Icelandair Info JAN14 FOB Daughters of Invention

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Icelandic Design

THE DAUGHTERS OF INVENTION

Meet four of Iceland’s most promising designing women. These ladies represent the new generation of the nation’s emerging design aesthetic: colourful, punchy, drawing on striking elements from the nation’s history, pop culture and their own sense of quirk.

By Jonas Moody

MILLA SNORRASON/HILDA GUNNARSDÓTTIR

PHOTO: HÉÐINN EIRÍKSSON

Icelandic Design

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ÞÓRUNN ÁRNADÓTTIR

UMEMI

SIGGA RÚN

PHOTO: RAKEL ÓSK SIGURÐARDÓTTIR

I

celandic design is young, barely out of diapers when compared with the traditions of its Nordic neighbours in Denmark and Sweden. But because it doesn’t have a long history attached to it, design in Iceland tends to be an undertaking for those with great imagination where originality and whimsy are prized. Icelandic designers get to make it up as they go along. And improvisation never looked so good.

contrary, the elements of traditional Icelandic craft—wool, bone, knitting, pattern-making, even storytelling—are recurring features in contemporary design. Take the Icelandic word for design, hönnun, which didn’t come about until the 1950s. The word itself, however, is drawn from Hannarr, a legendary dwarf of Norse mythology known as the ultimate craftsman, able to fashion any object with his infinite skill.

Yes, design in Iceland doesn’t have a long history, but that doesn’t mean that the history of the country doesn’t impact its design. On the

Each of the women profiled here is a Hannarr unto herself, banging and moulding her craft into ingenuity. And with each invention comes

another chronicle in the history of Icelandic design. A new mythology is being born before our eyes. One of flaming cats, wearable architecture, knotted comfort and living typeface.

If you can’t get enough, design junkies will be able to get their fix and more at DesignMarch, the country’s annual design festival, with a program of design talks, exhibitions and other events featuring the local design scene as well as international heavy-hitters in design. This year’s festival will be March 27-30. For more info see designmarch.is.

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// UMEMI There is a fascinating conversation happening in the work of product designer Ragnheiður Ösp Sigurðardóttir. She is an admitted fanatic for plastic Japanese figurines and enthralled

by American consumer society.

And yet the designer’s newest work focuses on the durable materials and age-old crafts of Iceland: wool, knitting, turned wood. The opposite of disposable and excessive, Umemi’s newest designs are meant to use the materials at hand to make something well that will last, but retain the appeal of a unique object.

“I remember going to Florida when I was six, sitting on the couch watching toy commercials for hours, drinking Kool-aid and eating all the colourful cereal I could find,” says Ragnheiður. “It was like being in paradise.” These early experiences with American culture influenced how she saw objects when she came back to Iceland. “Unique things were hard to find and that made them even more desirable and valuable to me.”

Umemi’s brightly coloured Notknot pillows made of Icelandic wool turned heads at DesignMarch for their simplicity and visual (and tactile) appeal. “After looking through scout, nautical and decorative knots I really wanted to play with their sizes and see the outcome of changing their textures and

Icelandic Design

RAGNHEIÐUR ÖSP SIGURÐARDÓTTIR purpose.” Rendered in soft wool, the tight, hard knot takes on an inviting, playful form. “Its purpose, which is being strong and secure, changes to being comforting and warm but at the same time it holds its decorative value.”

Not all of Ragnheiður’s work is made from Icelandic heritage materials, but her process is marked by a certain Icelandic mentality. “The strong tradition of craft and handiwork is always in the back of my mind,” explains the designer. “I often think the isolation and lack of materials and sources encourages Icelandic designers to think differently. For me, it has definitely pushed me into the more hands-on way of making.” Regardless of the process, the end result has an undeniable appeal. “I'd like for it to spark a curiosity,” says Ragnheiður of her work. “I enjoy seeing people take a second look and then going over to touch and explore the object.” umemi.is + reykjavikcornerstore.com

PHOTO: RAKEL ÓSK SIGURÐARDÓTTIR

Icelandic Design

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// MILLA SNORRASON HILDA GUNNARSDÓTTIR The story of how Hilda Gunnarsdóttir came to fashion design is emblematic of how Icelanders approach many things in life. You want it? Go do it. Ever since Hilda was a little girl she knew she wanted to be… a veterinarian. And after school she thought about business, then graphic design, but ended up writing for a daily newspaper. It wasn’t until she had been writing about culture and style for the paper that she was moved to try her hand at fashion design.

