Day 13: Bjonahamna

Saturday, October 13, 2018
Partly cloudy in the morning, beautiful sunrise, +1°C

The beach at Temple Mountain

6:30am/7:30 ship time - Felt like I got some restful sleep last night, other than the dreams this morning. I was trying to resuscitate my old fish I’d forgotten about. It worked, but I still needed to clean their dirty tanks. Gross, I never liked doing this in my waking life, either.

Last night I stayed in when there was an option of zodiac tours or climbing the mast. I wrote, and I also went onto the deck to take video of the ice. What a lovely spot - once again! We’re in Isfjorden and fairly close to Longyearbyen, so the tone of the trip has changed slightly. It seems like everyone can feel that we do not have much time left in this place.

We had a lush dinner of parsnip soup, mashed potato/celery/sweet potato/fennel slaw, and roast duck with crepes for desert. After, some of us gave presentations on our work, and I went first to get it out of the way. I think I did alright, but I know that I need to work on how to connect my painting with how I talk about the newer, interactive work that I’m developing. I felt uncomfortable showing the work-in-progress, but I wanted to also show that I work on more than only painting. I look forward to getting back to my routine and finishing these pieces. I’ll also need to finish the work for my MSAB project really quickly once I get back. (How easy it is for me to slip back into ‘planning’ and ‘doing’ mode. The following page of my notes included a long list of to-dos with blank check boxes.)

11:30am - This morning we had a great landing at Temple Mountain. Gorgeous mountains surrounding us on a curved spit of land. The sky above the Antigua flowed a bright pink, and it glazed the tips of the mountains below in a fluorescent pink. So, there is the answer to my question of what color to paint the Arctic paintings’ sides!

I walked around the landing point, shifting my perspective from the macro to the micro and back again. There was a jellyfish on the beach where we met the zodiac, and I looked around at rocks and fossils on the beach.

I walked over to one of our guides, and we had a lovely conversation about ideas, our connection with earth, and even though we can’t perceive it, we are a part of the evolution of the landscape around us. I have been thinking about the interconnection of our breath with the sky. But I hadn’t thought much about our interconnection with and witnessing of the process of changes in the land and landscape. Not just this connection with the air and sky, but our involvement and presence in the ever-changing material of the land.

We cannot necessarily perceive that the land is changing on most days. But we are as connected with those processes as we are with the sky. Our limited perception just prohibits us from feeling and seeing that time-scale. We can more easily see the changes in glaciers and water, but the land is also changing. We see it as static, but changes in landscape - land mass, mountains, and vast formations of land - are in a continual process of change. In school, I remember learning about plate tectonics, and that we went from Pangea to the formation of the continents as they are now.

However, we are not at a stopping point, we are merely at a single point in history with the future yet unwritten.

This activity is made possible, in part, by funds provided by the Metropolitan Regional Arts Council (MRAC) through a grant from The McKnight Foundation.

Day 11: Ny Ålesund

Blomstrandbreen, after hiking its eastern side.

Thursday, October 11, 2018
Clear morning with clouds and snow in the afternoon, -3°C

Yesterday, the upper hike was nice - it wasn’t nearly as challenging as the Ytre Norskøya hike, just challenging and long enough to feel invigorating. We hiked up the moraine - rocky and steep-ish - to a level area that overlooked the glacier, Blomstrandbreen.

It was spectacular. The light was as alluring as I’ve ever seen. I stopped multiple times on the way down to take photos of the sky. Barely watching where I was walking, I tripped over rocks and stumbled - but never took my eyes from the horizon.

These memories and photos contain material for hundreds of paintings. I’m eager to start painting them once I get back home.

Looking towards the Three Sisters while docked at Ny Ålesund.

Ny Ålesund town rules.

Then, after Blomstrandbreen, we sailed a short distance to dock at Ny Ålesund — an international research station and the northernmost year-round occupied settlement in the world. There, we arrived around 8pm, perhaps. We were able to go into town! Now feeling somewhat alien to be in a contemporary settlement of any size, we tumbled into the history museum that stayed open 24/7. In it, there were displays of info about the mining history of town and the trappers, and it outlined the historic attempts to cross the north pole: two flights in 1925-26 and the airships around 1928. Amundson and Umberto Nobile, most notably. Nobile flew to the north pole successfully but crashed tragically on the return.

The next morning, we had breakfast and Åshild took us on a tour around the village. Kristen told us stories of the zeppelin landing point and the stories of those buried in the old graveyard. The most memorable, of a woman who fell in love with a trapper, left her family, and went off into the wilderness with him and another man. They treated her like dirt and some people from town found her almost dead. They brought her back to Ny Ålesund with them and tried to save her life, but she died there shortly after.

