Jóna Hlíf

Icelandic Pain 2023
Limited edition of five.

To be sure: There is nothing Icelandic about pain. Normally, you experience pain without words.

At the same time, you may reflect on your pain in words that are spoken in Icelandic.

Nevertheless: There is nothing uniquely Icelandic about it. No more than it’s uniquely US or German, Japanese or Greenlandic. It is shared with all humanity, common to all who live, who exist, who survive.

Pain is not uniquely Icelandic, and nor are fear or silence.

Maybe there is something Icelandic about the darkness, that would be fun.

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At the same time, you can connect the experience of all who understand and speak a certain language – set it apart. You can use it to unite, elevate it – for good or for evil. There is nothing uniquely Icelandic about pain but technically speaking, it will always be possible to define a fraction of the world’s pain and tie it to a certain nationality.

There are two ways of doing so.

One without words. The other within stories.

Lines, connected to this: The darkness is diverting and Just to make her happy.

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The keynote of existence is not harmless jest. It is actually a minor key, somewhat hollow: You against the marvellous beauty of nature, knowing you are located outside it. That you are outside it but also a part of it and it brings you something you would very much like to avoid: Pain.

To tackle the pain, you assemble some tools. Flickering joy, trusting, hopefully harmless.

However, this joy, this enjoyment, is never spontaneous. It’s a reaction. Tears connect, the wounds embody tears.

Nothing grows like pain. Ideally, it doesn’t grind you down but can possibly give strength.

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Pain may embody a context, a foundation.

But nothing connects people more strongly than a smile.