Words by

Ish Sveinsson Houle

Photo by

Sunna Ben

Outside SIND, a wall of windows reveals a buzzing exhibition opening. Tonight, Safakúr — or I’m Juicing — opens at the still nascent feminist gallery on Hringbraut. Ten artists showcase their works in Safakúr, where “queer relationships form the core of the show.”   

This is the gallery’s first group show; just two solo shows preceded Safakúr since SIND’s opening in August. When curating the exhibition, gallerist Snærós Sindradóttir wanted to go against the grain. “Romance and lust have been in the backseat of Icelandic art for such a long time. We strive for coldness and often irony,” she emphasises. This show, for a change, would be “honest and raw, mature and even a little 18+.” 

The artists’ works are scattered throughout the gallery, and the space feels fuller and livelier. All walls are adorned with prints (Rósmarý Hjartardóttir), sculptures (Carissa Baktay), tufting (Alfa Rós Pétursdóttir), paintings (Rakel Andrésdóttir), drawings (Rakel Tómasdóttir), photographs (Sigríður Hermannsdóttir), while even more works sprout from the ground on plinths (Tristan Elísabet Birta, Diljá Þorvaldsdóttir). By the window, a colossal web of photographs clings to a pole rising from a leather couch (Sadie Cook). Tucked into a back corner, an installation resembling a puppet show stage reveals a print work when its curtains are pulled back (Panamaprent).  

“I think that one of the huge strengths of this exhibition was that it pulled from people who are working in very different circles and very different dialogues,” notes Sadie Cook. The group of exhibitors differs in age, experience, medium, and more, many not even having met the others before the exhibition. Nevertheless, many of the artists’ driving themes and thoughts on the exhibition mirror each other’s.  

Creative partners 

This show is playful, bright, and personal. Pieces tackle heartbreak, exhibit joy, and play with perception. Two artists, Sadie Cook and Diljá Þorvaldsdóttir, present pieces that starkly diverge in medium and, to an unaware eye, appear to have nothing in common. But the two have been together for over five years, and both of their works are grounded in their relationship.  

Sadie’s work is an “explosion” of around 100-200 photographs. The photos, displayed in vintage frames (foraged from Góði Hirðirinn), are an accumulation of Sadie’s thoughts “about babies.” They depict “the only two babies that have ever felt kind of real to me in any way:” one they imagined while waiting for the results of a pregnancy test following an assault, the other the baby Diljá and Sadie “imagine having when we talk about whose genes would win, or what name our kid would have, or who would inherit what traits,” Sadie explains. They note that the root of the piece is “how complicated my thoughts about having kids are, and this ongoing conversation Diljá and I have around children and not wanting them, and this weird mourning of something that I never had and don’t want and doesn’t exist.” 

Facing open towards Sadie’s installation from the centre of the room is Diljá’s piece, “My Universe.” The piece is delicate and incredibly intricate; across its three panels Diljá combines beads, thread, wood, velvet, oil, acrylic, wax, and steel. “It ironically took as long as making a baby — nine, nine and a half months, at least 1,000 hours of work,” she explains. Diljá ruminated on her religious upbringing, and the nature of family heirlooms. She wanted to make “a really beautiful object that could be inherited,” and observed that family heirlooms often have religious significance. “I was thinking about how I would make something that was connected to what I believe in,” she says, explaining that she is “a person that thinks about the universe and manifesting… and then I was like, ‘Sadie is my universe.’”  

As the two reflect on the exhibition as a whole, Diljá shares, “I find it quite fascinating, because people can come into this show and not realise that all of the artists are queer.” 

However, Sadie refines this, stating, “But it is, you know, an extremely legibly queer exhibition to most queer people who go into the space.”  

Electric love 

Other artists centre their works more specifically on sapphism, and “sapphic love in all its electric forms.” 

For one, textile artist Alfa Rós Pétursdóttir “created three new works that explore emotional space that grows from the closeness between women — their connection and the conversations,” she explains of her tufting works, collectively titled ‘Afterglow.’ “What drew me to the exhibition was its focus on intimacy and connection. Sapphic love, to me, is about tenderness, trust, and the unique closeness that can exist between women.”  

In the opposing corner of the exhibition space, Sigríður Hermannsdóttir presents a sextet of images titled “miss messy.” For her, this is based on her current relationship; in Sigríður’s eyes, “I work mostly from my own experiences and since I am queer and in a queer relationship, [taking part in the exhibition] made sense for me.” She explains her works, which are both dramatic and intimate, saying, “Relationships take on different forms, and within a heteronormative society, the question is always ‘Who is the man in the relationship?’ In this work, masculinity is taken out of context, and femininity is given full weight.”

In Carissa Baktay’s works, similar themes guide her. She explains, “a lot of my work has to do with sexuality and coming of age, adolescence, growing into womanhood, loving bodies — ourselves and other women.” She’s contributed three pieces to Safakúr, and two employ synthetic hair and horse hair to explore themes of grooming. The synthetic hair, she explains, evokes braiding dolls’ hair, whereas with the horse hair (which she gathers from SS), Carissa religiously combs it to prepare it for exhibition. Both of these also have an aspect of blown glass — along with her third piece, which is a pink Christmas tree with blue glassblown ornaments shaped like butt plugs. “This is just very cheeky,” Carissa laughs.

As Carissa reflects on both her works and the exhibition as a whole, she states, “When we’re talking about sapphic love and feminine knowledge, it really is rooted in craft. If we’re talking from a material standpoint, I think there’s not much more feminine than crafting. It historically has been done by females.”  

Further, this exhibition presented an opportunity for Carissa to reflect on her gender’s relationship to her craft practice. Carissa operates the only female-run glassblowing studio in Iceland, within Korpulfsstaðir. “In my signature lines in my emails, for so many years, it wouldn’t have my full name. It would just have my first initial,” she shares. “This was a really lovely opportunity for me to come out and know I’m on the right track, making work about sapphic love, about adolescent joy and exploration, about feminine memories, about craft and womanhood and female knowledge across generations.” 

So juicy 

The title of the exhibition also drew attention.“‘Safakúr,’ to me, has many meanings; it’s both juicy and gentle, hot and romantic, and it’s interesting to see how each artist relates differently to the concept and name of the exhibition,” Rósmarý Hjartardóttir notes. The word is most commonly used for a “juice cleanse,” but in the artists’ eyes it is more complicated than that.  

Sigríður notes, “The word ‘safakúr’ definitely got a new meaning, and now I can’t unsee it. I like how the word’s literal meaning is something that is connected to diet culture, and that to me is connected to feminism in so many ways. The new meaning is ‘juicy-cuddling,’ which to me is way more interesting than a diet. I am, with my work, both using the literal meaning of the word, talking about beauty standards, and the new meaning.” 

Diljá and Sadie acknowledge the importance, and rarity, of the space that SIND is creating for exhibitions like Safakúr. “I think both of us were glad it wasn’t a ‘We’re here, we’re queer’ show,” explains Diljá. Sadie elaborates that a “We’re here, we’re queer” type of exhibition is one “where it just feels like images of queer people doing normal things to prove to a straight audience that they’re just like them.” The two agree that Safakúr is not that, as Sadie states that this exhibition “doesn’t feel like it’s trying to explain queerness to a straight audience, but rather one that’s pulling from a lot of individual people’s definitions and ideas.” 

Rósmarý echoes this sentiment, sharing, “That is what drew me to this exhibition initially, having a safe space to exhibit my work among other queer artists and, with that, building community.”  

Safakúr/I’m Juicing will run at SIND Gallery through December 20. Works and prints of works are for sale at the gallery and online.