Zeppelin anchor in Ny Ålesund.

We walked back to town from the zeppelin anchor point and graveyard, and headed towards the only shop in town to buy souvenirs. I bought a buff that says Ny Ålesund, a tin cup with the town name and its global coordinates, some stickers, and a chocolate bar for Denny. It all fit into a tote bag with the name and coordinates that I’ll give to mom.

We were back on board the Antigua for lunch and moved just a short distance to the other side of Ny Ålesund from the island and did a landing in an area with some old huts and a decrepit train from a marble mining operation that folded. I’ve started to get less patient about feeling cold, so it’s probably almost time to go home. Maybe it’s being back in civilization (no matter how small) that makes me miss some modern comforts.

Once we boarded the ship for the night, we had dinner of salad, white rice, and chili, which was delicious. Then headed south to beat the storms once again.

I stayed up to play cards with several of the other artists. We played some rummy then a game of burro, which is like spoons - mostly a game of chance and speed. We all had a good time, and it was nice to let loose a bit. The ship was moving the whole time we played, but I felt better. My sea sickness had finally gone. So, I treated myself to a glass of red wine as we played cards. Headed down to bed probably around 10pm or so, I drifted off to sleep with a grin on my face. I was super happy to have finally kicked that feeling of sickness while we were moving and glad to have shared some laughs with my shipmates.

Looking to the settlement of Ny Ålesund from the pier towards the general store (left with the van in front of it) and the Ny Ålesund Museum (right). A zeppelin garage once perched on this mountain above town.

During the second excursion of the day, exploring broke-down train parts and other mining ruins.

I awoke with a jolt around 1am. The ship lunged, rose, and fell. So many sounds of things shifting and groaning with the motion, both above us and below. Since our cabin was close to the front of the ship, the motion felt exaggerated as our bunks lurched through the dark.

This activity is made possible, in part, by funds provided by the Metropolitan Regional Arts Council (MRAC) through a grant from The McKnight Foundation.

Day 12: Borebukta

Friday, October 12, 2018
Humid and rainy in the morning, but cleared in the afternoon, +1°C

Mary Ellen woke shortly after I did, and we were both awake for the next several hours. Apparenty during the night, Sarah and Captain Mario wanted to take the ship into a small fjord on the way back down before we got back to Isfjorden. But, once they got there they looked up the weather forecast and knew that we needed to get into isfjorden that night to beat a large storm. The Antigua continued on despite the southerly winds and rough waters.

I have never felt anything quite like that before. I could feel the nose of the ship rise in the air then drop back down suddenly at the top of each wave. Things flew around in our cabin that hadn’t been completely secured. “Seafast.” I’m glad that I’d taken a couple of extra minutes when I came down from playing cards to secure my cameras and toiletries. Sometime between 4:00-6:00am, the ship turned east into Isfjorden, so the rocking moved from front to back to circular and in all directions. More things flew in our cabin as we were almost thrown from our bunks. Some time later - maybe a bit after 6:00am - we came into the calmness of the fjord, and Mary Ellen and I dozed back to sleep. It was a long, restless night of wild motion and loud sounds.

In the morning we woke up just before the end of breakfast to eat and hear the instructions for the day. We had anchored at Borebukta and would prep for a landing - both stationary and a silent hike for those who wanted it. I couldn’t eat much. I felt hungover because of dehydration and not sleeping. I was the most groggy of the whole trip so far and felt terrible. But despite that, I got ready with everyone else to go on the landing. I got my gear on for a hike. But this morning was different than all of the others. It was raining. I had to trust that my gear would keep me warm and dry.

Aside from the rain, something different about this hike was that we intended for it to be completely silent. No phones, no cameras, no chatting, just pure observation. Pure absorption of the landscape and quietness of the Arctic.

We walked over a moraine. Silently. Only the swishing of our waterproof gear and boots crunching wet snow. Then into a vast flat expanse of white that slowly turned into water. Sarah stopped several times during the hike so that we could look in silence without the swishing sounds we made while walking. By the time we’d reached the plain - the flat part of our hike - the rain had mostly stopped.

We passed a skull of a reindeer that had been tangled in a large fishing net. We stood, frozen in the face of the deer’s tragic end. When we got back to the shore and broke our silence, Sarah told us that every year reindeer (and even other animals) get caught in nets. They scrape their antlers when the fuzzy part comes off, so they can get tangled if nets are in the area. Because the nets are so large and heavy, they tire themselves out and die of starvation on the beach.

We had walked almost two hours. By the time we headed back, I was feeling very weak for lack of sleep and not eating enough at breakfast. While we were waiting for the zodiac, I gobbled down a snack bar and started feeling a bit better. There were such large chunks of ice on the beach that had washed ashore - they looked strange and out of place, yet statuesque.

