ARTICA Svalbard Residency | Week 11

This week we entered June, meaning that I am on the last stretch of my residency. In some ways I cannot believe that it is almost over. In other ways I feel as if I have been here forever. The strange cold planet that I landed on in March, covered in ice and snow and a play of pink and blue pastel colours, has now made way to a drastically different world that is currently rather brown, rainy and bleak - albeit still stunning in its own way. I guess this is what Arctic summers are like? It is strange to think that when I left Oslo in mid-March, I was dragging my luggage through a snow storm. Now I will be returning to a city filled with lush green parks and find that all of my summer clothes are stacked away and my Christmas lights are still up - probably to the chagrin of some of the neighbours.

I initially wanted to write a long insightful essay about the Norwegian Minister of Justice and Public Security’s visit to Svalbard this week, but I find that I want to talk about residency life.

My brain experienced a bit of a shut down at the end of last week. I was feeling dizzy, I was unable to sleep and my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. While I am sure printmaking chemicals do little to mitigate this, I realised I had been pushing my head, body and creative capacity to the limit. Whenever I was not in the studio, I was sketching, writing or reading relevant research. When trying to fall asleep, I was running through the steps and tasks for the next weeks and even months ahead. The only time I took a few hours off was when I needed to cook or do housework.

Being on a sponsored long-term residency such as this one, it is easy to chastise yourself unless you work all day, every day. While ARTICA encourages slow thinking and reflection and never puts pressure on us to perform, we as artists often do. After all, when will we ever find the space and time to be this productive at home? Back in Oslo, I rush between work, meetings, projects and different studios, while at the same time also trying to uphold a large social circle. Hours each week are spent commuting in tightly packed underground carriages. It is such a rare opportunity to be granted three whole months to work in a large beautiful space with all the necessary equipment at the ready, and where your commute consists of a pleasant ten minute walk past beautiful mountains and a coffee shop. All you can think about is how you want to make the most of it. A residency is definitely a relaxing escape from your life and obligations at home, but paradoxically it can also be a period where you are placing an immense amount of expectation on yourself to be productive. It is easy to forget that just like in “real life”, you need to strike a balance if you are going to be able to hang in there for the long haul.

I am very glad that I had a visit from two good friends this week, which forced me to take some much needed days off. I found immense pleasure taking them on a guided tour of Longyearbyen in a rare spell of beautiful sunshine. My spirits rose immensely, and I regained my motivation. Going forward, I will remember to maintain a better work-life balance, and also make sure I do not forget to soak in the beauties of Svalbard in between studio-sessions. Perhaps even make use of that yoga mat that I always seem to bring with me, but never touch.

Mentally I am now slowly emerging from my residency bubble, preparing my mind for my return home in a couple of weeks. At some point you realise that you need to start facing your taxes, e-mails and bills again, because unfortunately, life at home continues even though you have temporarily abandoned it.

While I spent the first few weeks of my residency throwing myself over any new research and info on Svalbard that I could possibly lay my hands on, I am now attempting to wrap up the projects I have started and instead focus on reflection. I am beginning to think about my future. What aspects of life in Longyearbyen do I like and wish to take back with me? Are there things back home that I am currently dissatisfied with and wish to change upon my return? I cannot quite pinpoint how yet, but I know I want to make some changes to the way that I structure my timetable, ensuring that less of my precious studio time is eaten away by daily chores, random errands and phone distractions, and instead find ways of slowing down and go into longer continous stretches of deep focus. I also want to continue this new and more playful approach to art that I have adapted through this residency, learning to actively engage with and utilise my direct surroundings for artistic inspiration rather than always being so introspective. Last, but not least, I want to feel closer to my local community and seek out the trails and activities that my immediate surroundings have to offer - the way that I do here.

I had a lovely farewell lunch with a fellow artist the other day, as she too will soon be leaving Svalbard after several weeks of travelling around the archipelago. Our emotions consist of immense gratitude, mixed with a tinge of melancholy. One of the things we talked about is how life changing a residency can be, and how we are both scared of the feelings we may or may not have to confront once we get home. How will we feel about living in a big city after Longyearbyen? Will urban society feel alienating, and can we make it less so? Will we, as young female artists, ever manage to balance a seemingly restless artist life with potentially settling down in the future?

I do not think you can spend weeks in a place like Svalbard and not feel altered in some ways. My fear is that the human talent for adapting will make me just forget everything I experienced up here and go back to life exactly the way it was. How to make sure this will not just feel like a distant dream?

