day eleven

Austmarka  |  2 degrees  |  dull

am not
the first up
tho’ its not late
visit Joker
(the village shop)
to stock up
not much
green stuff here
mooch around
in search of tasty stuff
alien floaty things in jars
pale lumpen sausages
christmas fare
resembling
lumps of gristle
none of these appeal
select small pack
of smoked salmon
instead

make a list
look at photos/films
taken so far
they lack cohesion
or overarching theme
beyond
land + weather
need a rythmn
a pattern
a recurring motif
to set things off
blue touchpaper
has not yet been lit !
more soup
with bread and cheese
which is exceptionally
mild
then an afternoon
on the sofa
with a film
for research purposes
really !
select
The Shining
it’s landscape
and weather
seem apt
something to jolt
the senses
overhead shots
of pointy mountains
following a car
on a ribbon
of road
camera arrives
at the
Overlook Hotel
a grand and spacious
place
beguiled by
soundtrack
Béla Bartók
Krzysztof Penderecki
creepy
percussive tinkling
and twanging
thin drawn out strings
Nicholson’s face
throughout
is demonic
eyebrows animated
by psychopathy
unhinged
he types with
ferocity
his son trundles
a bike
down long corridors
all flowery wallpaper
and geometric capets
Mrs Torrence
stands around
a knife in hand
and screams
in a pantomime way
a lot

for supper
a huge pile of pancakes
lemon and sugar
indulgent and sticky
then start
on a complicated
stellar form
based on
Kingsvinger fortress
…using spaghetti
it takes on
a life
of it’s own
triangulated tentacles
filled in
with parallel lines
on and on
’till gone midnight

day ten

Austmarka | 10 degrees | dull

eat breakfast
without 2 sweaters
and a scarf
it’s almost warm

faff around
with this and that
write out a
daily plan
make soup
using up
sad looking veg
the sky presses down
outside looks downcast
stumble in nearby woods
collecting long sticks
of grey elder
to make something
to get outside
my head
but it’s damp
and brittle
unsatisfactory
cut and snap
to different lengths
leave in a pile

venture down
the garden
felled trees
all about
lie on a hefty pile
and watch the sky
the tops of trees
shivering in the breeze
strangley peaceful
to be horizontal-ish
in the landscape
a submissive position
for a dog or cat
walk through the wood
down to the river
over a small green bridge
following a man
in a hi-vis jacket
past chalet style houses
with ramshackle yards
a car in a pit
overgrown with
weeds

if there is
nothing distinct
to separate
today from yesterday
it all begins to merge
there is
no grand plan
no defining artwork
no shift of direction
just a stumbling
over motifs
and gestures
trying to avoid
action replays
of previous
efforts
photographing landscape
a thing to do
in a place like this
a site specific
knee-jerk action
filming this and that
the water, the forests
the hillsides and
wooden houses
that’s what’s here
to see
territory
here, you can walk
anywhere you like
if it’s
not fenced or farmed

back in the studio
unhappy with
Premiere Pro
but seems important to
learn it somehow
it requires
a methodical approach
‘a workflow’ system
if you like
prefer an intuitive and
speculative approach
a playing with
shape and form
with sounds and image
anyway ….
spend the evening
looking at maps
drawing
playing with a torch
and a mirror
on and off
you Tube
restless in this
eerie place

day nine

Konsvinger |  minus 2 degrees | v. foggy

up at six
to catch the only bus
..a yellow one
to town
sitting in the warm
we quietly trundle
through black pine forests
past dark, glassy lakes
and brittle bogs
illuminated
by an enormous
fullish moon
that swings
from one side of the bus
to the other
as we follow
the twisty road
sometimes,
in peripheral vision
2 moons can be seen
at once
the real
and the reflected
drinking in
the pearly luminosity
an uncanny feeling
settles

the station up ahead
suddenly appears
we alight
it’s 7.20
it’s dark
and foggy
the Canadian artist
gets a train
to Bergen
at the kiosk
we get hot coffee
me and the young man
(my daughter’s age)
doing his Masters
at Taipei