We reboarded the Antigua via zodiac and had a delicious lunch of vegan curry and rice with a vinegar-based slaw. Marvelous. Took a small nap, washed some clothes, and my hair - felt so much clearer after that. The rest of the group went zodiac tours that afternoon, and we moved to a new place… Wahlbukta?

But the reindeer skull stuck with me as a reminder of the fragility of this place and the care that we must take while we’re here and especially once we return home.

This activity is made possible, in part, by funds provided by the Metropolitan Regional Arts Council (MRAC) through a grant from The McKnight Foundation.

Day 10: Fuglefjorden

Wednesday, October 10, 2018
Northerly winds with snow showers, -2°C.

Note: Around this part of the trip, I started to really lose track of what day it was and whether or not I’d written in my journal. To further obscure the timeline, I was struggling with sea sickness when the ship moved into open water to the west, heading back south.

I can’t believe I slept almost totally since about 5:00pm yesterday, and maybe some of yesterday afternoon. My mind is really foggy.

Yesterday we stopped at Fuglefjorden on a tiny island that had once been covered by glacier. The piece of land was small— a rocky blip poking out of the water, covered in cantilevered snow that probably doubled its height. I sat in the snow again to marvel at the glacier that had once covered the land beneath us, now visible. In the deep snow that cascaded over the side of the island, I must’ve sat for almost an hour. The first zodiac to return us to the ship left the island shortly after I finally got back up again. Once again today, it was cold because of the wind and blowing snow. But, nestled into the deep snow, laying on the ground in my parka, I was completely comfortable.

After, we had lunch (I think, jasmine rice and curry) we set sail. I lasted until maybe 2:00 or 3:00pm, then went down again to my bunk. Happy I did at that very moment since the waves got a lot stronger. (At least, that’s how it felt to my land-locked blood.) We set sail for the western sea to head back southward to beat the northern storms. We secured everything in the cabin (making it ‘seafast’), otherwise anything unattached could have flown around because of the strength of the waves. Soon after, though, the guides came around and announced that there were walruses. Captain Mario killed the engines, and we climbed up on deck to watch.

Soon after, the ship started moving again, so I went back down to our cabin. By then we were on the edge of open sea.

Raising the sails on the Antigua.

Once again they roused us when the winds were right to raise the sails. They were able to raise the main staysail, lower main top mast staysail, lower topsail, upper topsail, and top gallant. A few of us stayed on deck just long enough to see the sails raised, take a photo, and then go back down to bed. From then on, the rocking was too much for me not to be in bed. I dozed through dinner, but Mary Ellen came back after with an apple for me to eat and recounted a story that Sarah had shared about some men who had gotten lost in the Arctic.

After, at about 9:00pm or so, I laid in bed and just enjoyed the feeling of the rocking ship for a while. Some time after 10:00pm, we were woken to come to the deck to see northern lights. I jumped out of bed and threw on my parka over my pajamas and climbed up to the deck. I passed Åshild and Kristen, who had been hanging out up there when I went out.

They left, and for a few magical moments, I was the only one on the deck of the ship. There were several spots of green - up and to the left, a couple out to the right. At one point, a green light was straight into the air behind some of the rigging. It took me a moment to realize that it wasn’t a glowing rope, but it soon changed shape and whipped across the sky. Gorgeous view of stars with sheets of green. Dark sky with no other lights around to obscure its blackness. Cold wind blowing through the fabric of my flannel pants and across my face. I loved every sensation in that moment. I smiled, looking up.

Then, a group of others came up, and the dancing light started to subside. I went back down to our cabin and slept until morning, but once again with several disturbing dreams.

We reached Kongsfjorden around midnight, and I heard that navigating the sea was a bit harrowing. Sarah and Marijn sat on the foredeck with flashlights to help Captain Mario navigate. We dropped anchor adjacent to Blomstrandbreen.

View of Kongsfjorden and the Antigua.

I awoke around 6:30am, disturbed by dreams, and came up to the lounge for breakfast. We ate, then prepared for zodiac excursions. I went on the sound recording/silent boat. (Because of this, I have I cannot recall how long we were actually out, but to me it felt too long. My hands and toes compeltely frozen, even under my mukluks and Neos. But we saw and heard many calvings off the glacier, Blomstrandbeen. We were surrounded by greese ice, pancacke ice, and other glacial ice. By the time we started to motor back to the Antigua with our small group, the ice had frozen around the zodiac. Sarah was driving and needed to pull up the motor frequently to de-ice and get us un-stuck. We hummed to try to warm ourselves and created the ‘Arctic Shivers’ choir.

