Is it goofing around with a culvert at Grandatorg?
Or lunch at the Kjarvalstaðir gallery?
Or goofing around with shop windows on Laugavegur?
Or just goofing around at Laugarnestangi as the sun comes up over Viðey?
Or a goofy farmer’s field on the way to Dettifoss?
Or a whole town goofing off at Kópasker?
Or an aluminum smelter buying allegiance with a pretty thing on Sæbraut?
Or doing more with less on Laugavegur because you need more with your less?
Or just goofing off with a little bit of security magic on Frakkastígur?
Or the painting amusing themselves at Kjarvalstaðir, because everyone has come to lunch with old friends, and the paintings are certainly old friends.
Or outdoing Mondrian in a sheep farm in the Fljótsdalur?
Or some weird kind of planting flowers to give children hope in front of some everybody-comes-to-Iceland-with-spray-cans-now-that-the-building-sites-have-been-abandoned-after-the-financial-meltdown, because what else?
Or politics? Is it an art gallery, too?
It’s the cigarette tin, right?
No, wait, it’s the riding stable signage in Akureyri!
No, wait! It’s spilled paint and a stick on a parking lot!
It never ends. Icelanders are a pretty serious looking bunch, even Björk, and they write about gruesome murders and stuff, and their novelists kill off all their heroes and heroines just because, but don’t believe it, because they’re always goofing off, with a straight face. Do you think the horses taught them about this, in those centuries of isolation?
Well, maybe not the straight face part.