can’t see much ahead
the fog’s so thick
we follow
the high street up
to Kongsvinger festning
a fortress
(a recurring form)
a lovely star shaped structure
from the 1670’s
it is modest
in scale and form
looking down on the
somber river Glomma
the stoney walls
part historical testament
to an erratc past
part hotel
a stange place
with zig-zag patterned doors
(photographed with relish)
a mustard coloured armoury
empty and silent

the nearby museum
is modern
neat and tidy
product of a
logical and ordered
sense of time + place
bonnets, chairs, linen shirts
butter moulds + clunky tables
an elegant sledge
perfect for a snow queen
upstairs in what looks like
a lecture room/office
a display of posters
by Gunnar Østbøll
kind of 50’s 60’s advertising
flat colour and graphic
light, fresh

all else is shut
for winter
the art gallery + women’s museum
walk down
through Øvrebyen
past old wooden cottages
dark pink and yellow
dark grey and red
bohemian and gemütlich
tiny lights and big white berries
dot the bushes
not much else to see
through the lifting fog
shops and cafés
government offices
back on the bus
in daylight
we doze
when we try
to get off
the bus driver asks
‘are you from the art house?’
we nod
‘relax, sit down – I take
you there’

mid afternoon
as evening light descends
I wonder
up the lane
with the Norwegian artist
skirting the lake
and up into the forest
dark and not
especially invinting
she thinks we
might see
an Elk (or Moose)
she once found
one, dead, in the woods
took it home
to fester and moulder
in her garden
til all flesh had gone
to draw
her parents have it now
no Elk in sight
not far is a pink castle
built for a Queen
when Norway + Sweden
were one
here the air was clear
and fresh
so here she moved
we pass a few houses
with numerous outbuildings
the older ones
have outdoor larders
wood storage
bake houses
from when they baked
local bread
just once a year
everyone helped
to mix and roll
the grainy mixtue
rolled into thin sheets
to be baked
and kept all year.

into the night
we sit in the studio
I make angular structures
the Norwegain artist
watches 3rd series
of The Bridge
excited, I wonder
do I have time to watch
that too ?

day eight

Austmarka | 3 degrees | overcast

sleep rather late
speed through breakfast
avoid the news
focus on muesli

spend the morning in the studio
with the Norwegian artist
we look at each other’s work
talk about Venice
she visited this year
recommended
the Norwegian pavilion
so we look at Camille Normant
who has broken her windows
finding interesting ways
of framing + re-framing
a fabulous space
am inspired by this pavilion
with trees growing
through it
she liked the French piece
a moving tree
complete with root ball
…am not so sure
Sarah Lucas, she thought
childish and poorly made
in photos it looks like
teenage boys
have been let loose
on some mannikins
throw-away gestures
that amuse and deflate
recently saw
Rose Wylie’s paintings
in Tønsberg
and was enamoured of her work
we watch the Frieze film
RW in her garden in Kent

the hours disappear
it’s hard to hold onto them
went in search of materials
need to make something
plan a. was
to focus on making
some video stuff
but need to get lost
in constructing
and resort to
spaghetti and pva
a pleasing combo
though not long-lasting
I follow the shapes
and patterns of
Brutalist architecture
liking the severe
and truncated forms
the planes and the angles
confounding conformity
I sit up sticky fingered
cack handed with pasta
the spindly forms lack
the right mass and volume
but recall the brass mobiles
of Kennth Martin
missing iPlayer
so listen
to audio books online
often so terrible
they’re just noise
in my ear