A zodiac tour returning to the Antigua from Kongsfjorden.

During our silent zodiac tour at Kongsfjorden.

Soon after the tours, we had lunch of lentil soup, meat pies, and a Spanish tortilla.

Following lunch. we had a choice of a short hike or long hike next to the glacier. They moved the ship slightly to get a good landing point for the zodiacs, and we zodiac-ed to land. I took the upper hike, and I will never forget the depth of sky on the hike down.

This activity is made possible, in part, by funds provided by the Metropolitan Regional Arts Council (MRAC) through a grant from The McKnight Foundation.

Day 9: Hamiltonbukta

Tuesday, October 9, 2018
Northerly winds with snow showers, -2ºC

We moved the ship only a slight distance yesterday afternoon to Hamiltonbukta. We had a stationary anchored excursion - a shorter one - that only about 10 of us went on. It was on a rocky face of a ridge that sloped down to the water and faced a smooth, wavy glacier at the other side of the bay. There was so much snow - Sarah said that she’s never seen so much at this time of the year. We hiked up the hill to hear the layout of the guards. Kristin to the right, Åshild up the ridge, Sarah to the left, and Emma at the shore. I walked in snow up to my knees (at least) once we left the beach to meet Kristin on the right side of the ridge, and veered up the incline towards Åshild. For a while, I walked in Kim’s footsteps, who was making a path through deeper snow a little ways in front of me. The wind blew snow and ice pellets into our faces, but it still felt nice out there. The air was probably a few degrees warmer than it had been in Ytre Norskøya.

Kim plopped down into the snow, making a custom arm chair for herself. She faced out to the hazy fjord. I walked around her and did the same. I fell backwards and rested, looking up to the sky facing the direction of the glacier. I was so comfortable and happy just to sit there in the snow. I sat for a while, then stood to make my way over to Sarah on the left of the steep, rocky shore. Occasionally falling into holes between boulders, I sank up to my thighs in the deep drifted snow. I walked through the protruding rocks - falling into snow sometimes up to my waist or higher. I was laughing uncontrollably, like a child playing in the snow for the first time. I continued on and walked almost to Sarah, back along the water, back to Emma, then again to Kristin, back up to Åshild, and started down the hill again. Laughing and sinking, one leg sank up to my thigh with the other out straight. In order to get up, I had to roll over onto my stomach and push myself out of the soft, deep cushion of snow.

Down at the water, Tamara had found whale bones while I was making my second round, and Kim and Andrea were looking at them. I went over to get a better look. I took some photos, then went up the hill following Andrea’s footsteps in the snow, once again past our knees. I made my way back diagonally to Kristin again, but decided that I was too tired to make another full round. I headed back down to Emma at the shore. Kim and Rachel were there waiting for the zodiac to bring us back to The Antigua when a bearded seal came over to investigate us. It hung around for a while until the zodiac came to shuttle us back. Such curious creatures.

This was one of my favorite outings on this trip. I had no concern for being productive or accomplishing anything whatsoever. Much of the trip so far, I’ve felt nervous about retaining everything that we’ve seen, recording it, and knowing that I would eventually need to regurgitate it into some prolific, compelling body of artistic work. But, at Hamiltonbukta I simply felt joy walking through the deep snow on that rock face, pushing myself until my body was fully tired.. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so silly and not had a care in the world. This is a good lesson that I hope to remember long after this trip ends. This day didn’t need the Arctic (though, it was certainly enchanting), I could feel this way anywhere at any time. Of course the snow, the surroundings, and the company helped, but it was letting go of my own expectations that allowed me to feel such incredible joy.

After we left the excursion spot, we came back to the ship for dinner of quinoa, tomato, and onion salad and reindeer stew. Five artists gave presentations about their work after dinner. And, following that, there was a little dance party in the lounge, but I headed down to bed. I was sound asleep by 10:30pm or so, completely exhausted from the day.

Another night of weird/bad dreams, and up again around 6:30am this morning.

Now, we’re going to head into an adjacent fjord to take an excursion on a small island and more zodiac tours. Fuglefjorden - “Fjord of the birds.” It feels very cold now.

This activity is made possible, in part, by funds provided by the Metropolitan Regional Arts Council (MRAC) through a grant from The McKnight Foundation.

Day 8: Ytre Norskøya

Monday, October 8, 2018
Windy, snowy, cloudy

We sailed (by motor) all night and made it to the northwest corner of Spitsbergen (another name for the archipelago of Svalbard). Mary Ellen and I both woke up between 1:30-2:30am when the ship was probably at its rockiest. I’ve never sailed on the open seas, so this felt exciting even though we were not too far out from land. Our jackets hung on pegs at the foot of our beds swung lazily from side to side. The ship rounded the northwestern corner, and we awoke in the Nordvestøyane island group to gray wind and sideways snow.

