RESIDENCY

The landscape in Bláfjöll is like nothing I've seen before.

Its softened silhouette hides tundra which, in the summer, is covered in a soft, pale green and yellow moss. There are hints of the colours under sheer sheets of ice and the palette that this conjures is incredibly beautiful. 

I spent a good part of the day driving over the rengslavegur pass, and have never been so terrified on the roads in my life. White snow on white mountains on white drifts on white roads with white knuckles.

Water freezes in the -8 degree temperature, which means that working with paint is tricky. I have been taking lots of photographs during my initial adventures in the landscape and will print them to use during my time in the studio space.

Iceland has been a place I have been keen to visit for decades, and last year, I visited for the first time and spent a few days in Reykjavik, to see some costumes that I had created for Follow The Viking Project. During that visit, however, I didn’t have the time to travel and see the drama of the south coast. 

This time around, I am seeing more of the country. The journey to the Skaftefel National Park really showcases the spectacle of nature; 80 miles of flat ice plains that look more like the surface of the moon than anything on earth. Bumps, lumps, drifts and pimpled landscapes stretch as far as the eye can see. It seems to take hours to get across and the mountains in the distance never seem to get any closer as we carefully drive over the Sandar; the glacial outwash plains south of Vatnajökull. The snow sprints across the road like dry ice and the road shrinks and expands with the weather. Singletrack bridges cross the meandering ice-packed rivers creating the most iridescent, light-reflecting mirrors. 

The Skaftafellsjökull Glacier is in the Skaftefel National Park on the edge of the mighty Vatnajökull, Iceland’s largest Volcano. When you first catch a glimpse, nothing can prepare you for the mesmerising, gargantuan, menacing atmosphere that these silent, slow-moving mountains of ice instill.

All I could do, in all honesty, was to cry. 

Frozen tears stuck to my eyelashes.

I feel so humbled and privileged by my visit.

As a side note, I am a self-confessed scaredy-cat. But this trip is taking me to a different level of terrified. As a traveler in Iceland, you have to do as the Icelanders do and keep an eye always on Vedur – the country’s weather, volcano and earthquake service. I’ll just rewrite that line… the country’s weather, Volcano and Earthquake service!

After being completely snowed in at an apartment in Reynisfjara, relying on a JCB to dig us out, we decided that it would be wise to make a move from the South as soon as we could see the markers on the side of the road. The mountains, sea and shore had disappeared under a flat white blanket of snow. Our hire car, a VW Polo was well and truly stuck and even the 4-Wheel Drives looked to be struggling in the heavy snowfall. The winter tyres here are a lifesaver; the small metal studs keeping us gripped to the ice. I couldn’t stand up and had to wear crampons to get to the car. The bad weather had been following us for 5 days, but up until this morning, we had managed to outrun it! 

The 5km drive down onto the flatter coastal terrain was a nail biter; even the trucks with super-sized tyres were driving with extreme caution. My heart was in my mouth as we carefully picked our way using the yellow markers like a dot-to-dot puzzle. Staying put would have meant an extra 2 days in a hotel and a missed flight for my partner. Route 1, the main road that circumnavigates the island, is often closed in the worst weather and we needed to get off the mountain and back down to sea level before the road was cordoned off for the day. 

After about an hour, the weather cleared enough to be able to breathe out and we fell into a line of slow-moving vehicles. As we rounded another huge premonitory we saw a sign to the Skógafoss waterfall. The road was iced over, but the faithful yellow markers kept us on the track as we wound our way through a small hamlet, full of red and white tin-clad buildings. The snow was falling heavily and the fall was framed by undulating icicles. I grabbed my sketchbook and walked as far as I could to appreciate the magnitude of the fall.

The spray soaked me within seconds, and my goggles needed wipers to keep clear.  Capturing falling water in pencil and charcoal is bloody difficult, but I got lots of pictures and intend to use them for new work when back in the studio.

We had hoped to see Gullfoss and the geysers, but the road was closed and not due to open for a couple of days because of avalanche warnings – so maybe I will do this later in the month when the weather is better.

This first week in Iceland has been one of the best weeks of my entire life. 

 Here are a few words that describe my emotional reaction to this marvelous country.

The weather has been changeable, skies shifting from bright blue to lilac, pink and then heavy rice-pudding white. Snow falls overnight at the Arts Centre but thaws in the Spring sun. It's still hovering around zero degrees with a biting wind. 

I had hoped to produce work here at the centre, that I would consider finished, but it’s not working out that way at all. I’ve never had to work in a studio space outside of my own- and getting used to it is quite difficult.

I have come to realise over the last two weeks that I am a messy painter. I rely on the organic behaviour of paint and restricting the way that I can work is frustrating, so I’ve retreated to making drawings, collage and colour studies of the actual landscapes. Having the time to focus and look carefully again is precious; being able to concentrate and think about my practice, without the deadlines that I have at home, will eventually be beneficial for sure. I’ve been mixing paints to create the myriad subtleties of the tone and shade that you find here, something that I haven’t done for years. As a person who is a little nervous of colour it’s proving to be very useful. I’m also spending lots of time working in charcoal and graphite sticks on natural canvas; using natural materials also seems appropriate in a place that is so elemental. 

I think spending the first week travelling and taking 100’s of photographs will be the foundation of a new body of work. I am fascinated by this country, its precarious nature of fire and ice. I’ve been researching ice in all its forms this last week, both terrestrial and astronomical. The images from NASA of Triton are so beautiful, and the photographs so like the landscape formations that I have seen here. 

This macro-micro notion has kept me busy for hours.

The virus has cast a shadow over my time here. I suppose primarily because I am away from my family – who are obviously concerned about the situation and its escalation. But I am in complete isolation here – relying on the BBC to keep me up to date with developments. All I see are stripped supermarket shelves, general panic and mixed advice at home. I may have to cut the residency short – which is upsetting, but every day I see countries closing their borders and movement restrictions enforced. It leaves me with a palpable sense of disquiet.