Tag Archives: Myvatn

The Beauty and The Ugliness of The Icelandic North

Even in Iceland, beauty is elusive. These hot springs and sulfur vents near Myvatn were mined by the Danes for sulfur. They are now a tourist site.They are, in fact, mine tailings. Only a tiny fraction of the sulfur remains. It’s still beautiful, though.

Nature, though, it is not. The Icelanders know this. You should know it too.

This is politics writ large.

Entering Whirlpool

Imagine, becoming the volcano. You can, at Skutustaðir. You will have to become a different person, that’s all.
Imagine that a pond in a mud crater on an eye-land in the sea really is an eye in the land, that you look at it with your eye, and the sea is there, looking back. If you can’t, then stop by and talk about nature and beauty.

But if you can stay, then turn around.

Then turn around again.

If you’ve done it right you’ve left your old eyes behind.

You’re walking in the footsteps of the wind.

Elves and Men in Iceland

In his Book Livet’s Strand (The Shore of Life), written in 1915 during the height of the Great War that destroyed Western Civilization and left us all trying to make sense of the ruins, Gunnar Gunnarsson explored the idea (to heartbreaking length) that the earth is a shore on which life crashes again and again and again. On this shore, life is rescued and lost, celebrated and lost again, and in the end only endured. Today, 98 years later, I’d like to rescue that earth from this apocalyptic image — without denying its truth and the very real anguish which gave birth to it. To set the scene, two posts ago I gave this image of the living sea in the Skaga Fjord, in which I suggested that the sea was life itself and all other life is only a replication of it …

aliveThe Greenland Sea

Very much alive in Skagafjörður

Today I’d like to modify Gunnar’s rather black and white statement with the observation that the land has its own life. For evidence of it, a journey to Skudustaðir on Myvatn (The Lake of the Midges), is well advised. There is life within the stone there — life intimately connected with human consciousness, too. Here, for example …

P1320873House and Barn

That’s Elf House and Human Barn, actually, and the road going north and south. Folk wisdom holds that elves are more beautiful than people and reveal themselves only when they wish. No argument there.

Sure, Tolkein dreamed of his elves and so did the Victorian fabulists, but these are not those elves. Those ones are social and linguistic constructs and physical animations rising from the literalism of Christian civilization. I have deep respect for Christian tradition, but would like to show that in the North it has a very specific and illuminating context. These “elves” or “other people” are bodily perceptions that humans brought here from older continental traditions stretching back into the deep stone age. Here’s some charmed rock …


The Other World

Or, to give life to an old phrase that now is a name for bedrock: the living rock. It is not a metaphor, but neither is it one of Tolkein’s stories.

There is, for one thing, a world within the rock, with faces frozen into stone. Now, I will be following up on those faces in the next few days, but today I’m laying down words about the rock as the sculpture that it is …


Rock Entrails in Skutustaðir

Open up a human body and you get much the same thing.

In the 18th Century, the German philosopher Johann Gottfried Herder wrote a vital book on aesthetics that shows light on this kind of art. It has been impeccably translated in a new edition from the University of Chicago.


The Publisher’s Page on this Book is Here.

In this book, Herder argues that sculpture is a representation of the human body, seen at the intersection of time and space — that three-dimensionality is just this intersection. Intriguingly, to observe this form of mirror, a human must walk around the sculpture, to see it unfold in time. It is a way of movement that anyone knows who has gone walking in the hills and seen their story unfold with each footstep, and sensed them moving behind one’s back. And what does a human see when his or her body is glimpsed within the earth, rather than within the sea, or on Gunnar’s shore?

elfin4Elves in the Their Kingdom

One also sees their sheep…

elfinElvin Ram

These effects are not just observable in the intestines of the stone, mind you. Even the surface stone, it’s skin, the shape it takes on exposure to the sun and human sight, is alive …

elfin6Elvin Sheep Skull with A Halo of LIchen

What do I mean by “alive” in this context? I mean that the stone has the power to cast forth shapes within the observing mind. It is a kind of template. The mind I’m talking about is a point of intersection between humans, earth …

lakeelves1 Lake Elf in the Spring Sun

Skutustaðir, Iceland

 … and with other wanderers from the sea, like these lichens …

head2Lake Elf with Jewels of Lichen

The orange lichen blooms in the faeces of birds. Cool!

Even more dramatically …

elfsnow2Lake Elf Replicated in Lichen

Sometimes the patterns laid down by the stone allow for these type of human readings to rise directly from the lichens themselves, as the stone is read in time …

elflichen3Lichen Elf

Skutustaðir, Iceland

This is the way the human mind reads the earth. In contemporary terms, ‘reading’ refers to decoding marks on paper, which spell out words, which encapsulate ideas and signify the things of the world, all coloured by human “spells”, traditions, conventions, and cognitive biases. Reading the earth operates on the same principle, with the difference that it came long before spells and words, and is a way of “reading” or participating in the earth with the body, rather than with the mind. Gunnar’s anguish during the Great War was that the link to God had been lost, and that God cared nothing for his people, and was remorseless — as remorseless as nature. That is, in itself, a very modern reading, but in no way does it negate the physical context in which it stands, in which humans stand upon and within the earth, bring forth children upon it, and tell this most ancient story, not of earth as a shore of death on which life, or God, shall we say, crashes and breaks again and again like waves of untrained and disastrously led soldiers marching into the machine guns of the Somme, but is alive. Who are the other people? The question is absurd. They are our selves, built upon the forms of the earth, continually springing to life, indominatable, and enduring.


Tomorrow I will continue this discussion by extending it into the forms of human sight, the line, and the basics of art. Now, I’m going out to walk among the horses of Iceland. Bless bless!