hornafjöldi í hættu

Over the past two years, home has called me louder.
During many but short visits, I now always stop by
Ásmundarsalur and have noticed that each time I do
stay longer.  First to view the exhibitions and then the
hall itself … or vice versa.

I often sit alone for a long time and stare onto the floor
and walls. Follow leaking cracks, dwell in the wounded
surfaces,  study repairs … scab and crust formation.
Reflect on the inner layers. Caress the crust.
Scratch joyfully.

My work process is as a moving moment. All that
counts is to be constant and endlessly looking.  To
never draw up exhibitions in advance and not to know
what result awaits or where one is heading.
The path must be uncertain in order to function.

I choose a starting point and I do follow.  Trust the road
to be the right one  and let go. Therefore I am completely
incapable of explaining anything but the gut feeling that
has been packed as picnic.

The wounded « granito » floor is a double-edged starting
point. A point that can provoke a new path as well as a
point which can hunt the old and the hidden: look into older
texts on opened wounds that became « once » a night long
obsession or at peeled photographs of skin formation of
land or organism / beings…

Touch is all to my works.
I seek beneath their surface, photograph the other sides’
wonders. Peel off the first layer, but then sew it over again
if what was found under, should better be left covered.
Break, bite and bend, produce new wounds, find older
fragments and observe again.

Sugarcoat the truth but then maybe tell it all.
Compress, constrict, gently polish out unsaid words.
Accept what will now, no longer be said.

Cherish the joy.  It has the highest value.

Let’s pull both ears to the sides one more time, see if it
works the thing with the smile.
That it reappears at the twitch of the ears.

GRI 2023 – 2024