To round things up on a positive note: I am very excited to finally announce that I have an upcoming solo show in Oslo opening on the 29th August at Kunstverket Galleri, and there I will be showcasing a large portion of the works produced during my residency.

ARTICA Svalbard Residency | Week 10

Between the 14th and 16th centuries, it became a widely established truth that the North Pole consisted of a black magnetic rock, which would account for why compasses always pointed north. Surrounding the Pole was a giant whirlpool sucking the ocean into the bowels of the earth like a funnel. Enclosing the whirlpool were four masses of land, each divided by narrow channels through which inward currents would flow.

Humanity’s idea of the North Pole was largely formed by the map Septentrionalium Terrarum by Gerardus Mercator (1512-1594). First published as part of a larger world map in 1569, a larger stand-alone map of the Arctic was published posthumously in 1595. Although it looks funny to our contemporary eyes, with the map even suggesting the presence of Pygmies just south of the North Pole, Mercator based this vision of the Arctic on the most credible accounts available to him at the time. The most influential, called Inventio Fortunata [Fortunate Discoveries] was a 14th century travelogue written by an unknown source. In Mercator’s words, it traced the travels of “an English minor friar of who traveled to Norway and then “pushed on further by magical arts.” Another source came from two explorers, Martin Frobisher and James Davis, who had travelled as far as what is now northern Canada. They described powerful currents with massive ice bergs being carried away as if weightless - which would account for the idea of the whirlpool close to the pole. There is one thing worth noting to Mercator’s credit. He was, and rightly so, convinced that the magnetic pole was separate from the geographic pole. His map therefore features an extra magnetic rock on the upper right section to account for the noticeable deviation of compasses.

Septentrionalium Terrarum by Gerardus Mercator, first printed posthumously in 1595. This is an example of a later edition published by Jodocus Hondius, which also includes Spitsbergen (now Svalbard), after it was discovered in 1597.

The suggestion that there must be a large mountain of lodestone at the North Pole to account for the earth’s magnetism goes back to at least the 13th century, not long after the invention of the compass. The vision of the North Pole as a black rock surrounded by four landmasses is also present in Johannes Ruysch’s canonical shaped world map, published as early as 1507-8.

Universalior Cogniti Orbis Tabula, Ex recentibus confecta observationibus [A more universal map of the known world, constructed by means of recent observations] by Johannes Ruysch, published 1507-1508.

In the Age of Exploration, which saw increasing trade with the East, the Western world hoped that through the open channels surrounding the North Pole, they could reach the other side of the globe in a fraction of the time that it took to sail around Cape of Good Hope in order to reach the ports of India and China. The immense forces and crushing powers of the arctic drift ice soon proved this to be impossible however, and many a fatal expedition stood testimony to this. By the mid 1600s, the view of the North Pole as an economical and time saving maritime highway to the East had become obsolete - explorers who had just barely made it home reporting that the polar region seemed to consist of nothing but inhospitable, impenetrable ice. The Arctic thus became “the Silk Road that never was”.

The illustrations below depict the perils that the crew of Willem Barentsz’ third and final expedition had to face in their attempt to discover a northern sea route to Asia:

While long discarded as an unrealistic dream, climate change and rapidly melting polar ice is turning what was once a Renaissance utopia of profitable sailing routes into a very imminent contemporary reality. The Ship Yard Blog has a very interesting article on this, describing how in 2017, the Russian tanker Christophe de Margerie made the first journey from Norway to South Korea without being escorted by an icebreaker. Not only did this fuel hopes of establishing a direct maritime link between the giant Yamal gas field in Russia and the markets in East Asia. The Arctic might, according to experts, also hold 22% of the world’s undiscovered hydrocarbons which may soon be up for grabs.

With these developments, a whole set of geopolitical questions in the north are arising - something which we Norwegians are noticing both in northern mainland Norway and on Svalbard. Together with Russia, Canada, Denmark and the United States, Norway has submitted claims for the right to explore the continental shelf of the Arctic Ocean. In addition to this, China has defined itself as a "near-Arctic state" for the past decade, and thus plans to play a growing role in the region.

For the past couple of weeks, there have been lots of talks and debates regarding the sale of a large property on Svalbard near the Recherche Fjord. Currently on sale for over 300 million Euro, the land measures 60 square kilometres (roughly the size of Manhattan) and boasts mountains, glaciers and a five kilometre coastline. It is, by all accounts, the last privately owned land in Svalbard, and the last private land in the world’s High Arctic. In the sales prospect, it has been promoted as a property of unprecedented geopolitical and strategic importance. The owners, Kuldspids AS, welcome all bidders - individuals, companies and governments alike - from countries who have signed the Svalbard Treaty of 1920, and are thus entitled to exploit the region’s natural resources on a similar level to Norway. One of the signatories, Russia, has for several decades maintained a coal mining community on Svalbard, via the state-run company Trust Arktikugol. The Chinese are now, naturally, sought out as highly potential and interested buyers.