Ytre Norskøya’s location in relation to Svalbard.

It was one of the only landings where we couldn’t immediately see ice, but I was no less enthralled by the land. A gathering of islands poked out of the sea like giant knees in a bathtub, cloaked in monochrome gray-ness and snow. It was a stark contrast from the brilliant blinding blue sky and soothing teal ice from the previous day in Lilliehöökbreen.

We prepared for on an excursion on the island of Ytre Norskøya - the furthest northern point that we will see on this trip - almost to 80ºN (79.5º). The next thing to see when looking out from the island is the north pole. For some reason, it felt like I should be looking upward to see the north pole from that point, but we just looked out… over the water. It’s funny how looking up means looking outward from all points on this planet.

So, we looked out, towards the north, squinting through snow and wind.

Looking out to the north pole from the island of Ytre Norskøya.

Our morning excursion split into two groups once again. One stayed at the lower lookout point to the east (called 'de Kleine Uitkijck' – the small lookout), and I was with the group that headed up to the lookout point atop the mountain in the center of the island ('de Groote Uitkijck' — the big lookout). With the whole group, we made our way to the point on shore where we would await instructions and split into the two groups. We passed graves of whalers. In the summer, their sculls and bones can be seen. But, now until June they are blanketed with snow.

The island of Ytre Norskøya is a point that whalers used in the 1600s as a lookout. Part of a chain of islands called Fair Haven, the area enabled ships to set anchor but still be able to get the necessary wind to sail out to sea.

We all walked about 15 minutes to a central point where a path to the lower lookout and the upper lookout converged. I went with maybe 15-18 others up towards the top, and about five stayed with the lower. We started hiking up and met an obstacle within 10 minutes. Snow had fallen in a way where we couldn’t see the rocks below. It drifted out, cantilevered over an unknown drop. So, our guide Kristin went to explore around a lower peak to see if we could re-nagivate around it. We came down the path again and started out from where we’d left the rest of the group but headed out on a new trajectory.

Half-way up to the Ytre Norskøya upper whaling lookout looking south.

We started up the snowy incline again. Snow to our thighs as we trekked upwards. After 20 minutes more, we were all hot and removing layers of our clothing. I’d worn an extra wool sweater and was regretting it. Sweating. (Something that can be dangerous in low temperatures like these.) We took some small breaks peppered in with the unrelenting wind and pelting snow.

After maybe 45 minutes or so, one of the other artists started feeling light headed. We rested a few minutes but shortly headed upward again. Soon after we started hiking, she started feeling faint again as we reached a point probably 3/4 the way from the peak. Our guides were mindful to keep all of us safe in the extreme conditions, so we settled in to take a longer break. Some artists took photos, some sketched (harried, with very cold hands). Very quickly after we stopped, the wind picked up even more. More snow, almost hail. Any body heat we had generated on the way up was quickly lost.

I was very cold within 20 minutes, but soon we reversed course and headed back down towards the Antigua. The return was much easier than the way up. I felt light on my feet, bounding down between drifts of snow and jutting black rock. Our group made it back to the ship by 1pm for lunch of salad and pizza. Everyone was so hungry! I think most of us ate 5-6 pieces each.

After lunch, I talked to Annet, the ship’s 2nd mate. She came to our cabin ask something about our room’s two life jackets. I asked her about the dynamics of different groups that travel on the ship. She had never done a trip with The Arctic Circle, but she said that the group during the week, who had been tourists from all over the world, was really annoyed and grumpy. They wanted to get to the 80th parallel but were unable to get out of Isfjorden due to bad weather. Our group couldn’t be more opposite of that. Everyone gets along, there aren’t any cliques, no squabbles, no tension. Everyone helps each other and watches out for one another. I wish we had even more time together and more time to spend in this incredible place.

Stopping for a longer break on the way to the upper whaler’s lookout.

I won’t forget the moody weather of this day - the coldest we’ve seen so far. Very windy, pelting icy snow flying sideways. Although the conditions here were the most uncomfortable yet, this is how I imagined this place to feel. Inhospitable to humans. All of the islands that surrounded us to the south were cloaked in thick clouds, seemingly devoid of life. Beyond, out to sea, was nothing but the top of the world.

This activity is made possible, in part, by funds provided by the Metropolitan Regional Arts Council (MRAC) through a grant from The McKnight Foundation.

Day 7: Lloyd's Hotel

Sunday, October 7, 2018
Calm, 26ºF

7:30am Another beautiful, stunning morning of dark sky and water, with bright white mountains. We get to go on a long hike today, and the ship will pick us up on the other side of the valley.

