This trip was familiar yet unfamiliar, with new areas explored and old areas seen through new seasons - this one especially stormy - and new eyes. BUT I did discover that field work is field work, regardless of whether conducted by a geologist or an artist, and requires warm clothes, food (including plentiful chocolate, and, since we were in Iceland, chocolate-coated licorice) and a thermos of tea. A difference between artists and geologists, however, lies in the other contents of the pack - Emma travels with a large sketch pad, water-soluble black ink, pencils, brushes, water colors, a masque pen (for blocking out white areas) and a jar of water. Also a camera, which she uses continuously - out of car windows, by the side of the road, and at sketching locations - recording every nuance of the changing light and forms of the Icelandic landscape. She sketches outside in all weather, often huddling in the lee of a rock or iceberg, until blown back into the car by blizzards. She uses watercolors that freeze and chance windblown ash as added texture to sketches, and sees spaces by the absence of color and form as much as their presence.
The Reykjanes Peninsula was our first target - a day trip from Reykjavik on a spectacularly clear cold day that included a jaunt across the North-American plate boundary and back. We headed southwest from Reykjavik, and then south, where we made a quick stop at a scenic view point - complete with an icicle-filled lava tube - before heading past the fishing village of Grindavik and west along the coast.
Our first sketching stop was at the tip of the peninsula, an artist’s playground of geothermal activity, sea stacks and offshore islands, and lighthouse (actually, I was the one more fascinated by the lighthouse, which was strangely perched on a rounded hill somewhat inland from the coast, and periodically obscured by geothermal steam).
The dramatic sea stacks called for ink; I was amused that Emma settled down to sketch at the edge of a cliff, where she was overlooked by a large statue of a great auk that gazed out to sea toward the site of its extinction.
The next stop was the geothermal area - Gunnuhver; the first obligation here was to read the sign about Gunna... a strange rambling story that started with a poor woman whose last cooking pot was taken from her because she couldn’t pay her taxes, and ended with her haunting the bubbling steaming pit. The steam, the brilliantly colored soils and the vibrantly blue sky were all enhanced by the wonderful quality of the high latitude light, satisfying both the artist and the geologist/photographer.
Before the sun faded toward the horizon, I insisted on driving north to the plate boundary proper, which is now marked by the “bridge between two continents”, complete with “You are here” signs on both sides (I’ll admit, I thought this a nice touch!) before heading back past Grindavik and its starkly impressive graveyard. We briefly contemplated continuing along the south coast, but I decided that it was sufficiently late in the day that we should head back. Which was just as well, because on the way we lost a wheel (! I was able to pull over in time so it was not disastrous... just disconcerting and required rescue). Adventures in Iceland had only just begun.
Stormy weather then next day made us seek refuge inside ... we chose the lovely performing arts center Harpa (see last photo in the blog), with its many levels of glass and views of fishing boats, docks and breakwaters (it was too stormy to see the spectacular mountain backdrop). Slightly better weather the next day (Sunday) allowed us to venture east, past snowy lava fields, down icy “hurdy gurdy” (Hveragerdi) hill, through a snowstorm across the agricultural flats and around the headland, with the Vestmannaeyar (Westman Islands) barely discernible through the clouds. Around Eyjafjallajökull (volcano) to Vík, where we took shelter from the elements and ate hamburgers for lunch. Then out across the snow-sculpted lava plains, past Kirkjubærklaustur and around Oraefajökull, a familiar drive in the summer but made unfamiliar by the snow and mist.
We made only a brief stop at the ice lagoon Jökulsárlón but were chased back to the car by the wind and sleet, so we pressed on to Höfn and refuge in glaciologist/astronomer Snævarr’s nice house (see last summer's blog!). We swept in with pizza makings and chili ginger biscuits and marmalade and chocolate.
The next day, the Monday before Lent, is Bolludagur in Iceland - bun day! The ‘buns’ are more like chocolate-covered cream puffs and symbolize the feast before the fast. We had been introduced to bolladagur by my friends Siggi and Malla the previous Friday... so we brought the ingredients along so that we could make bolla on the proper day. We then embarked for Vesturhorn, a spectacular craggy intrusion and black sand beach just east of Höfn. We arrived to bitter cold winds but ventured out to admire spectacular (Turner-esque) skies, made more dramatic by blizzard fronts that passed through with winds enough to shake the truck and snow that caused the outside world to dissolve into darkness. Between snowy blasts we found a scenic car perch for sketching, although I kept hopping out for photos when bands of sunlight illuminated the oddly shaped hummocky dunes of snow-encrusted black sand.
We eventually retreated back to Höfn, past snowy Icelandic ponies (the images below include my experimental print from a screen printing class that I’m taking). In Höfn we said HI to Snævarr, picked up some groceries, admired the inner planets of the solar system (see last summer’s Iceland blog), stopped for gas and hotdogs (a favorite food in Iceland), and then headed west toward Hofellsjökull, where we parked on the side of the road for another watercolor. And then on farther, past the stone trolls to an abandoned farmhouse set against a mountain backdrop and sky that faded gradually from tangerine to gray (another watercolor begging to be painted).
The day started with a lovely drive west toward Jökulsárlón...
We spent most of the day in the magic ice maze of the Jökulsárlón beach in winter... as always, I found the inner glow of the wind-sculpted ice mezmerising. I wandered around with my camera and experimented with making ice prints while Emma found a sheltered spot from which to paint... although in an artist-scientist moment I did help to solve the problem that she was having with her water colors turning to ice by suggesting that she use seawater (which seemed to work).
The second week saw less adventure but more culture, Iceland-style, including an opening exhibit at a museum to celebrate the 100th anniversary of women getting the vote and a free choir concert. It also saw the full spectrum of weather, from clear and very cold to heavy snow; the one constant was that it was always windy. And only one night clear enough to see northern lights...
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