And in 2009 she graduated from the Iceland Academy of the Arts with her first collection, and her brand, Milla Snorrason, was born.

Much of Hilda’s aesthetic reflects lines and colours popular when older generations were young. That’s a nice way of saying that she rocks the “granny” fashion. “I was looking at a lot of pattern magazines from the 40s when I was designing my thesis show, so the garments have a bit of granny in them,” explains Hilda. “But I personally have a lot of fun with granny style and like when it shines though.”

Even the inspiration behind her brand name is pulled from the past: “Milla Snorrason was my great grandmother’s sister. She was a total badass fashionista with purple hair. I actually have loads of clothes she made herself. So it seemed right.”

Although granny elements are still present—buttoned-up shirts, clunky glasses, dated elegance— Hilda has drawn inspiration from different sources of late. Her hometown Reykjavík was behind the fabrics that mark her Autumn/ Winter collection for 2012. For this collection she designed two prints. One is based on the architecture of Guðjón Samúelsson,

who designed many of the city’s iconic buildings including Hallgrímskirkja Church, the University of Iceland’s Main Building, the Reykjavík Swimming Hall and the National Theatre. The forms were cut out in coloured crate paper and scanned to form a panoply of Reykjavík shapes. The second print is a simple hand-drawn line reflecting the city’s familiar seaside silhouettes: fishing boats, naval ships, seabirds, Viðey Island and Mount Esja.

Hilda’s newest collection shifts its focus away from the city to Stykkishólmur, a small fishing village on the north side of the Snæfellsnes peninsula. “That collection is the first one to include pieces from Icelandic wool, which I'm very excited about,” says the designer, who will be working with a local artist on the collection.

Because of the brand’s quirky appeal, Hilda is sometimes asked about her audience. And while she wouldn’t create anything she wouldn’t wear herself, she has a lot of women in mind when she designs. “I think about my friends, how the clothes would suit their different characters and body types and also my mum and her friends. Of course the whole range of garments can’t each work for all these women, but it would be disappointing if only one type of women could use the whole collection.”

At the same time, the mentality behind Milla Snorrason seeks to have fun with femininity and find its own way to elegance and sensuality. “I’m a feminist and passionate about women's issues,” says Hilda, “so while I hardly think about it, it does affect my designs.

I’m not interested in the ‘obvious sexy’ look and therefore try to design clothes that are ‘sexy’ in an interesting way.” millasnorrason.com + Laugavegur 65, Reykjavík

kiosk,

PHOTO: HÉÐINN EIRÍKSSON

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Icelandic Design

// ÞÓRUNN ÁRNADÓTTIR At only 25, the newly graduated Þórunn Árnadottir was already garnering international attention for her work. The New York Times named her a designer to watch in connection with the Slow Design Movement, which promotes slower product creation and consumption as a measure against the hectic pace of modern life. And Þórunn is still turning heads with ICON magazine naming her one of 2013’s fifty design talents shaping the future. In her recent work, she has honed her uncanny ability to defamiliarize the familiar.

“I find it satisfying when I make people see something they thought they knew well in a different light,” Þórunn explains. Her latest project is literally centred

around light: the Pyropet candle.

The designer’s aim was to transport the boring tea light out of the realm of domesticity or a romantic evening to bring the user a more visceral experience of the burn.