Slept well last night even after resting/napping most of yesterday. To bed around 11:00pm after a night of presentations by other artists on the trip. I am so impressed by everyone’s work here. Dinner was a broccoli soup with steamed veg, fried potatoes, and baked fish. (For me, there was a veggie patty - thanks, Piet!)

I’m very excited to get out for a 9am hike today. Sarah stressed that what we’ve done so far have been leisurely walks, and this will be much more strenuous. I’m looking forward to moving - this is what I’ve been training for. Hopefully my training will have been good enough - probably not, but I’m much better off than I was at the beginning of the summer. Even so, I can tell that I’ve already lost muscle in the rest of my body since being on the ship. When I go home, I look forward to exercising regularly again. Even though we’ve been eating so much, I think I’ve lost weight. I’m constantly in the smaller belt notch. It makes sense- we walk all day and spend hours in the cold. Metabolism must be sped up to Arctic levels of efficiency. It’s time to get ready to get out there!

Guide Kristin, keeping watch for polar bears behind Lloyd Hotel.

3:45pm Exhilarating hike today— Some of us opted to go on the hike, and some stayed aboard the ship for a different perspective. Before we headed out on our two separate experiences, the group of all of us spent some time exploring the shore and the small shack of Lloyd Hotel. There were polar bear tracks all around, so the guides kept especially careful watch. Shortly after, we headed out…. into the open Arctic.

Polar bear tracks.

We hiked about 6 miles probably. The terrain was super rough, so I could be over-estimating it. Ping-pong to baseball-sized rocks under snow is hard to navigate gracefully, but my combination of Mukluks and Neos kept my feet warm and my ankles from turning. The walk was exceptional, and it was welcome to get out of the ship for a little while.

On the hike, we saw lots of polar bear tracks zig-zagging the valley. I was pretty worried that we would see one, but we didn’t. There were tracks to where a bear had laid down and gotten back up again. Lots of arctic fox tracks, too, some birds. We walked for probably 2 hours or so, then rested by a frozen lake to have a snack. All of us were surprised to hear that we’d already gone 2/3rds of the way to the bay where we’d be picked up by Antigua. I could’ve been really happy with an additional hour, but I think we actually ended up hiking for about 3.5 hours or so.

Usually I prefer hiking alone, but I was really happy to be hiking with our group. I spent some time chatting and/or walking near Kim, John, Theresa, Bonnie, Tamara, and Kristin - seems like two weeks is not nearly enough time to spend with these people. I’m really going to have a hard time leaving, I know that already. This is most certainly one of the most incredible experiences of my life. After gatherings like this, or after other residencies, I always intend to keep in contact with other people. But I never seem to be able to do so. This time I really hope I can manage to do that.

Hiking along a frozen lake between Lloyd Hotel and Lilliehöökbreen.

Guide Sarah and Nemo overlooking Lilliehöökbreen near the end of the hike.

The rest of the group is going on zodiac tours right now, but I’m skipping. Drinking a beer, resting, reflecting, and writing sounds better to me right now. I’m a little tired from the walk, and my brain feels saturated from the sights of today. It’s nice to get a few minutes by myself.

On the other hand, I should try to get back outside. I have the rest of my life to be inside writing… but I’m feeling really tired. Sometimes here I notice an intense conflict between allowing myself to rest and reflect on what I’ve just seen - and the need to get outside and absorb even more of this land.

(A little while later… ) So, I went outside for a while and I am super happy that I did. Experience won out over rest. Antigua, barely moving, captured the perfect panorama of the exquisite adjacent glacier - blue, teal, white. Silent. Monolithic.

I want to project on opposite walls the video of passing the glacier. How does all of this fit with what I’m doing with my art? Does it matter if it fits or not?

Looking towards the glacier at Lilliehöökbreen aboard the Antigua.

From my second journal devoted to thoughts about art:

I took 3-minute videos off the side of the ship. I’d like to project these on opposite sides of a gallery. With what? Alone? Do they need anything with them? What’s it all about? If I’m only thinking about atmosphere, it might not fit. Maybe I can’t shoe-horn this into the AoV project, but it fits with me and my work.

I think I might be about quiet, about the natural world, and about feeling a part of it. Realizing our interconnection - the atmosphere - is a vital part of this interconnection. That’s important, yet abstract and easy overlooked. But, there are also waves - air and water… land and weather… other elements that hold my attention as well.

The connection with water is an important one to me. I don’t want to talk about that in the same way that other artists do, but it is certainly another through-link and a point of interconnection. A concern for climate and what we’re doing to the planet…

What are we ‘doing’ to the planet? We are a part of nature. Humans are nature. I know this. But, we are also altering the chemistry and atmosphere for the rest of the inhabitants. We are making it more difficult for our selves to maintain our own lives as well. But is this what my art is about? Maybe not.

