i am fascinated with the glacial history of olafsfjordur, at the northern edge of iceland, on the troll peninsula, among the highest and most rugged mountains in iceland.
they were all glaciers not so long ago. the fjords of fjallabyggd were all scraped clean, planed, by ice several thousand feet thick, rubbing their slow way to the ocean.
when you look at the mountains surrounding olafsfjordur, it’s like someone took a pastry knife to a partially hardened mountain of marzipan – whole sections scraped right off, leaving streaks and chunks.
i envision it as it was during the ice age, the entire valley and all the side valleys a flowing river of ice, the present day town visible as a ghost reflection at the bottom of the glacier, under the ice tongue where the glacier drops all its crumbs.
i want to do some art about the mountains, and the fjord valley, and the ice that isn’t there any more.