Outside, it is warm. Faroese orchids and petit daisies undulate with a light breeze, their forms catching occasional sunlight as clouds slip above them.
Inside the Faroe Islands’ Nordic House, Ragnar Kjartansson strums a guitar, buried up to his waist in the green grass of a Reykjavík park. This looped video also depicts a sunny summer day, similar to Tørshavn’s stunning weather. Ragnar is bare-chested and sings, “Satan is real.” The media chooses to write ‘climate crisis’ instead of ‘climate change’ from now on.
Ragnar’s video “Satan is real” (2004) is one of four selected works in his exhibition ‘Nøkur verk’ (‘Key works’). The video is situated in a dim hallway, steps from the brightly lit foyer where fifteen of his seascape watercolour paintings are hung as the series “Omnipresent Salty Death” (2015). The paintings are co-created by Ragnar and his father, Kjartan Ragnarsson, in a repetition of the Romantic form and a meditation on heritage, lineage, seamen, and semen. To view “Satan” or Ragnar’s other works, “Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt” and “A lot of sorrow,” you must first pass the roiling waves of “Death.”
Beyond “Death” and “Satan,” you have the option of entering two exhibition rooms. The door on the left is open, with light streaming beyond. The door on the right is closed, with a sign inviting entrance.
First, through the closed door, into darkness.
Rock band The National are projected on one wall of Dansistofan. They play their song “A Lot of Sorrow” repeatedly for 6 hours, 9 minutes, and 35 seconds—an endurance which holds within it elation and suffering. Originally staged at MoMA PS1, “A Lot of Sorrow” (2013-2014) is a repetition of repetition recast in the Nordic House’s lonely dance hall. Beyond “Death” and “Satan,” “Sorrow” fills a room.
Finally, through what’s open, into the light.
Hand-painted mountains and glaciers on plywood grace Nordic House’s Skálin room. The piece is titled “Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt” (“Only he who knows yearning,” in English) (2015) after Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s poem. As you walk between the mise en scène of “Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt,” the mountainscape reveals the trick of the work itself: mountains that are not mountains, plywood that is not plywood; an unfinished wish for a place that was or that might be, a place in the process of melting or a place where humans never dwelt.
The mountainscape of “Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt” functions as a stage set, and the capacity to move between the erected plywood breaks the fourth wall of the set-up. Indeed, in Ragnar’s pieces, the audience is invited to consider the set-up of each romantic gesture. This is a gentle yet pointed critique of the little theatres in which one situates oneself, begging us to look again at the man behind the curtain, at the scaffolding and the material holding each performance together. Can you identify how the shape that your longing takes to fill the space between what materially, concretely is, and what it is projected to be?
Yearning for interconnectedness, the amalgam of ‘Nøkur verk’ is whimsical melancholy writ large on a summer’s day.
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