Ever wondered how languages relate to the environments in which they’re uttered? Do you tweet? Interested in donating your twitter space and time to an international text performance that explores linguistic ecosystems? Then you’re invited to participate in #gibberese. I’m a Reykjavík-based interdisciplinary artist, and on Saturday August 25th I will debut a new work at the Queensland Poetry Festival in Brisbane, Australia. This work will include a live collaboration on Twitter (projected during my performance) by text enthusiasts around the globe. Your participation would last for just over an hour (corresponding with 19:30 to 20:45 Brisbane time… which is 9:30 to 10:45 Reykjavík time… or you do the math if you live elsewhere). If this squeaks your squirrel, e-mail me (firstname.lastname@example.org) for more info. angela rawlings is the 2012 Queensland Poet-in-Residence and the author of ‘Wide slumber for lepidopterists.’ Her work in Australia continues development of Sound Poetry and Visual Poetry, a project with an Icelandic series and now an Australian series. For information on angela’s residency, check out http://qldpir.tumblr.com. The photo included here is from the Australian series.
In early 2012, 49-year-old Ármann Einarsson, a music school principal with a potbelly that he frequently, fondly, pats, sent a Facebook message to Brogan Davison, his son Pétur’s girlfriend, who is also a choreographer and dancer. “It said, ‘Hæ, Hæ: This is a formal request,” recalls Pétur, himself a theater artist and director. Having nursed a life-long dream to dance on stage, Ármann asked Brogan if she would be willing to help him achieve this goal. “I’d been thinking about dancing for so many years,” he says. “When I was sixteen years old, I loved going and dancing at balls.
Internationally renowned artist Ólafur Elíasson has always been a fan of a spectacle. Whether he’s pumping tens of thousands of litres of water out of New York’s East River to form waterfalls, painting the rivers of Japan fluorescent green, or designing the façade of Reykjavík’s own concert hall Harpa, his art has always been imbued with a sense of extravagance. It may therefore come as a surprise that his newest venture is a relatively unassuming solar-powered lamp that measures roughly five inches across. Little Sun is the name he and his design partner—and the company’s co-founder—Frederik Ottesen gave the yellow
The Reykjavík Dance Festival is no stranger to flexibility and experimentation. Founded in 2002, the festival has provided Icelandic and international choreographers an unparalleled platform to showcase their work to an audience that may not have exposure to the world of contemporary dance. In 2012, when the festival turned ten, the coordinating board decided to shake things up and began inviting guest directors to curate the future iterations of the festival. With different curators asking different questions, the festival’s flavour has been distinct each year. This year’s curators and joint directors, Ásgerður Gunnarsdóttir and Alexander Roberts have lofty, daring plans
Hugleikur Dagsson, the controversial cartoonist famous for his satirical comic strips which often depict stick figures in violent situations involving murder, rape, religion, cannibalism, incest and suicide, enjoys huge popularity in Iceland, as well as an international cult following. Apart from his comic strips, he has also published multiple books, written a couple of stage plays, produced his own television show and done some stand-up comedy. It may be hard to believe, but Hugleikur’s success came almost by accident. As he tells it, he was participating in an art show in Seyðisfjörður during the summer between his second and third
Tuesday, August 12, 2014. Poet Bragi Páll Sigurðarson just disclosed his new tattoo. It is situated on his right thigh, just above the knee. Unlike most tattoos, this one is written in Times New Roman. One sentence, split in two lines, it reads: “Hanna Birna, segðu af þér.” That is: “Hanna Birna, resign.” Standard punctuation. The direct message is as clear-cut as the typography. The demand, of course, refers to the scandal surrounding Iceland’s Interior Minister in recent months, which has been duly covered in this paper. I caught Bragi Páll on Facebook to ask him some questions. Well, before
The Icelandic winter is supposed to be dark and fierce with a view of the stars and sometimes the Aurora Borealis stretching overhead. It’s cold and windy, sure, but that’s not what bothers photographer Stuart Richardson. It’s the garish illumination of the streetlights that have pervaded the city and are bleeding out into the countryside. “When you’re actually experiencing the Icelandic winter, everything is orange. Everything is the colour of the streetlights,” he says. “When we experience the winter here, we’re not really feeling, we’re not really seeing anything outside of these streetlights.” Stuart, an American who has been living