The Space For Everyone, Maybe

Artists-run Gallery Kannski is on a mission to amplify underrepresented voices of the local arts scene

On an unusually bright afternoon following Verslunarmannahelgi, I find myself navigating a labyrinth of yellow apartments on Lindargata. The apartments belong to the city of Reykjavík and offer serviced housing for senior citizens, but I’m fairly certain I’m at the right address. At first, I can’t find the entrance, so I loop around the building, noticing an elderly man reading a newspaper on his balcony. I start to wonder if this quiet, unassuming area is truly the home of a gallery celebrating art that actively eschews tradition. Then, I spot a big, bold sign reading “KANNSKI.”

Diljá Þorvaldsdóttir and her partner Sadie Cook founded the gallery two years ago, aiming to focus on topics less visible or non-existent in the local arts scene. Both artists themselves, Diljá studied Fine Arts at the Iceland University of the Arts and works with different mediums, including textile, while supplementing her income by working with senior citizens. Originally from the United States, Sadie is a Yale photography graduate who came to Iceland on a Fulbright scholarship. Now she teaches photography and art instruction. Together, Diljá and Sadie felt the need to create a space that would offer more opportunities to artists from underrepresented groups, such as people of colour, LGBTQIA+ individuals and minority communities.

Let’s start a gallery, maybe?

“I’ve just finished studying Fine Arts, and I was thinking either I have to pay to show in a space, or I need to be chosen to show in a space, or I need to know the right people to be shown in a space,” Diljá explains, as we sit in the gallery, which is currently empty between shows. It was around the time that Diljá and Sadie started to think about starting their own space.

They managed to secure access to a free space on the ground floor of Lindargata 66 that belongs to the neighbouring Vitatorg community centre. Since Diljá and Sadie can use the space for free, the artists they host also don’t have to pay to exhibit their work. “We obviously both work jobs. This is an artist-run space, done by artists. We’re not the richest people — if we don’t have to pay rent, then you don’t have to pay for the show,” Diljá explains.

The story behind the gallery’s name, which translates to “maybe” in English, provokes laughter from Diljá and Sadie. “We were trying to come up with a name and as Sadie was learning Icelandic, she could never remember the word ‘kannski.’ So I suggested calling the gallery Kannski — that way she’d have to remember it.”

Sadie adds that they were trying to make the gallery as accessible as possible, and having a name that was easy to pronounce and understand was important. “Kannski is a word that’s pretty easy to understand, regardless of which background you’re coming from. It’s easy to pronounce, doesn’t have any Icelandic letters in it, but also it feels like a possibility — it’s kind of a joke, because we just started this and had no idea how it would go.”

“It makes me laugh to sign off emails — ‘See you soon, maybe. Congratulations on your show, maybe. Looking forward to working with you, maybe,’” she says and the room fills in with giggles.

Challenging the status quo

“We wanted to be able to open this space up for conversations, dialogues, types of art and subjects that weren’t being shown or allowed to be shown within the [Icelandic arts] scene,” says Sadie, adding, “Essentially, we want to destroy nepotism within the Icelandic Arts, which, like many sectors in Iceland, is quite prominent.”

“As a space, we want to make sure that we are accessible to as many different artists with as many different needs as possible.”

Kannski mostly does dual shows, pairing an Iceland-based artist with an international artist, offering many early to mid-career artists from abroad the chance to kick off their international careers. The artworks displayed are chosen based solely on the submissions, without digging into the artists’ CVs or backgrounds. “It’s purely chosen from the art that you’re submitting to show in the space, which gives a lot of people opportunities [they] would otherwise not have,” Diljá explains.

The couple has just finished sorting out shows until June 2025, having gone through over 200 applications. They admit that what might seem like a chill side gig actually requires a lot of work. Fortunately, their mutual friend, Fríða Katrín Bessadóttir, has been a great help, joining the team as the social media manager. “It is pretty aggressively organised,” admits Sadie. “We plan our shows every spring when we host the open call, meet with all the artists, then set down timelines, send out contracts and then set it up.”

