The flyer for the open studio of the February group of Nes artists. Aren’t we a handsome bunch?
The Lopi Mountains reach high behind tiny houses and ice-coated landscapes. Iceland is an island of mountains. For centuries, the people of Iceland have knitted their country together with yarn combined from storytelling and wool from the long haired Icelandic sheep. This mixture has proven to be both warm and waterproof making it ideal for the northern climate. More recent variations on this tradition include the use of “lopi”, the unspun wool of the Icelandic sheep, to create the warm, patterned landscape that has come to symbolise Iceland today. Mountains of this variety have become a very popular souvenir for tourists.
Since my arrival in Iceland, I have been painting triangles. I tape off each section, fill it with white and then peel back the tape to reveal the neat, hard edged shape, to then repeat the process directly next to it. Three roles of masking tape later, I end up with a kind of pale, angle-space. This slow and systematic approach to covering an area has left me plenty of time to think – why am I doing this? Why, having painted the canvas with some bright colour, am I recovering it with white triangles? I am not sure that I can answer this question just yet. I know that my colour pallet has a lot to do with ice and snow, both of which are in abundance here, and that the fracturing of the surface into angular shapes is part of my exploration into light, but I feel that there is something else at play here. Perhaps it is a tension between the surface and what is below; a process of pushing and pulling the medium to reveal or conceal. Just the other day I found out that snow crystals, in their most basic form, are hexagonal prisms. I enjoy this fact because when you join up six triangles, you can make a hexagon.