Private land for sale Sore Fagerfjord, near the Recherche Fjord. Photo credit: CC/Gary Bembridge

Keen to protect its sovereignty and control over Svalbard, Norway is becoming increasingly concerned by the prospect of a Chinese sale, fearing that it might prove yet another a security risk in addition to that of the looming Russian presence. Norway's Attorney General has ordered the owners to call off the planned sale, and government ministers are proclaiming that the land cannot be sold without the approval of Norwegian authorities due to old clauses dating back to 1919. Per Kyllingstad, the attorney representing the sellers, claims that these clauses have expired. There is also a lot of discussion as to how valuable an investment the land actually is. The Norwegian government has enforced strict environmental laws on Svalbard, making any practical use of the area near impossible. The land might therefore be of minimal value, besides a symbol of prestige. However, many countries might also regard this land as a long term investment, as there is no knowing what the political landscape of Svalbard will look like in 50-100 years.

Inspired by the current news articles and debates, I have created my own map of the North Pole to reflect how centuries of technological advancement and human desires are now unfolding on a whole new scale due to climate change in the Arctic. Basing my vision of the North Pole on Mercator’s map, and juxtaposing illustrations from a variety of antique polar maps together with my own contemporary drawings of modern ships and machinery, I liken the scramble of the Arctic to a never-ending game of chess or Snake and Ladders, where we are placing ourselves as strategic pawn pieces on a global game board, where some succumb and others thrive.

ARTICA Svalbard Residency | Week 9

I am now two-thirds through my epic Svalbard artist residency. Time flies by so fast, but at the same time I feel as if I have been here forever, because so much has happened in such a short amount of time, and I have managed to produce more art in two months than I have in these past two years combined. After experiencing what can be described as a bit of a mid-residency dip, it was good to once again spend a week exploring Svalbard and reminding myself of what a special place this is. I definitely want to make sure I make the last month in Longyearbyen count!

I kicked off the week by joining a bonfire party in the midnight sun together with artists and writers from the Arctic Circle Residency. I met lots of great new people (even meeting up with a long time Instagram-friend for the first time!), and it will definitely stand out as one of the most memorable and magical evenings during my time in Svalbard:

This week my parents finally made it up to 78 degrees north, and I have been very excited to show them all of the places I have come to love up here. To kick off their Svalbard experience, we travelled on Hurtigruten’s brand new hybrid-electric catamaran M/S Bard to see the mountains and hopefully spot some wildlife. While we did not spot any polar bears this time, we were so lucky to see three walrus swimming up close!

The captain of M/S Bard chooses the route according to weather conditions and recent wildlife sightings, and on this particular day we travelled westwards towards Coles Bay and Grumant, to which I had never been before. Abandoned in the mid sixties, Grumant was a Soviet mining settlement, and the nearby Coles Bay was from where they shipped out the mined coal. As a result, the hills of Coles Bay and Grumant are now scattered with the eerie remains of old buildings, as well as a graveyard and a railroad track. Seeing these dilapidated structures standing alone in the vast desolate landscape is chilling and fascinating. While many enjoy Svalbard mostly for its untouched nature - what I personally find the most fascinating is seeing how humans cope and survive in extreme conditions. It is hard to imagine that Grumant was once a buzzing and thriving settlement with over one thousand people. After the mining operations ceased in the sixties, some of the houses were taken down and moved to Barentsburg, a Russian coal mining town of 500 people which is still in operation at Svalbard.