Both Diljá and Sadie believe that while Iceland is perceived as being open to different types of art and artists representing minority groups, the reality is more complex. “Iceland is an excellent place for a white, middle or upper-class gay man to move and raise a family with two labradors in the suburbs. He has all the same rights, all the same capabilities and will be able to do really well for himself,” says Sadie. “Icelandic society does a lot of things very right, but because maybe the queer rights movement gained so much momentum so fast, that also means that spaces for more radical dialogues, or the ability for more radical dialogues to enter mainstream, became sidelined or less visible.”

Art for everyone

As our conversation continues, it becomes clear that for Diljá and Sadie, accessibility extends far beyond just having a catchy, easy-to-pronounce name. “The ability to take time off of your day job and install an enormous sculpture and drive around all the materials, or in the case where international artists fly to Iceland, those are all privileges that not every artist is going to have,” Sadie says. “So, as a space, we want to make sure that we are accessible to as many different artists with as many different needs as possible.”

“If we can’t understand what somebody is saying about their work because they’re using fancy words, that is a bad sign for how accessible their work is going to be for the audience.”

This means going the extra mile to accommodate artists’ needs. “If that means spending three days tubing random wires to the ceiling because an artist from Taiwan can’t afford to fly them here, we will do that. If an Iceland-based artist is struggling with anxiety or with a disability that means that they need to only spend an hour in the space every day, we will keep the space open and meet with them and work with them as much as they need,” Sadie continues.

While the couple tries to step in only if an artist’s requirements might misconstrue the meaning of their art in the context of the gallery’s audience or interfere with another artist’s exhibit, they have had to establish a set of rules of what they can and cannot do. “No open fire when the gallery is unattended, we cannot have rotting meat within a space, the gallery must be kept at a temperature that is comfortable for humans…” Sadie begins to list the rules that are based on real artist requests.

“It’s tricky because you want to be able to make sure that artists have the show that they want, but you also want to make sure that you’re able to manage that,” Diljá adds, admitting that in the beginning, she and Sadie both struggled to define how much they could accommodate before it would become unmanageable for their small team.

Keeping the space wheelchair accessible has been a non-negotiable from the start, given the gallery’s proximity to the serviced apartments, many of whose residents use mobility aids. According to Diljá, allowing them and anyone else access the gallery without barriers is essential — even if it means rearranging artworks.

Accessibility is also applied to how artwork is presented. “When people describe their work in a way that puts a barrier between an audience and an artwork, it contributes to this feeling that art is for the elite,” says Sadie. “Both of us have training in the arts, I teach arts, but if we can’t understand what somebody is saying about their work because they’re using fancy words, then that is a bad sign for how accessible their work is going to be for the audience.”

To address this, Kannski requests that artists provide not only descriptions of their work but also related works that help clarify their intent. “If between those two things, we can’t understand what’s going on, that’s probably a sign that as a space focused on accessibility, we’re not the right space for this work.”

Passion project

“We’re doing as much as we can with our space and our time,” Diljá says, adding that this year, the couple intended to have less shows and take two weeks off, but they’ve received too many good applications to their open call. “We get really excited when we have cool artists to show.”

Ahead of the gallery’s second birthday later this August, the gallerists are planning a special “birthday party show opening extravaganza.” As Diljá describes it, “We’re gonna have a bit of a funkier show.”

The exhibition, titled The Third Space Place, will feature works by Au Shek Yan from Hong Kong and a performance duo of Henrik Koppen and Finn Adrian, Koppen & Jorkjen. The show will focus on invented spaces and how these spaces can foster community and be political, while the tiny space of the gallery will be transformed into a time-travelling gay bar.

As the duo prepares to install the exhibition, juggling jobs and projects, they’re committed to creating an all-inclusive and welcoming atmosphere at Kannski. “Art spaces are intimidating to go to because you walk in and it’s just five circles of people standing together, all talking to each other and not talking to you, our space is not like that — we’re too small to allow for circles,” says Sadie.

The Third Place Space opens at Gallery Kannski on August 16. Check gallerykannski.com for opening hours. See you there, maybe.