Rock

This building and its companions, nestled into the foot of a cliff on the south coast of Iceland between Seljalandsfoss and Skógafoss, are probably my all time favorite structures on our island. I assume they were used as livestock shelters, built as they are as extensions of the gnarled but somehow soothing rock that towers above them.

It reminds me of the home of a girlfriend of mine in Cupertino when I was ten or eleven. We lived in an Eichler home exactly like the one in this picture , and she lived in one as well, but with a different floor plan. All Eichler designs have the common conceit of allowing the outdoors into the home by use of walls of glass, plant-filled atriums, skylights and high open-beam construction. This is fairly common in modern homes today, but in the 1950's this was all extremely cutting edge. What I found so appealing about my girlfriend's home was that there was a huge tree growing up through the enclosed courtyard in the center of her home. We had pretty shrubs and plants in ours, but she had a whole tree!

I think I would like to wake up in the morning and be able to reach out and run my fingers along a wall of stone that was once a lava flow, now frozen in time, softened into smooth curves and ripples by the elements. I would feel protected by the immensity of the cliff above me, like a baby penguin secure at daddy's feet. It would be wonderful knowing I was sharing the rock with ravens and eagles and mosses and ferns, and that I was integrated into the natural landscape while still experiencing human architectural ingenuity. The best of both worlds.

Some day I will live so close to the ocean that the sounds of the waves will lull me to sleep, and a tree will grow through the center of our home, and ancient rock will comprise a wall, or a floor. Glass will flow the sun and the stars into our home and every day will be a symphony of the elements enveloping our lives.

Ad

I got a call from an acquaintance in March asking if I'd mind acting in a commercial for the Keflavík Airport. The casting call was for an American speaking woman, and I happened to be the first person that came to mind. I tried to help look around for someone else, but ultimately the director chose me.

So one evening in late March we filmed the ad and did a photo shoot at the Blue Lagoon. They dolled me up, almost ridiculously so for a person taking a dip in a glorified hot tub, and for three hours or so I spoke my lines with American verve and smiled with my eyes in best Tyra Banks fashion. (This shot was taken towards the end when I was almost smiled out.) I'm not quite sure what the director was thinking, having me all prettied up, especially as my character (Anna Wright :) was supposed to be on a quick layover on the way to Europe (do we US born and bred wear this much makeup for red-eye flights over the Atlantic? Umm, no.) There are four other ads in the series with other international characters, and I think the whole thing is supposed to be a bit tongue in cheek.

I had a blast, regardless, of course got nicely compensated, and now have the honor of having my photo (looking kind of like I'm wearing an evening gown and have been photoshopped into the Blue Lagoon:p ) and commercial spread throughout our international airport, as well as in magazines like Altantica and Iceland Review. The best part is how the gig came about: via one more sweet connection in our pretty little city.

Contact

The beauty of living in a small city is that no matter the distance between people, the web of connectivity keeps us always together.

Not to say that separations can't occur. I've lost folk for years who live just down the street, a seemingly impossible feat considering the compactness of our Reykjavik. But just as easily I've found myself running into the right person at just the right time, over and again. It all seems to be a matter of synchronicity, and sometimes even as though we each occupy our own separate dimension, which merge when the city seems to want them to. Until those moments, we can make due with the knowledge that we are all connected, linked and twined, by the intricate web of contact that binds us.

Eye

In a world of illusion, we see what we want to see, yes?

(Flowerwatch Journal, this one is for you ~.~ )

Balloons

A balloon tower rose over Austurvellir on Saturday, part of the Jónsvaka Midsummer Fesitval. For me, the fascination lay not just in how the breeze played with the ephemeral structure, but in how seemingly minute additions, in this case one small balloon at a time, over time, created it. It is the tiny moments, possibly considered inconsequential in themselves, that add depth to our histories by bridging the spaces between the more dramatic and defining events of our lives.

Pink

With all the words floating about in the ether, both spoken and written, words that inform, report, damage, debate, judge, describe, as well as those that thankfully admire, respect and heal, I think there is simply nothing much more to communicate than what this bloom signifies.

In the words of Tolle, "Flowers, more fleeting, more ethereal, and more delicate than the plants out of which they emerge...[are like] messengers from another realm, like a bridge between the world of physical forms and the formless." 

Beyond language, beyond society and petty things, beyond even the human capacity to create, and recreate, a simple blossom says it all.

Sheep

As two major planets of great mass and affect move into the sign of the Ram for the first time in decades, it seems appropriate to display a very content ewe and her lamb, who posed for us at a farm just north of Reykjavik. This proud mother and her offspring are the latest in a long line of Icelandic ovis aries, whose history as a breed apart has mirrored that of people on this island and has, in all actuality, been the main reason for any human success this past millennia.

For more on the beast, read this Wikipedia article, and for anyone interested (visiting families with children, for example) a trip to this farm, named Hraðastaðir, in Mosfellsdalur can be arranged with a simple phone call to Nína at 820-1829.