I have been at the Nes Artist Residency now for almost two weeks. It is only now dawning on me how lucky we were to have good weather when we arrived. I feel like since our arrival there has only been a handful of “calm” days between stormfronts. The weather is constantly changing here. Being an isolated island located somewhere between two massive continents along the most northern edge of the Atlantic Ocean it isn’t a wonder why storm follows storm follows storm. The roads have been closed most days it seams, cutting Skagastrond off from the rest of the country. The snow comes down swirling, spinning and blowing past in a fury of white. Sometimes the storms are predicted a day or two in advance. Sometimes they just come.
Two days ago I arrived at the studio to enjoy one of these rare “calm” moments. I gathered my watercolour supplies and a stool and headed out to the edge of the breakwater to paint and watch sunrise turn the sky pinkish around 11am. By 2pm the sky was thick with white and gale force winds were slamming into whatever stood in their way. The houses here are built especially solid to withstand the wind and yet the wind tries her best to test them. Creating noises that sound like the house is loosing. The storm lasted for approximately 20 hours. Not once did the wind take a breather or the snow stop falling. Blizzarding conditions. A complete whiteout at times. But where did it all go? The snow was sure on a hurry to get somewhere, but maybe not here. Oh yes, there are massive piles of it scattered throughout the town (often finding the perfect location in the middle of a path), but I can only imagine that the majority of the snow is stuck fast against the side of a mountain somewhere. That day the weather hit, we were in the studio. Eventually we decided we either had to sleep in the studio or brave the weather outside. Without any snow or ice or head winds I am sure this journey should only take two minutes to walk between. It was a battle. Jackets pulled up, hats pulled down and with scarves securely fastened around our faces, the three of us stepped from the warmth of the studio and into the dark forces. My husband, the lovely French artist Sandrine and myself locked arms and headed home. “All for one and one for all!” (And yes, you would be right in supposing that the book I brought along with me is The Three Musketeers). What an exhilarating experience! We were thankful to be home, to make dinner and to be able to sleep in our own beds. Sandrine mentioned when we were in the kitchen that evening that it feels like we are in an igloo–the windows were plastered with snow!
The storm is over now and there is again a certain calm over the town (although the wind waves are still high). There is nothing quite like weather to make you really feel like you are in the present.