I think, actually, that I want to draw attention to love for the planet, for our natural world. And, this love is shared between us. Maybe not in the same ways between all cultures, but perhaps it is a communal admiration, a universal respect.

Does it need to be? Can it be only about me? I don’t think it is, though. There is some kind of commonality to be shared, some through-line of connection, some shared experience to point to.

So, bringing this back to perception. What will people do when I project glaciers on either side of the gallery? How long will they sit? What will they say about it? Will people who haven’t traveled to cold places be able to connect with it? How would their gallery experience differ from my own out here?

But, is there also an aspect of Extreme in there? Extreme travel, extreme locations, extreme exertion? Or is it just that I’ll go wherever I need to in order to get what I’m looking for? So, is it about perception? Or, finding a different vantage point to perceive the same planet?

Some of us can perceive the effects we have on the world around us. For example, being up here for just a few weeks, we are extremely careful not to leave any trash - especially plastic. Careful to use only organic products that may end up back in the water. We gather garbage whenever we find it. In certain ways, it feels pristine here — fewer humans, for sure. But it’s an illusion, too. Because we are all in this closed system of this one planet, and we know that the Arctic is warming faster than anywhere else on Earth. However, we are here in a year when winter came several weeks earlier than normal. (Thus, most places we visit are covered with snow and ice already, hiding the evidence of garbage and consumption that even reaches these ultimately remote locations.)

What do we know versus what can we perceive in terms of time. I guess we rely on science and data about our planet in order to create these stories of how our world is changing. But, can I make work that is environmental - yet - only sharing the positive stories; sharing only the love of place and surrounding without the story of negativity, fear, guilt, and shame? What is the use of these emotions if they don’t help us create change? Do they help us have conversations in any way? Do they allow us to fully appreciate a place despite the damage we know that our western existence causes? If we talk about it, is that a step towards change?

But what does change even mean? Does it mean that we admit that we’ve been wrong? That’s maybe a scarier thing than anything to realize. That we’ve been wrong. And we continue to recreate the same mistakes. But, then again, I don’t want to go to that negative place. I would rather talk about the wonders and the beauty we experience anywhere between our backyards and neighborhoods all the way out to to the north and south poles.

This activity is made possible, in part, by funds provided by the Metropolitan Regional Arts Council (MRAC) through a grant from The McKnight Foundation.

Day 6: Fjortende Julibukta

Saturday, October 6, 2018
Overcast and calm, 32ºF

Up at 7am. Climbed into the lounge to get coffee, and Don’t Worry, Be Happy was playing. Nice way to start the day. Nothing better than waking up to some reggae when at sea.

We left Recherchebreen shortly after dinner last night - trolled out of Bellsund and then full speed into the sea to the west. An alarm went off by accident around 10pm, so I woke up (had been drifting off since about 9pm) and looked out the porthole of our cabin. The waves were roiling. Larger waves than I’d ever seen from inside of them. The boat soared. I felt that if I could track my movements in space, my body would be rising and falling at least the height of one full story of a house. But, it’s hard to tell if that was true. I enjoyed sleeping with the rocking of the ship. I’d wake up some times when a wave was especially large, but I never felt scared or like I’d fall out of my bunk.

We met this morning, and apparently the winds are against us so we aren’t making very good time. We will get to our next landing by lunchtime and will have an excursion in place. Then, we will make the next landing sometime tonight and plan to have two excursions tomorrow in the far north.

Landing at Fjortende Julibukta

6:30pm: We just got back from the shore excursion at Fjortende Jolibreen. We didn't have a midday landing. I was sick all day when we were sailing up here, though. But, as soon as we got into the bay (or the fjord), I immediately felt better. I sat up in my bunk then stood up on it to look out the portal to see where we were. In an ice-chip filled calm bay of dark pewter grey and slate navy, crowned by bright white mountains. Pop. The beach was dotted with arctic fox and polar bear tracks. I thought I’d stumbled on a petrified tree stump with various other petrified parts. Walked twice around the peninsula, kept very warm. And took a sound recording of all of the ice. Then, there was some hilarity of getting back into the zodiac, wet bottom of pants and underwear. Now it’s almost time for dinner.

Looking across the peninsula at Fjortende Julibukta.

This activity is made possible, in part, by funds provided by the Metropolitan Regional Arts Council (MRAC) through a grant from The McKnight Foundation.