“People assume it will melt down and nothing more,” she says. “They know the story before they light it.” When you buy a nice candle, whether it’s a nice shape or a nice colour, you inevitably end up destroying it, deforming it—a somewhat creepy experience, and one which Þórunn seizes on. “I wanted to play with the emotional attachment to an object that is designed to disappear.” Pyropet candles appear in the shape of animals, but

the surprise comes as the the candle melts to reveal a metal skeleton inside. Burning a candle becomes an act of destruction and discovery in the designer’s hands. “It’s like a romantic film that turns into a horror movie.” Her design seeks to imbue everyday experiences with not only a new story, but a new story with a twist. Þórunn’s work has matured greatly over the last five years, but she still enjoys the emerging identity of design in Iceland. “It’s rather experimental... it's searching... trying to shoot its roots into the Icelandic soil and become an integrated part of the cultural structure. But the conditions are as unpredictable as the weather, so Icelandic design needs to be very adaptable, and tough!”

While her designs speak to an international audience, much of Þórunn’s work is impacted by her Icelandic heritage as is her approach to design. “There’s a certain mentality that comes with being Icelandic. It’s being resourceful and optimistic at once, without overthinking it too much.

Just get to it and things will fall into place.” The designer points to an off-the-cuff phrase that, for better or worse, has become a kind of national motto: “Þetta reddast.”

It’s tricky to translate, but without being too enigmatic or wordy it means: things will work out of their own accord so there’s no sense in worrying yourself! thorunndesign.com + pyropetcandles.com

Icelandic Design

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// SIGGA RÚN

For many, Iceland—its culture and history, even its place on the globe—remains an unknown.

And while this may frustrate some Icelanders, a number of artists and designers have turned this national tabula rasa into their very own drafting table.

From the depths of her imagination and the arcane reaches of the ancient Nordic alphabet, young graphic designer Sigríður Rún Kristinsdóttir (alias, Sigga Rún) has created an extensive bestiary of Icelandic letters.

where she graduated in 2012.

She created a book detailing five ancient letters Icelanders used in centuries past as well as two letters—the eth (ð) and thorn (þ)— which have died out in almost all languages except Icelandic. But the book is more than a study of letters. Sigga Rún literally breaths life into the lifeless: each letter is reconceived as an organism, replete with a detailed anatomy: skeletal system, musculature, internal organs, even behavioral patterns and histories.

“It’s much like when archeologists discover dinosaur bones, puzzle them together and then artists sketch out the animal,” says Sigga Rún.

“The final picture is actually nothing more than the artist’s imagination since no one actually knows what these long-extinct creatures looked like. In the same way, I wanted people to imagine for themselves how these ancient letters looked, how they behaved, what their lives were like.”

The designer became familiar with anatomical studies of birdlife and dinosaurs to gain fluency in the visual language. Her subjects, however, came from working with manuscript expert Guðvarður Már Guðlaugsson at the Árni Magnússon Institute for Icelandic Studies, the country’s repository for medieval manuscripts, including the Codex Regius which holds the legendary Poetic Edda. Sigga Rún’s letters were disinterred from a 13th century manuscript of Egil’s Saga, one of Iceland’s oldest preserved manuscripts.

The Anatomy of Letters began with Sigga Rún’s thesis project for the Iceland Academy for the Arts,

Her work has garnered her praise from outside Iceland; the young designer was named European Student of Year by the Art Directors Club of Europe. This project in particular, however, poses some pertinent questions to Icelanders when it comes to language. With so few speakers, there is constant effort to stem the tide of ubiquitous English leaking in, and to preserve the sanctity and

integrity of the language. Neologisms are not so much a national pastime as a national obsession—from Facebook (flettismetti or “face-flipper”) to cantaloupe (tröllepli or “troll-apple”). Sigga Rún’s project reframes the question of language preservation by transforming the letters from collections of symbols into entities unto themselves. It points to the organic nature of language, how it evolves and whether the fate of these peculiar creatures is something worth protecting.

“The best part is that people have to form their own opinion and use their own imagination,” says the designer. “They have to see the creatures for themselves. The book is really for enthusiasts of the imagination.” siggarun.com + spark design space, Klapparstígur 33, Reykjavík