After the invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, relations between the predominantly Norwegian town of Longyearbyen and the Russian town of Barentsburg have been icy cold. There are no roads connecting the settlements, so the mere 55 km separating the two need to be traversed by either boat, helicopter or snowmobile. Despite this, cultural exchanges and friendly sports competitions between Russians and Norwegians have always been a mainstay of Svalbard life - up until now. This week saw Norwegian Constitution Day (17th May), and spending it here must have been one of the most surreal experiences I have had. Not only because it was cold and I could not wear my usual finery, but because all the celebratory speeches were also held in Russian. Traditionally, Norwegian Constitution Day has first and foremost catered to the youngest - we have children’s parades rather than military parades, and the afternoon is always filled with family activities and children’s performances. For many years, the tradition at Svalbard has been to invite the children of Barentsburg to join in the festivities. In an isolated place like this, where Norwegian and Russian politics physically intersect, and local life vs. global interests are constantly being juggled, life is not always so black and white. For the sake of the youngest, local authorities have decided that war needs to take a break on what has, after all, been dubbed as “Children’s Day” in Norway. Interestingly, the waitress serving us in the evening turned out to be Russian, and upon asking her about popular beverages in Russia, she kindly served us tea prepared in the Russian way, accompanied by brandy. While I do not know what her story is, I am sure it must be challenging to be a Russian in Longyearbyen these days.

On the topic of Barentsburg - the town is actually named after Dutch explorer Willem Barentsz, who accidentally discovered Svalbard in 1596 on his misson to find the Northeast Passage to China. To round up my parents’ visit, we spent their last night at Camp Barentz, about 15 km outside of Longyearbyen. Organised by Hurtigruten, Camp Barentz offers a lovely bonfire meal of reindeer stew, wine, beer, aquavit, hot beverages and cake, accompanied by interesting lectures on Willem Barentsz and polar bears. The hut is a replica of the hut Barentsz and his men constructed on the Russian island of Novaya Zemlya in 1596, when they were forced to overwinter in the arctic after having discovered Svalbard. In order to construct their winter cabin, they had to use driftwood as well as wood from their ship, which was being crushed by the arctic ice. Only 12 of his men made it back to the Netherlands - Barentz himself sadly died of scurvy as they commenced on their return journey in small rowing boats.

My latest print, which is a rather intricate line etching in the making, actually refers to some of the Norwegian and Russian disputes in the Arctic, and how we are once again scrambling to secure our positions in the Northeast Passage which Barentsz was once trying to discover. With sea ice melting rapidly with each passing year, his dream of sailing across the shorter, northern sea routes to Asia is quickly becoming a reality, but also a potential geopolitical nightmare and headache. Combining elements from ancient maps of the Arctic, as well as my own sketches of cargo ships, ice breakers and various vehicles for polar exploration, I attempt to link together old and contemporary views of the northern terra nullius.

ARTICA Svalbard Residency | Week 8

One of the first things I learned when coming to Longyearbyen, is that it is a very sought after place by creatives. The Arctic is a destination where many people come to re-discover or realise themselves, and I am not necessarily excluding myself from this category. As a result, the community here is continually being approached by artists, researchers and journalists with project proposals which, although interesting, often require the extraction of knowledge, time and resources from the locals. While this is generally welcomed, it is also important that we as visiting creatives do not only seek to benefit from the community’s goodwill, but that we also give something back and contribute positively to making Longyearbyen a vibrant town to live.

As part of our residency with ARTICA, we are obliged to share our research and/or practice with the local community in the form of talks, workshops, performances, lectures, exhibitions etc. One really nice thing that Charlotte, the Director of ARTICA said, was that the best thing a resident artist can leave behind is not necessarily a finished artwork, but an experience. Nothing is more valuable than exchanging skills and knowledge. As a result, ARTICA hosts a range of diverse workshops and events, most recently a mooncake workshop with visiting pastry chef Ethan Kan, as well as a sun medallion workshop for kids in order to welcome the return of the sun after a long, dark arctic winter.

Photo: ARTICA

As my residency contribution, I decided that I wanted to host an introductory linocut course. I truly believe in the power of craft and collective workshops, and that the art making, maybe even more so than the art itself, makes for happier human beings and better communities. The reason why I chose to focus on linocut printmaking, is because it is a printmaking technique that does not require the use of a printing press or toxic solvents. It can be done at home using a hand-printing tool, and the inks can be cleaned up with soap and water. My aim was therefore to give the workshop participants the foundation and confidence needed to be able to master the art of linocut printmaking at home, without needing access to a professional print studio.

I wanted the course to run over two days in order to go more in-depth and take the class beyond a very elementary introduction to linocut. During the first day we learned how to make a basic single-coloured linocut print by experimenting with different tools for mark making and different methods for printing. On the second day we experimented with different ways of printing a multi-coloured print, using layering and jigsaw puzzle techniques, as well as applying colour gradients.

