Listen To Take Your Time
Here is the audio version of Take Your Time #4. Enjoy!
Illustration
A turf house is basically my dream home.
Inspiration
I spent a beautiful and magical week with my husband Michael in Iceland. I’m excited to share some of the inspiration I picked up on this trip with you all! I’ve broken it up into three sections: An Artist At Home, A Home Becomes A Museum, and A Museum of Life.
An Artist At Home
Turf houses are traditional vernacular architecture in Iceland. Building from turf is practiced in different countries, though in Iceland it’s more common to see walls made from turf and passages between houses built as separate and covered. Although endangered by modernization, we learned turf building, building a structure into the side of a mound, hill, crevice, or other raised ground, is still being practiced in Iceland. One morning, before we took the ferry to the Westman Islands/Vestmannaeyjar, we stopped by the Íslenski bærinn Turf House which has a workshop, an art gallery, a museum, and a small, and fascinating complex of turf houses being restored by the original occupant's grandson, an artist who is one of the few craftsmen left in Iceland who actually knows how to build a turf house. He talked to us a lot about how modernity is intruding on this practice. I admired his demeanor, dedication to the craft, and his art and lifestyle. That day we may have been the only visitors, but he still took the time to show us the history of turf houses, and his theory on Greek urban development (he may have thought I was Greek, and then just went forward with the story) and the traditional furniture he’d been restoring for the museum, the floor made of old countertop scrapes and the gorgeous windows from architectural salvage. He has a charming and slow life, with plenty of time for his own works (which were very intriguing), and I hope to have that kind of space in life to work on my big projects.
A Home Becomes A Museum
When in Reykjavik, be sure to visit as many of the locations of the Reykjavik Art Museum as you can fit in. This section is about our stop at the Ásmundar Museum dedicated to the works of sculptor Ásmundar Sveinsson. Sveinsson designed and built the building which housed his home, studio, and workspace. The style of the building and sculptures felt familiar and unknown at the same time. My favorite work was the giant Song of the Sea (1950) outside of the house. What does it sound like? It’s funny that it mostly sits quietly when its name and the way it’s built imply sound. On exhibition were the works of Sveinsson and his mentor Carl Milles. Both artists’ works are deeply interconnected in form and style and also in their shared philosophy “that art belongs in public spaces and that it is best used there, where most people have access to it.” I couldn’t agree more.
Museum of Life
My favorite activity was visiting the Háafell Goat Farm, a museum of life (or really goats). It is a joyful and peaceful place where you can visit Icelandic goats and sheep and also enjoy goat milk ice cream. #22, pictured above, was friendly and didn’t seem to mind at all being lifted up and snuggled. On our rainy last morning, we had breakfast at Reykjavik Roasters (the location on Freyjugata 41, I have to mention 9 years ago it was the first place I had ever had an oat milk latte, and coming back it’s still just as delicious as I remember). I flipped through some of the art books and picture books they had and was very struck by the image of a figure with black hair wearing a red dress in a field with goats and sheep. Even the horizon is similar to the photograph. I wish I had written down or photographed the book cover! If anyone recognizes the book or artist, please message me!
Ideas
Keith Haring’s Street Notes I started reading CUNY English Professor Jillian Hess’s substack Noted and loved this one on Keith Haring. He wrote and did copious notetaking in his journals. This note from Haring that Professor Hess highlighted really resonated with me, "The world is waiting for the things and I am the only one who can bring them these things. There is a kind of freedom in that. There is also a kind of hysteria in that, but it depends on how you see the world. I only think that I want to be the one who makes the “things.” I don’t know what I want the world to be. But only I can make these “things.” These things that are called the works of Keith Haring. As I try to write every morning to get all of my thoughts out on the page before starting my day to meet its demands, I’ll try to keep in mind how writing can be a preparation for drawing. What are “things” only YOU can make? What do you want the world to be like? This idea is so bold and individualistic, and I do see Haring’s equivocation saying it’s a ‘hysteria’ to believe you possess some creation that is uniquely yours. But I think you need to believe that in order to create, even if you know it’s not true.
How Artisans in Puerto Rico Sustain Native Culture “Some people produce work using the same materials and methods long favored by Indigenous artists. Others find ways to blend ancient and contemporary approaches. What they share is passion and persistence, a lifestyle that cares for everything in their surroundings, and a commitment to saving a beautiful creative force from extinction.” Javier E. Piñero is a former U.S. Marine Corps unit photographer, who has documented the Puerto Rican experience, including the impacts of Hurricane Maria. He returned home to document artists devoted to preserving Puerto Rico’s rich creative traditions. I learned so much about some of the native arts of Puerto Rico from this article and even more about the people working to keep these practices surviving and thriving. More than just preservation, working with these indigenous materials in art didn’t feel just like a reference to the past, but also a vision of the future. A vision that isn’t just VR and AI, but also the materials of the earth.
Michael played this song Deaf In Three Corners by La Timpa while driving the other day and what struck me immediately is that I’m not sure I can pinpoint when it begins and when it ends. It feels out of time. It’s jarring in a very pleasant way. Striking? Every time I hear this song I really live in it. Timpa is Italian and means stone, but I also read that could mean an uncomfortable place. And I interpreted that as a place of suspension, waiting, or limbo. Give it a listen and let me know what you think.
Ending Quote
In honor of the Summer Solstice and the end of June gloom here in LA here’s a beautiful quote about measuring time and recognizing the change of seasons through the sense of taste.
“I have only to break into the tightness of a strawberry, and I see summer—its dust and lowering skies.” — Toni Morrison
According to Farmer’s Almanac, “The timing of the June solstice is not based on a specific calendar date or time; it all depends on when the Sun reaches its northernmost point from the celestial equator. Therefore, the solstice won't always occur on the same day. Currently, it shifts between June 20, 21, and 22.” I guess the sun doesn’t care about what day it is.