstition, the
platforms will encourage you further and further
down your personal rabbit hole,” he says, adopt-
ing a more serious tone. “And this has a lot to
do with imagination. We can imagine that the
world is this way or that way, depending on our
particularities. And maybe these are world views
that might not have much to do with reality, but it
works for a lot of people.”
“So when we think about monsters, or some-
thing supernatural or superstitious, we think
it’s silly, it’s not scientific. We know better,” he
concludes. “But then when the shit hits the fan,
there is a catastrophe or a pandemic, the same
human tendencies and inclinations as before
creep out and manifest in our experience.”
And a new monster is born.
KROT & KRASS
ARNGRÍMUR
SIGUR!SSON