tomorrow we get out of the village
getting the early bus to town

day seven

Austmarka  |  3 degrees   |  fog

before getting up
there was the world of
Norwegian writer
(Karl Ove Knausgaard)
autobiographical
exact, descriptive
he is moved
by Constable’s sketches of clouds
and fears his responses
to art
are not appropriate
emotional
reckoning the emotional
is frowned upon, dismissed
in contemporary art
it’s possibly true
am thinking –
isn’t it possible
to be moved by the rational-
a complex sum
an engineering diagram ?
to recognise impartiality
as being shaped by context ?
to experience something
theoretical happening in front of us?
the distinctions
are less compelling
than the muddle
in between
but nothing new here I guess…

too much thinking
before breakfast ….
am first up
everyday
breakfast taken
with BBC news
skimming stories
Obama on Turkish air strikes
at home Osbourne ensures
we mainline austerity
as his chums fill their pockets
but back to tea and toast
it’s maybe a 1 sweater day
noticeably warmer
but damp and drear

head out
for milk
some appealing
green pickle stuff
quickly coated with mist
follow main road
feels like dusk
is not yet midday
past the old
raw red timber mill
a four-square yellow house
a long low school
no fences or barriers
anywhere
things just peter out
a white wooden church
with moss coloured spire
doors wide open
lights shine brightly
from within
rough hewn squares and rectangles
of granite and stone
lean against a low wall
ahead a map on a post
points me back

afternoon closes in
on the ample studio
the washing machine
floods the floor
back to the video editing
fussy and fiddly
menus, tools and drop-downs
guided by a tutorial
by someone who ends every instruction
with ‘there you go guys’
not getting very far
editing is quite boring
am not patient
test out the mini projector
laptop to projector
connection doesn’t work
SD card does work
but slow
project onto small white sheet
results negligible

over a meal the Norwegian artist
tells of her travels
around the world
getting inspired by new places
about public art in Norway
making work in well-designed
schools + hosptials,
in an old people’s home
a concert hall
in a police station even

can you imagine the headlines
in The Daily Mail ?

day six

Austmarka  |  minus 8 degrees  |  sunny + dry

getting out of the village
is not easy
bus leaves at 6.45 am
one returns at 3.45
if your lucky
question is – what to do
on arriving at 7.20 am
when it’s freezing ?
you can stroll
up to the Fortress
suggests Astrid

thoughts of a day out
preoccupy me all morning
to go to a cafe
a museum
look at the fortress
the shops
soak up some local colour

out and about with my camera
still unaccustomed
to the very cold
gloves on and off
adjusting my camera
I head up to the bridge
separating 2 lakes
Fagernessjøen and some other
air so sharp
it cuts into bare skin
clear hard light
revealing everything
I film the
the river Sorgo
as it whooshes along
a thin white mist
hovers about it
begin to photograph
the glitzy grasses
and weeds
covered with white shards
like cheap christmas decorations

afternoon is almost over by 2
blue shadows close in
how long have I been here ?
now, to get on with some work
must learn Premiere Pro
don’t really like it
but persevere
through tutorials
served up
by excessively cheerful
young men
am told it all happens
post production !
contrasty stuff
and colour grading
rather complex
projecting the captured
and seemingly real
into a totally
hyperreal universe
like in cinema films
where you see too much
this is the measure they use
hmmm….

the other artist
called Jenny, arrives
she is older and chatty
a relief
she is steady and calm
we chat over a meal
with Lin from Taiwan
and talk about life
at home and away

Norwegians (apparently) are wealthy
unless they’re alcoholics
on drugs or new from abroad
they are communal,egalitarian
Social Democrats
they pay high taxes
but don’t mind
they learn to ski in school
there are wolves and bears
hereabouts and beware of
Elks with baby Elks in tow
they are apt to rear up
and clatter you
with their front feet
in Taiwan they eat out
all the time
play base ball + basket-ball
aborigines live
in the central mountains
but work in the towns
their history is muddied
with that of China and Japan
about the UK I tell them
I live on the coast
a diverse and creative place
full of artists, photographers, musicians etc
we have lovely beaches and walks in the woods
where people walk their dogs + their children
no dangerous animals or weather
but
we have a terrible government
self-serving, draconian, philistine, mean