Photo: ARTICA

I am so impressed with how many amazing prints our wonderful participants managed to produce in the course of two half-day sessions! It was also great for me getting to meet some more of Longyearbyen’s long-term residents. It is fantastic to see what ARTICA, and the workshops and events which are hosted here, means for so many in this town. It has grown into a truly wonderful community, much thanks to the current staff, Charlotte and Lisa. That being said, with Svalbard having a higher turnover of people than other places, they stress the importance that people form an affinity and positive relation with ARTICA itself as a cultural institution and social meeting place, and not just with the individuals who work here. I truly hope my workshop helped contribute to this, and that many will continue with printmaking after this weekend.

ARTICA Svalbard Residency | Week 7

Every time you think you are getting used to the landscape here, it changes. Just as I was getting used to the view of the still blue water which spring had brought with it, the beginning of this week greeted us with massive packs of drift ice which had swept into the fjord overnight. While creating a bit of a havoc for the smaller boats, the big blocks of ice looked spectacular and dramatic - just what you imagine the Arctic to be. It very much helped set the tone for my next print.

This week I paid another visit to the Svalbard Museum and the North Pole Expedition Museum to conduct some research. Since many decades back, Svalbard has been a launching point for (mainly masculine) attempts at polar exploration, and a stage (in the double meaning of the word) for conquering the great white unknown. Both museums contain some beautiful prints, objects and images which tell the tales of early polar expeditions - such as those of Walter Wellman, Solomon August Andrée, Adolf Erik Nordenskiöld, Otto Torell, Roald Amundsen, Fridjof Nansen and Umberto Nobile. They all used Svalbard as a base for their further ventures northwards.

From the Svalbard Museum:

Nowadays we know that the North Pole is in the middle of an ocean and is covered in ice, but early explorers had no idea what they might find. Open sea? A huge hole? Undiscovered land? Were there inhabitants, previously unknown peoples? Serious research designed to find answers is often overshadowed by sensational, or even foolhardy expeditions to the north. Financial backers were often more inspired by narratives that bolstered national pride than by sober pursuit of research data.

To me, the most dramatic and emotionally charged of all Arctic expeditions must be the Andrée Expedition of 1897, in which Swedish explorer Solomon August Andrée and his two men attempted to fly over the North Pole in a hydrogen balloon departing from Svalbard’s Danskøya (Dane’s Island). While a bold and ingenious (and some might say unhinged) idea ahead of its time, the balloon had severe technical issues which Andrée supposedly attempted to conceal before launch - the forces of royal sponsorships and press publicity weighing heavily enough for him to take the risk of flying. Once the balloon soared out of view behind the mountains, Andrée and his team, consisting of Nils Strindberg and Knut Frænkel, were never seen again. The trajectory of their journey remained a mystery for 33 years, until the crew of a Norwegian whaling and research vessel accidentally stumbled upon their campsite at Kvitøya (White Island) in eastern Svalbard, where they found skeletal remains, photographic negatives, journals and a vast supply of food and clothes. I would heartily recommend reading Bea Uusma’s fantastic book on the subject, Expeditionen: min kärlekshistoria, in which she attempts to once and for all to solve the mystery of what led to their ultimate demise. She also features in a great episode about the expedition on Sveriges radio (in Swedish). Fragments of the balloon, made from varnished Chinese silk, can be seen in both the Svalbard Museum and the North Pole Expedition Museum. Seeing the fragments of fragile silk gave chills down my spine.

A fragment of Andrées balloon “The Eagle”, retrieved from Kvitøya. The balloon was custom-made in France from several layers of hand stitched, varnished Chinese silk.

While few of Earth’s places remain unexplored today, Svalbard and the idea of “North” still holds a mythical place to many. Svalbard, being both accessible and distant at the same time, has served as the perfect starting point for those wishing to explore the Arctic - now mostly for personal and creative growth rather than for national honour and glory - me being one of many.

The print that I am currently working is being created with all of these stories whirling around in my head. I found some stunning old photographs of the jagged mountains and glaciers around Magdalenefjorden in the Svalbard Museum Archives, and decided to use these as reference for my next mezzotint. By happy chance, I discovered that Magdalenefjorden is very close to Danskøya, from where Andrée launched his fatal balloon expedition. It is also the area where Dutch explorer Willem Barentsz first set eyes on Svalbard, which he then named Spitzbergen from its “spisse berg”, i.e. sharp jagged mountains.

With this information in mind, I have decided to incorporate fragments of contemporary illustrations from both Andrée’s expedition and Barentz’ discovery into the scenery - layering different histories together and charging the landscape with human narratives. After all, Svalbard’s nature, while beautiful on its own, has become a tableau and stage for human folly and ambition, being littered with tragic tales and crushed dreams.