Das Boot met up with Icelandic art critic Adalsteinn Ingolfsson for a conversation about his career, Icelandic art, and his involvement in Museum of Design and Applied Art in Iceland (Hönnunarsafn Íslands). Adalsteinn was in Manhattan en route to Canada to curate an exhibition.


DB. What initially pulled you on to this path of taking on art as a life long subject? 

AI: I don´t think I´ve ever thought of it in those terms. As with most things in life, a career largely happens to you. And perhaps art is more likely to happen to those who grow up with art or art books around them. My father was an amateur painter who´d collected a number of art books that I found fascinating. There were books on Kandinsky and German Expressionism which held me in thrall, although I couldn´t tell you why. Then an uncle by marriage also had a fine collection of Icelandic art, which I was also drawn to every time we visited him. But it didn´t occur to me that one could actually make a living studying other people´s art until my teens.

By that time I had become interested in literature, thus when I decided to go to university abroad, I chose St. Andrews University in Scotland and English literature. Halfway through that course, which I enjoyed by the way, a department of art history was set up at the university. I took one of its courses, on Venetian 17^th century art if I remember rightly. This seemed to agree with me, thus I decided to go on to study art history after I´d finished my MA in English literature. As a cocky Icelander, I had no compunction about applying for the MA course at the best teaching institution in the field, The Courtauld Institute in London. After a nerve-wrecking but exhilarating interview with the famous Anthony Blunt, I was accepted, but before going there I spent a year in Florence, learning Italian and studying 15^th century art on my own. In 1972-74 was at the Courtauld Institute, studying Florentine Mannerism for a year, and then I went on to study Surrealism and American Abstract-Expressionism with a marvellous teacher, writer and painter John Golding.

When I returned to Iceland in 1974, I found that there was no way I could make a living teaching art history alone; thus I took up lecturing on art and literature, art reviewing, journalism and miscellaneous media work. Actually I have reviewed art almost uninterruptedly ever since, which I´m not sure I should be bragging about.

For a while I was arts editor for the Vísir/DV newspapers, Iceland Review and co-editor of a cultural review entitled Storð. Along the way I managed to turn out some 20 books on Icelandic art and artists. From 1977 onwards I was taking on more and more museum work, and in my time I have worked for the Reykjavik Art Museum, the Sigurjón Ólafsson Museum and the National Gallery. In 1999 I was at a loose end after a particularly arduous book project, and when the position of director for a non-existent Museum of Design was advertised, I thought it might be fun to create something out of nothing, applied for the job and got it. This is the story so far. Watch this space…

DB: When one visits Iceland, it is clear that art is ambitiously created and presented and at quite a reasonable level. Given the size of the population, not even a third of a million people, it is a powerful force. What could explain this energy level?

A.I.: I like the “reasonable level”…It´s difficult for me to be objective about this, since I´m bang in the middle of this cauldron. If the art is, well, “reasonable” and the “energy level” high, it may have something to do with the rampant individualism, competitive attitude, insatiable curiosity and towering ambition of so many young Icelanders. I think we must bear in mind that Iceland was originally settled by fairly unruly people, characters who were not prepared to accept constraints from above in their native Norway. Today, there´s an awareness of the importance of the individual consciousness within a tiny society like ours. Every person counts, even an obnoxious neighbour. Also, living with danger – there are volcanoes quite close to Reykjavik, the earth shakes every so often, the sea reglularly sweeps away people and boats – gives life in Iceland an edge. We know, deep inside, that we don´t live in a “safe” environment, thus we sometimes tend to behave – and create - as if there was no tomorrow.

DB: The government has a tradition of supporting the arts in Iceland. There are the artists´salaries, particularly for writers and musicans. There are a couple of hundred artists on public salaries to concentrate on whatever work they wish to focus their energy on. What effect do you think these governmental supports have on Icelandic culture in general.