it’s cold outside
we put the heating on high
and huddle with hot drinks

day five

Austmarka  |  minus 5 degrees  |  extra sunny

sunday morning – slept well
reading Karl Ove Knausgaard till late
perfecting the art of making toast in the oven
raspberry jam, tart against the crunchy toast
it’s extra sunny outside and deep in frost
there’s the weather and there’s food
to think about
there are snatched conversations to be had
and there are thoughts and ideas to develop

look at the map
there are 4 or 5 ways
out of the village
follow the path on the map
up to the forest
blue daubs mark
well-kept pathways
past the village hall – I’m guessing
up to the pine forest behind
immediatley
there are dapples of sunlight
illuminating hillocky ground
between the trees
amongst the moss
that Paula loved,
I take out some props
and take some photos
the forest is warmer
my hands aren’t frozen
each twig and blade of grass
has a powdered coating
where the sun has not reached
all is covered in icing sugar
an imagined place

Up the steep hillside
guided by blue blobs
trampling stuff underfoot
there are rivulets of ice
slippery trecherous
keep checking the map
reach the road and over
down the other side
everything’s white
sky bright bright blue
no-one’s about
unsettled by silence
lack of life around
fierce dogs start barking
– are there wolves
will I be eaten alive ?
alternate between edginess and
desire to capture
just one more view
check the map – it’s further
than I thought
the placid lake I’m looking for
suddenly to the left, it’s there
all iced over – I nearly miss it
it’s slippery and boggy
what if I fall or slip…

it’s all very
…. Ansel Adams
what’s there to say
about a pine forest ?
is there soemthign here for me ?
this as a subject, a concept ?
all this nature – the sublime
beauty
I like it’s indifference
my feeling a speck
but what am I doing ?
I’m full of wonder at it all
but what ……

the time passes
I seem to fill it
ideas are forming
everything seems black and white
(apart form cerulean skies)
so that’s one way to go
there are vertical lines in the birch trees
and dark bubbling brooks
now the moon is huge and milky
I carry on thinking…

can’t face my 3 day soup again
perhaps I’ll make spaghetti

day four

Austmarka | -5 degrees | sunny & cloudy

saturday morning – sleep till 8
awake in sweater and socks
there’s no one around
a hard frost is on the ground
make soup to last a few days
catch a bit of the news
troubles in Brussles
scrabble around for a map

go to Joker (village shop)
for milk, chat with the owner
who arrived here via Egypt & USA
like home, talking about the weather
breaks the ice – ha ha
take a walk along the river
it’s swirling dark brown water
froths and foams around boulders
it’s darkness is compelling
ice crystals are forming
on grass blades
on the handrail of the bridge
small rectangular crystals
stand on end
I photograph the turbulant water
the ice crystals
the upsidedown houses
there’s not a sound
my fingers are raw and red with cold
I film in 30 second bursts
down from a minute !
how long does it take for frost-bite
to take a hold – I wonder

miss a turning on the way back
and head our of town – quick panic
but find a way back and
I pass a car or two

saturday afternoon is cold
a whiling away time with a heater
a pile of Astrid’s books
loose a few hours looking at
photographic journals
(a few ideas here noted)
at stories of nordic women
living as farmers,
scientists, sauna therapists
of bone chilling poverty
and institutional harshness

the owner arrives
gets ready for her first christams party
not keen to do the fancy dress thing
she leaves with a split paper bag
over her head – with torn eye holes
worn under a floppy hat

