Nes Listamiðstöð / Artist Residency, Skagaströnd, Iceland.
From Amsterdam you fly in a couple of hours to Reykjavik. From Reykjavik you take the bus north to Blonduós, where – if, and only if, you’ve called the bus company the day before – a small car sent by the bus company drives you to Skagaströnd.
And then here you are. Here I am. Today I woke up here for the first time. My ears adjusting to the silence, my pupils adjusting to the clarity of the light.
There are a couple of artists here, who’ve been here for a while, from the USA, France, New Zealand, Sweden. Some just left. Others are coming.
Yesterday when I arrived, the town was embraced by dark mountains patterned with snow. Today when I woke up, there was no mountain to be seen. A trick of the weather. According to the others, there are many such tricks in store here. Arctic wind. Snowstorms. Aurora Borealis, maybe.
It’s so strange how you can be in a place but not be there yet. Where the body goes the mind will follow soon after, Wild Beasts sing. I hope it does. I’ll give it some time.
Edvard Munch, Melancholy III, colour woodcut, 1902