AI: In actual fact, it´s not a very old tradition. I don´t think it became fully effective until the Eighties and Nineties. But now, as you say, there are quite a number of grants handed out to Icelandic artists, subject to the whim of special grants committees who review the applications. One of the criticisms of this system is that the grants are not substantial enough to make much difference. Every year 200 or so artists get what amounts to a three month salary of an Icelandic primary shool teacher. A lucky few, perhaps some 6-7 artists, get a two-year stipend. The artists are taxed on these grants and are not allowed to hold paying jobs while they benefit from them. Critics also maintain that the whole process is democratic to a fault, grants are awarded to "“good"”and "bad"”artists alike, almost to a rota, instead of giving long term grants to a select number of “significant” artists. Instead the grants create a “life support” for a lot of middle-of-the-road artists who would perhaps be better off devoting themselves to computers, advertising design or teaching. Perhaps these grants serve to create an illusion of a vigorous art scene, I don´t know.

DB.: Would you think these salaries play a part in the initial success of some Icelandic artists?

A.I. : I don´t think they have played any part in the success of our most prominent artists on the international art scene, people like Ólafur Elíasson, the Gudmundsson brothers, Hreinn Fridfinnsson, Ragna Róbertsdóttir, Finnbogi Pétursson and so on. If these these artists have “made it”, it is largely through their own perseverance and the foresight of foreign curators. It is of course entirely possible that the new generation of artists now benefitting from these government salaries will reap some benefits from them, but it still doesn´t get anyone noticed internationally.

DB: Or is it the mindset that an artist may feel he/she has “ a right” to get a public artist salary which in other people´s minds keeps them from just “getting a job”?

A.I. : I don´t think the gneral public in Iceland begrudges artists these salaries, they are, after all, not particularly lavish. But there are many artists who labour under the democratic misconception that all artists are equally worthy of these salaries: “After all, it´s my taxes too, so it must be my turn to receive a handout,” That sort of thing.

DB: Or would these salaries be better if they were in the form of grants from individual companies?

A.I. : There are a few such grants, but they are mostly linked to projects initiated by the companies, have to do with the decoration of their premises and so on. The problem is that companies get little incentive to engage artists or buy from them, since they don´t get any tax benefits from doing that. It would make a big diffrence if they were allowed to write off their donations to culture. So, by and large, our grants system is very much a state affair.

DB: What role do you think private companies have to play in art and particularly its support of particular art projects? They are by nature geared to a bottom line and this is perhaps as far from art as one gets. Unless one specifically incorporates money with art as one´s business or if the business owner(s) has a particular passion for a certain type of art.

A.I. : Well, I would have to answer this largely through what I know of art funding in other countries. Personally, I´ve always had a hard time understanding precisely why public funding of art is less desirable than corporate funding. After all, governments are responsible for the physical and spiritual well-being of its citizens, companies have no such responsibilities. I don´t know why we always assume that they owe us something. A lot of creative work is also utterly uncommercial, raw, painful, shocking – whatever – but it needs to be given a chance to develop. I don´t see many private companies doing that on their own initiative. If art funding had been left largely to the private sector, we probably wouldn´t have the music of John Cage, the theatre of Artaud or the art of Beauys, to name only a few examples of “difficult” art. And, I must say, the kind of corporate art that seems to be favoured by a lot of American companies, also seems to me to be terribly bland, smart art about nothing in particular.

DB.: In the Icelandic public schools, young Icelanders are trained very early on in the crafts, such as in carpentry and sowing. Given that these have a long tradition in Iceland, they seem to have a certain status in the psyche of what relates to Icelandic art. Do you think this part of the education plays a significant role in how the growing generations approach the various art fields?

A.I. : Education in Iceland has changed a good deal during the last 40-50 years. During my youth, handicrafts such as carpentry and sowing were compulsory, but no more. Today, if you want to work with your hands, you enroll in one of the trade schools at the age of 16 or so. It seems to me that today Icelandic kids gravitate to computers as soon as they are able to speak. Which, incidentally, seems to be bearing unexpected fruit. A new generation of extremely cyper-literate graphic designers is emerging in Iceland, if the latest Taschen book on Scandinavian graphic art (2002) is to be believed. I would even argue that you need to have a certain distance from tradition in order to reinvent it. We now have a number of artists who, because they have been divorced from the old carving/carpentry and sewing/textile traditions, are rediscovering them with a special brio. I would just like to mention Oregon-based Hildur Bjarnadóttir, who does quite wonderful things with old knits.

