Með verkinu Leyniherbergi húss og huga er spurningum velt upp sem fjalla um minnið, sögur, drauma og frásagnir. Skyggnst er inn í huga aldraðrar, heilabilaðrar konu sem segir frá minningu sem aldrei var. Getur verið að sumar af okkar fyrstu minningum séu í raun ekki minningar, heldur frásagnir sem við púslum saman úr sögum sem okkur hafa verið sagðar, senur búnar til úr ljósmyndum sem við höfum skoðað? Hvernig stendur á því að þegar við eldumst og heilinn fer að gefa sig tengjast flestar minningar æskuárunum en skammtímaminnið nánast hverfur?
Húsið er líkt og hugurinn. Það hefur kjallara, hæðir, ris, króka og kima sem hýsa margar skýrar minningar. Við heimsækjum þær í dagdraumum okkar í gegnum lífið.
Secret Rooms of Space and Mind
It is likely that some of our first memories are not real as such, but a narrative we’ve created from stories we´ve been told. But what becomes of our memories? Why is it that when we grow old and the brain starts to deteriorate, most of our memories are from when we were children whereas the short term memory is next to nothing?
The house symbolizes the mind. It has a basement, loft, nooks and crannies which accommodate several vivid memories. We go back to those memories in our daydreams throughout life.
Translation of wall text:
I lived in the countryside but sometimes went to Reykjavík to visit my grandmother. I guess I was around 12-14 years old when this happened, but I’m not sure. My grandmother had an apartment filled with animals, she had rabbits, dogs, cats and mice. She had trained them all to live together in peace. I was used to the freedom in the countryside so I didn’t always behave well when I visited grandma. I remember a toy, a wooden stick with a band tied to it that you could shoot rocks with. My dad had made this slingshot for my brother, but I stole it so that I could play with it at grandmas. It ended up with me breaking a vase. I once wrecked her radio and left tiny marks all over the walls in her apartment. My grandmother wasn’t happy so she gave me a pen of some kind and allowed me to draw in a book she had. But I wanted to draw on carpet on the floor. I drew all kinds of animals on it. I even let the animals lay on it as I drew their outlines. I loved doing his until my grandmother saw what I had done. She got mad, it was hard to clean the carpet and it was also very expensive. My grandmother sent me back home the countryside.
When I visited her the following years I noticed that my artwork on the carpet was still there. My grandmother didn’t want to clean it since the animals were dead.
Final project, wood, black curtain, phosphorus paint
