“Look for the statue of a giant man,” I told my passengers as we headed up Svalbarðseyri in Eyjafjörður, just across from Akureyri, being tailgated on the narrow highway while searching for the elusive left turn to our destination. The giant statue was the beacon of Safnasafnið (“The Icelandic Folk and Outsider Art Museum”), a gem of an institution housing some uniquely intriguing works of local art and handcraft.
Founded in 1995 by married couple Níels Hafstein and Magnhildur Sigurðardóttir and translating directly to “The Museum Museum,” the building itself is an architectural preservation of historic houses that were emblems of social and cultural life in the region. The museum’s original premises are in the former elementary school and community centre of Svalbarðsstrandarhreppur. In 2006, the building of the region’s former cooperative store Gamla-Búð, built in 1900, was moved to the museum grounds and adjoined by a modern building by Ragnheiður Þóra Ragnarsdóttir.
Dream stuff
There is a very particular kind of dream that is common to many. You find yourself in a familiar house, perhaps the home you grew up in, and as you make your way through it more rooms begin to unfold and reveal themselves to you, unveiling more wonder and surprise with each new chamber. This is how the museum felt to me, as though I was in someone else’s dream of new rooms in their home.
Masterfully cobbled together with idiosyncratic coherence, the outside of the museum at first glance just looks like one big house built in a corner. It becomes more apparent after one moves through the entrance that all is not what it seems. Inside, a series of enfiladed chambers open up on each other in an ever-expanding layout of pathways.
At every unexpected passageway, I found myself exclaiming a delighted “Oh!” and crossing the threshold with the curiosity of a cat in a new home. There was something both entirely unknown and uncannily nostalgic about it.
Outside in
Although I have spent a great deal of time in fine and contemporary art spaces, as I get older I’ve realised that I’ve always connected more profoundly with forms of folk art, handcraft and outsider art. Being in this museum drove that revelation deeper, particularly as I’ve found myself growing less engaged with and interested in art that comes out of academia.
At Safnasafnið, there was a palpable and almost overwhelming humanity and aliveness to the pieces, especially those of autodidact outsider artists. Even in the group exhibition Aesthetics of Senses and Delights, showing the works of many educated artists, incredibly low levels of pretence were a welcome relief.
The paintings by Sigurlaug Jónasdóttir in the exhibition Ordinary Life depict scenes from 18th century life in Breiðafjörður, and drew me in with their vibrant colours and almost children’s book-like tableaus. Equally stunning and colour-saturated scenes of Iceland were found in the tufted needlepoint works of Þórunn Franz’s exhibition Mountain View, along with a pieces of her own furniture and audio of her famous compositions performed by Ellý Vilhjálms and Ragnar Bjarnason.
Fragrant blossoms
My favourite room, which took me by surprise, was the blossom-filled solarium in a corner, just off an exhibition of historic dolls from around the globe. On closer inspection, I see small paper and pipe-cleaner figures hiding in and among the plants, as this was the Flower Fairies exhibition by children from the Álfaborg preschool, which the museum collaborates with annually on initiatives to engage children with art.
But the display I found myself planted in front of for the longest time was a large vitrine full of vintage and antique perfume bottle. Installed on a wall in the museum’s Jenný Karlsdóttir Room for historical textiles, I was absolutely thrilled by these beautiful flasks of potions and flooded with memories of why I have this fascination to begin with. Some were scents I knew, and somehow without even smelling them, I could recall how and where I placed them in my life.
The final secret
After making my way through the entire museum — or so I thought — I doubled back over all the rooms I had just made my way through in the reverse order. When I returned to the first suite of rooms I visited, in the exhibition Assortments by Örn Karlsson, I happened upon the band Geigen, who had been performing at the festival Mannfólkið Breytist í Slím the night before. Member Gígja Jónsdóttir informed me that her grandfather Yngvi Örn Guðmundsson’s works were in the entrance of the building.
Shown within the exhibition Dark Deeds and the Light of Hope, his works were composed of bird bones reclothed as ominous and rebellious figures, holding protest signs and exuding anarchic energy. This sudden connection was Icelandic folksiness to the core.
Having a very quick coffee before leaving, I turned towards a glass door and realised that just outside was a wooden deck leading to a small enclosed gazebo on a platform, surrounded by lush verdant trees. I immediately walked out into the drizzling rain to go enjoy my coffee in this outdoor nook of exposed wood adorned with earth-toned squiggles and splatters. After already several hours in the museum, I felt like I could have stayed in this place for several more.
Revelations
It is theorised by experts that a dream in which you discover new rooms in a familiar place signifies a need or desire to look beyond your perceived limitations. The expansion of perceptual biases and limitations is precisely the source of imagination that flows throughout Safnasafnið. As the building revealed itself, it was as though my own mind revealed itself to me.
From the unconventional and mesmerising works of autodidacts who perhaps would never have labelled themselves as artists, to the intentional pieces created within a specific academic practice, the collected found objects displayed in uniquely curated manner, and the very building itself, the entirety of the museum was a continuous revelation.
There is a sort of comforting melancholia that came from my languid escapade through the museum that I still can’t put my finger on. I still feel like maybe there was another secret room that was in the corner of my eye and I just didn’t see. Maybe if I close my eyes, my subconscious will find that room, extending the museum far beyond its limits.
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