DB. Or to put it another way, how would you value the importance for the culture of a country to train children at an early age in the various arts fields or craft fields?

A.I. : It is crucial. Just look at the way the Japanese, Taiwanese and South Koreans drill their children at an early age. Mind you, these kids have a rough time. There must be something wrong when ten-year olds routinely contemplate suicide, which seems to happen a lot over there.

DB: It is kind of a hard question, especially since Iceland is so open to and influenced by various other cultures, but do you know what makes current art Icelandic and not international or Danish or French or American? I am not referring to Icelandic art within a traditional framework, but to a current definition of the term.

A.I. : It is a hard question. And being in the thick of this scene, I am perhaps not the best person to talk objectively about it. What is interesting is that foreign observers, looking at the Icelandic art and design scene from a distance, as it were, always claim to be able to spot something specifically “Icelandic” about it. When pressed they invariably talk about it in terms of “energy”, “lyricism”, “intensity” and “wayward individualism”.To many outsiders singer/ composer Björk seems to embody many of these qualities.

I think perhaps we have a more intense relationship with our natural surroundings than many other nationalities. As I mentioned before, we live in a young country – at least geologically - which is still in the process of being created. Anything can happen. We also became “modern” rather fast. At the beginning of World War II, there were a number of Icelanders still living in turf huts. Ten years later, these same people were building themselves concrete bungalows in the modernist style. It seems like a contradiction, but our geographical position has always made us extremely curious about what´s happening in the big bad world outside Iceland and quick to assimilate new things. I´m told young Icelanders are more fashion conscious than their contemporaries elsewhere, the latest fashions are on the streets of Reykjavik before they surface elsewhere. In other ways, our young people are not so worldly. Somehow, we manage to walk a fine line between the provincial and the cosmopolitan. Perhaps this gives the Icelandic arts their creative edge? I´m not sure that answers your question fully.

DB: Is Icelandic art for instance an inseparable part of the ongoing process in Europe and elsewhere?

A.I. : This is easier to answer. Yes, I believe we are very much a part of that process. And being situated half-way between Europe and America, we feel free to take what we need from the art of both continents. Actually, one of my ambitions is to create a design venue here in Iceland, which would be able to pit together the best of the design traditions of both continents, including South America. But although we are only three hours away from London and five hours from New York, geography still matters. It is difficult for our artists – and our designers for that matter – to enter into regular dialogues with their contemporaries in the big art centres. Ideally, they would have to relocate for months or years to gain a foothold in those centers, to be noticed and discovered, and this is expensive for Icelanders. For European artists it´s no big deal to move from Milan to Amsterdam. At the moment our artists want the state to step in, to provide large travel grants and some institution that would help young artists find agents or galleries abroad. Especially since the Icelandic art market does no longer cope with the large number of artists at large. The Academy of the Arts is now graduating them at the rate of 20-30 a year. There are already over 500 Icelandic artists listed in the central registry of artists www.umm.is, which is quite a lot for a nation of some 300.000 people.

Mudesa

DB. : You have now been the director of the Museum of Design and Applied Art in Iceland for the last few years. What triggered your interest in starting the museum?

A.I. : As I mentioned at the outset, the decision to create the museum had been taken before I decided to apply for this job.Actually, one of the reasons I applied, quite apart from the alchemy of it, the-creating-something out-of-nothing, was that I was getting bored and dismayed by the art scene, in Iceland as well as elsewhere. Mind you, I still write regular reviews on art, but my priorities have changed – or matured. After seeing the umpteenth version of someone´s solipsistic documentation of his or her foibles or bodily functions, I started asking myself: Why should I be interested? What is this art for? Where have all the great themes gone?

To me, design was comforting; it was concrete, it was about something and it fulfilled – for the most part – real needs. So far, design has not let me down. I don´t know about this “dingaling collection” though…

D.B. : What do you feel personally is the best aspect of constructing an entire museum entity out of practically, or apparently, nothing?

