Do landscapes hold memories? If so, how can we access and perhaps even hold onto them through textile?
These were the questions that led me to Blönduós. I was curious about the connections between the Icelandic landscape and the island’s rich textile tradition. I also had another, personal reason to travel there: not long before my best friend ended her life, she had come to Iceland to hike and experience the multifarious appearance of the landscape as she was passing through it.
During the residency, I experimented with different techniques to try to ‘capture’ the landscape. I worked with locally sourced dyestuff and spent time weaving on the old looms in the attic, using the patterns I found there.
In the end I found that wool in its rawest form bears the strongest resemblance to the landscape (at least to how I experienced it), and I decided to make a larger piece of felted Icelandic wool, blended with fragments of a lopapeysa.
︎ Supported by Gerbrandy Cultuurfonds.
︎ See also: Ós artist residency
These were the questions that led me to Blönduós. I was curious about the connections between the Icelandic landscape and the island’s rich textile tradition. I also had another, personal reason to travel there: not long before my best friend ended her life, she had come to Iceland to hike and experience the multifarious appearance of the landscape as she was passing through it.
During the residency, I experimented with different techniques to try to ‘capture’ the landscape. I worked with locally sourced dyestuff and spent time weaving on the old looms in the attic, using the patterns I found there.
In the end I found that wool in its rawest form bears the strongest resemblance to the landscape (at least to how I experienced it), and I decided to make a larger piece of felted Icelandic wool, blended with fragments of a lopapeysa.
︎ Supported by Gerbrandy Cultuurfonds.
︎ See also: Ós artist residency