day three

Austmarka | 1-3 degrees | sunny

looking at the maps
can’t tell which way round we are
the sun is shining brightly
through the birch trees
outside the kitchen window
keen to get out and about
wrap up warm
load up with camera
and bags for shopping
frost is still on the ground
the lake to the south
shimmers in the clear bright morning light
I love this kind of morning !
it’s cold – minus 8 in Oslo
I head toward the lake not sure which way to go
follow the path to the right
cat ice on the surface
and a loud but narrow waterfall
zigzaggs down the hill
through the dark woods
I take photos here and there
looking for patterns and rhythms
mixing film with video
don’t have a clear plan
just collecting data
fingers are frozen
the rest of me warm
gloves on and off
camera inside my coat
I come across abandoned buildings
take a few photos
hands are still frozen
can see an old white enamelled stove
but camera can’t read it
through the double glazed window
a wheelbarrow rests under a sloping bridge
leading to upper floor of a barn
dark rust red in colour
full of rubbish
on the way back
an upturned rowing boat
has been painted sky blue

fill up at the shop
keen for hot chocolate and bananas
in the studio
I make some plans-
no emails before 4
make a blog and write daily
take some photos
make some film
do some drawing
read stuff
making connections
in meandering fashion-
from Mary Wollstonecraft’s letters from Norway
observing landscape, philosophising on life
women, nature, society -and keeping it Norwegian                                                                                               to Hedda Gabler and the Dolls House
100 years later
women, intelligent and bored
in the way of many 19th century heroines
and back to Mary W and the Sublime and Beauty-
Norway in 18thC had a free press,
religious tolerance and a fair distribution of land
where all this leading
not sure I know….

day two

Konsvinger | 3 degrees | cloudy

back at the Sentralstasjon
hot coffee in hand
all about are padded and muffled
grey and black
matt and flat
gloves and hats + hiking boots
someone asks me something in Norwegian
I look confused and search for something
to say  – I manage ‘Hei
though not singsongy enough
shrug and say I’m english
the train travels smoothly
out of the city
through spindly woodlands
sparse and white with thin crisp snow
daydreaming, reading yesterdays paper
should really pay attention
look around, look outside
photograph this small place
with it’s mustard station house
photograph that black lake with
blobs of ice on the surface
drifting in the breeze

at Kongsvinger station – much smaller
than it’s google photograph –
cold winds dither around it’s 6 bus stops
walk around looking for my bus
assured that everyone speak english, I ask
and yes here it is –
the driver lifts my case up
barrelling along narrow roads
woods on either side
timber yards alongside
slender trunks piled up in undulating rows
bus driver asks where i’m going
and he drops me at the door !
the door is open and here is Astrid
welcoming and smiling
her’s the studio, and this is my story…
here’s the bathroom
this is your room – you can get a heater
there’s the kitchen and help yourself,
enjoy, be creative !

meet the shadowy boy from Taiwan
smiling sweetly and with halting english
he is friendly but moves quietly
from room to room
to be alone
and meet the tired girl just back from Oslo– buying canvas
she’s from Ottowa and a painter
in a Munch like manner
she seeks wintery residencies
in places just like home
she sleeps much of the day
and on waking blinks about her
and paints right into the night

to make a start – I find an empty place
at the long table in the big windowed studio
it is warm and the heating blows noisily
in the background
am on Wi Fi and connect again
with the world
I think about a blog and how to do it
make a plan
make a list – stuff to finish off
stuff to begin – stuff to think about
a friend sends me a link to the
Beatles’ Norwegian Wood which
starts a train of thought
about lyrics being a distillation
of complex things
I spend a couple
of hours listening to their greatest hits
new things can wait – clearing the decks
is best for now –

alone in the house, in the dark,
near dense forests and deep lakes
it’s strangely thrilling
I think of Stephen King novels and
The Shining – should I read/watch them
maybe another time
why is being alone and in nature
reminiscent of such things –
is it something Sublime ?
is it something Unheimliche I’m feeling ?
is it just me ?
anyway it’s still thrilling and strange
I can only see myself and the glow
of a small lamps reflected in the window

left it rather late but
I cook an omelette in a pan
something smells horrible
it’s the smoking pan
with centuries of ancient acrid Elk fat
(I imagine – it is late after all!)
emanating from it’s base
I cook the omelette and feel
quite ill
the acrid smell becomes a taste
that lingers on until the next day