A.I. : Being my own master, feeling free to follow leads or hunches, delve into archives, save stuff destined for the local dump. I´ve often described the job as a cross between detective work and rescue work. Obviously, I do have some directives that I am obliged to follow. My prescribed task is to put together a collection of 20^th century Icelandic design and handicrafts, furniture, industrial objects, ceramics, textiles, graphic design, you name it. At the same time I am creating the history of these objects and traditions, because for the most part it has been utterly neglected. For instance, a lot of Icelanders still assume that we don´t have a 20^th century tradition in furniture. It´s true that we don´t have much of a continuity in 20^th century furniture, mainly because it was rarely manufactured in any quantity. It was always cheaper to import furniture from abroad. But we have a lot of prototypes and one-offs, some of it of high quality. This work shows the influence of German “Werkbund” furniture, the furniture of Lloyd-Wright, and later, the furniture of the Danish masters, to name just a few instances. In the 1950´s we get furniture designers who actually studied with those masters.What I am essentially saying is that I have a responsibility to this “unsung” history, getting the “stuff” together. Having said that, we will obviously have any number of choices when it comes to its presentation in a museum context. Hopefully we´ll get a nice new building within a few years, preferably an architectural landmark, with facilities for a state-of- the-art display technology.

DB: Without reference to some nostalgic patriotism, what is it about the collection that you have assembled, that you feel may be specifically an Icelandic design. Are there specific art terms, attitudes, materials as such, that can help define and help one to understand what makes a design Icelandic?

A.I. :It might be possible to point to certain aspects of Icelandic design from, say 1930 to 1990, and claim that they represent something quintessentially Icelandic. At a certain period one could distinguish between an easy chair of Danish origin and its Icelandic counterpart through craftsmanship alone; it was clear that the Icelandic piece was inferior; perhaps it was also made out of cheap wood instead of rosewood or mahogany. Interestingly enough, sometimes the Icelandic pieces, although they paid lip service to the Danish tradition, were distinguished by their ideosyncracies. Often the Icelandic designers – essentially cabinetmakers or carpenters – were not content with “copying” Danish furniture, but took it upon themselves to add their own flourishes to their chairs or tables, give them a new “character”, if you like.

I think it is also possible also to point to a very conscious stylistic break with the powerful Danish furniture tradition in the furniture that Icelandic designers produced early in the 1960s. They bypass Danish elegance in favour of a kind of “truth to structure and material”, producing solid, rough looking chalet-furniture. It was their way of being “blunt Icelanders”, I suppose.

Then there were also conscious attempts later to use materials such as fish-skin, sealskin, lava stone, sea shells, whalebone – even pigs´ bladders, in Icelandic design. Some of the design objects came with their own smell. This is something that happened in the 1980s and early 1990s.

Nowadays it´s very difficult to describe “Icelandic design” in a nutshell. It´s simply become so international, same as design everywhere else. Our best designers also work abroad, but they always seem to come back to touch base. I think though, that the individualism, the “waywardness” that I described earlier, may stand them in good stead.

DB: The collection is growing fast, tell us about your plans with the near future.

A.I. : In the near future we are concentrating on survival; try to get the necessary money to continue the work we´ve started, try to persuade the powers that be to start working on a building concept with us. At the moment we have close to 800 objects in our collection, Icelandic design as well as design objects by internationally known designers. We need the latter in order to spur our own designers on, to teach our young about the importance of good design and so on. At this very moment (December 2002) we have a small display of Finnish objects from our collection in our showroom. Early spring we hope to cooperate with IKEA in Iceland on a show of design objects that IKEA has commissioned from three Icelandic designers; the objects will be given to us after the show. In April we will host a retrospective of a noted Icelandic ceramics artist, Elísabet Haraldsdóttir. Late summer or early autumn I will put together a show that I´m calling “Furniture by Icelandic artists”, then we will get a show of new design from Sweden entitled “Excellent”. Late in the year we might get a substantial donation of Swedish and Norwegian design, which we´ll put on display forthwith.

Ingolfsson is an art critic, curator and director of the Museum of Design and Applied Art, Iceland.