Sky Dancers In A Herring Factory

Pastels and auroras in a new art exhibition in Djúpavík

“When you turn onto the Strandavegur, you really feel like you’re entering another world — and almost another lifetime,” says Emilie Dalum, curator of the annual art exhibition at the old herring factory in Djúpavík, a small village on the Strandir coast in the Westfjords. “You just drive and look at the beautiful nature, and all of a sudden, this huge building appears. It’s almost unbelievable — you can’t really understand that it’s there.”

I know exactly what Emilie means. That’s how I felt last summer, when I more or less accidentally stumbled across the factory. After kilometres of empty road through Strandir, spotting this massive grey structure against snow-dusted mountains felt almost surreal. Had I been driving too long? Was it a mirage?

Djúpavík has only a handful of houses and just two year-round residents — the couple who run the lone hotel and own the abandoned herring factory. Today, part of that building hosts a historic exhibition, part serves as a workshop, and part transforms each summer into an art space.

A few weeks ago, I returned to check out The Factory 2025: Sky Dancers (Himnadansarar in Icelandic), the new summer exhibition, on view through September 12.

Photo by Art Bicnick

A place that pulls you in

Emilie has been returning to Djúpavík almost every summer since she moved to Iceland from Denmark 13 years ago. What was meant to be a semester-long stay has quietly stretched into something much longer — perhaps thanks, in no small part, to a love affair with this remote former fishing village.

“All of a sudden, this huge building appears. It’s almost unbelievable — you can’t really understand that it’s there.”

Shortly after arriving in Iceland, Emilie took a trip out to Djúpavík and fell completely in love. She worked several summers at Hotel Djúpavík before being invited to take over the art space in the factory in 2017. “I’ve always had this big fascination with old buildings,” she says. Emilie’s background is in European ethnology and photography, and in 2023 she graduated from the art curation programme at Listaháskóli Íslands — though she had been working in the field long before formalising her education.

Though based in downtown Reykjavík, working on the exhibitions in Djúpavík has now become a yearly “adventure” for Emilie’s family. Her husband, Björgvin Agnarsson, a carpenter, has been a vital part of the installation process, and their three daughters are involved as well — the youngest was born just weeks after the new exhibition opened in May.

Emilie Dalum, curator of the annual art exhibition at the old herring factory in Djúpavík; Photo by Art Bicnick

Dancing lights

“I usually say that if I was asked to curate in a white cube, I’d get a bit anxious,” says Emilie, explaining how important the factory is to the whole initiative. “This is what I love — it’s exciting to work with the building itself, not just artworks that are kind of excluded from the space. This is very much a kind of constant dialogue between the works, the artist, the building, and the surroundings.”

The overall theme for exhibitions held at the factory is traditionally Iceland. Each year, there’s usually a sub-theme as well — something closely tied to Djúpavík and “its offering as a place,” explains Emilie. She says she loves the contrast between the old historic building and its past, and the modern art it houses during summer. This year’s sub-theme focuses on a phenomenon common in the area during the winter, but rare in summer: the northern lights.

“If I was asked to curate in a white cube, I’d get a bit anxious.”

Though not directly mentioned in the Icelandic sagas, the green and pink streaks of the aurora borealis have been part of Icelandic culture for centuries. “Northern lights are very strongly bound to Iceland. It’s a reason why many people come here,” says Emilie. “But during the summer, you don’t have a chance to see them,” she smiles. “They have this magical pull.”

The idea for this year’s exhibition took shape last autumn, when Emilie noticed a surge in aurora activity — a sign the lights had reached the peak of their 11-year cycle.

“And of course, they’re extremely colourful,” she adds. “When I curate, I work a lot with colour. First of all, we need more colour in our lives — and it creates a beautiful contrast with the factory itself.”

The exhibition features the work of ten local and international artists: Anna Ólöf Jansdóttir, Björt Sigfinnsdóttir, Edda Karólína Sævarsdóttir, Kathie Halfin, Kathryn Cellerini Moore, Lyse Fournier, Signe and Kristian Emdal, Sævar Helgi Bragason, and Tinna Ottesen. The artists work across various media and are at different stages of their careers. Together, their pieces reflect the natural phenomenon of the aurora borealis — each work “as ethereal and ephemeral as the northern lights themselves.”

Pulling different strings

Some of the artworks on display are more literal than others. Interdisciplinary artist Kathryn Cellerini Moore, for example, attempts to simulate the aurora borealis in her piece “Glint, Glimmer, Glow.” The work features woven chainmail in colours characteristic of the northern lights, with photographs of auroras — captured by Kathryn over Skagaströnd and Þingvellir — projected in the background.

On the second floor, in a long room lined with crumbling walls, is an installation of pastel purple veils by French sculptor Lyse Fournier. The name “I Mist You” is made up of the phrases “I miss you” and “I meet you.” As you walk through the corridor of veils, their colours and hues change.

Photo by Art Bicnick

One of the most unique corners of the exhibition, however, lies inside one of the factory’s fish oil tanks. You can either peek inside or kneel down and crawl through a tiny door. “Welcome inside the tank. It’s better to go in feet first,” says a nearby sign, offering surprisingly helpful advice.

The roof of the tank is a little damaged, so there’s always some water inside and just a small space for your feet. Sunlight peeks through a hole in the roof, casting a few of its rays on the piece on display: a latex installation by spatial storyteller Tinna Ottesen. Titled “Just Wait,” the work “slowly shifts in form and materiality over time.” The artist treats decay not as disappearance, but as a trace of what once was — drawing parallels to the fleeting choreography of the northern lights.

Photo by Art Bicnick

Alongside the visual works, Emilie has continued her tradition of inviting a writer to contribute to the exhibition — someone to reflect on Djúpavík or the theme from a more literary angle. This year, she turned to science educator and communicator Sævar Helgi Bragason, asking him to talk about the science behind what the northern lights are and how they happen. “It’s important to bring that too, because you also have a lot of guests who are interested in knowing what actually happens,” says Emilie. “I really like to jump between these levels — especially with this exhibition — to have the scientific approach, but also the more poetic or artistic approach,” she adds. “You know, when the works are constantly pulling different strings.”

Magic found in rough edges

Working with the existing space of the factory itself is an essential part of every exhibition in Djúpavík. The building might appear cold and corroded, but working with it rather than around it has always been the goal. Emilie explains they don’t paint the walls or interfere with the building’s original character. Since the factory began hosting exhibitions, the only change has been some extra lighting added in one room.

“That’s one of the rules. It’s part of — almost the manifesto, you can call it that — that we’re not changing anything,” she says, adding, “If you look around a bit, you can sense it’s a private place. Sometimes you hear drilling machines and saws because on the other side of the factory, the locals are working.”

Indeed, just beyond the exhibition area, the other side of the factory houses a workshop. Often, as you wander through space, you’ll hear the sounds of rumbling engines and machinery. From the stairs, you can glimpse into the workshop — a room filled with old vehicles: a snowmobile, a vintage fire truck, and a couple of retro cars. These relics coexist with the artworks, never interfering but instead adding to the space’s unique charm.

“Not to down-talk the artworks, but it’s so much more than the artworks. It’s the total experience,” sums up Emilie. “Things flow together in Djúpavík.”

The Factory 2025: Sky Dancers is free to visit and open daily from 10:00 to 18:00 through September 12th.

This is the first in a series of articles from our recent trip to Strandir. Thanks to Hotel Djúpavik for the accommodation and Go Car Rental for the wheels.