Day 5: van Keulenhamna and Recherchebreen

Friday, October 5, 2018
Calm with snow in the afternoon, -2ºC

Yesterday, we made our second landing at van Keulenhamna, and I was really tired. I knew I wanted to go on the landing, but I also craved some time for rest, to download my photos, and make some room for more quiet. On the moraine tundra, we saw six beluga whales and four reindeer. But, my body felt colder than I’ve been this whole trip. I think it was because my heart wasn’t quite there. I sat and watched the reindeer for what must have been an hour. After a while on land, I counted the minutes until we’d be back on the ship.

To try to warm up, I walked along the beach and listened to the quiet waves sizzle into the small pebble sand, my toes chunks of solid ice inside my waterproof boots. Water so clear, I could barely distinguish where it ended. I had an impulse to wade into it but feared that kind of cold on my skin - like I would never feel warmth again. Skin permanently feeling the stabbing pain of the freeze, forever shivering in the cold. But that is not how it works. Except in dangerous situations, our bodies are resilient to the cold when we return them to warmth. I should’ve stripped off all of the layers that protected me from the environment at that moment and jumped into the water to experience it fully with all of my senses. But I didn’t. Instead I shivered and walked over to the place where the zodiac would land and eventually bring us back to the warm comfort of the ship.

Today, I woke up just before 7am. Ate breakfast and walked out onto the deck. We set sail from van Keulenhamna shortly after towards Recherchebreen.

Standing in the water, looking towards the glacier Recherchebreen.

I enjoyed walking around during our landing at Recherchebreen.. Our guides marked out a perimeter where we could explore a peninsula of land that overlooked the glacier from a distance. There were a couple of higher vantage points where we could look out over the glacier, and at one we spotted an arctic fox walking along an adjacent beach.

In the afternoon I went on an incredible excursion in the zodiac with the group of people recording sound. There were long periods of silence - it was what I’d been craving. We could hear the popping, clanking, and crackling of ice. We got to see large turquoise and blue chunks of ice that had fallen off of the glacier. There was a couple of calvings while we sat there, but one very intense calving sent rumbles ricocheting all around us and made waves throughout the lagoon. A bearded seal came very close to see what we were up to. My favorite day so far.

View from the silent zodiac tour at Recherchebreen.

Looking back towards Antigua from the landing at Recherchebreen.

From my second journal devoted to thoughts about art:

Making some strides in the last couple of days. Started making some painting sketches in the places that we've been. I’m really excited with these. But, I’m still, of course, struggling with tying the painting to the installation work and making the connections between the two. Maybe I don’t continue with the installations after AoV until it makes sense with what I’m doing - until I’ve caught up with that train of thought. I’m just not sure that I’m there yet. And I’m fine with that because I love these paintings so much - they are most definitely a part of me. Then again, maybe I’m simply overthinking and am nervous about failure. If that is the case, I need to run into it head on. Will one of these new paintings work with the new AoV work?

To do: Project the wave video behind the screen install. See what it does to the patterns, if anything.

Recherchebreen

Blomstrandbreen

Fridtjovbreen

Hamnodden

This activity is made possible, in part, by funds provided by the Metropolitan Regional Arts Council (MRAC) through a grant from The McKnight Foundation.

Day 4: Fridtjovhamna

Thursday, October 4, 2018
Slight wind, around 30ºF

Up again around 6:30am. Crawled up the steep wooden steps to the lounge for coffee and take a trip out onto deck to see what changed over night. We’d heard that the anchor was slipping, so they moved the ship to a new anchor point. A current was coming off of the glacier behind the ship, and it was pushing us towards the peninsula, Hamnodden, we explored yesterday - towards the bay full of ice that it had captured flowing off of the glacier itself.

It seemed the night before that the bay was small-ish. But in reality, it was vast. Distances here are surreal. Everything is so large that the space totally plays tricks with the mind. I looked out across the ship’s deck, wind stinging through my pajama pants and the hand holding my coffee cup starting to freeze. The wind made it feel colder than the actual temperature. At first, I couldn’t find my bearings. Where were we? Where had we been yesterday? I looked over to my left, and I could see the glacier across from Hamnodden (now much larger). I looked to my right, and I could barely see the land from yesterday. That must be it, but it looked at least a mile away. I couldn’t make out any of the details. I couldn’t see the trapper’s hanging rack or the trapped ice that reminded me of pepperoni, just the saw-toothed mountains in the distance that the day before had cloaked in the pink wash of sunset.

Looking back towards Hamnodden.

After breakfast, we set off for a shore excursion that consisted of a short hike plus a stationary landing at a dead glacier. Our landing point towards the glacier did not look far away, but when we saw the first zodiac on land it was tiny. We were still so far from the adjacent glacier.

Our guide Kristen, preparing for the landing at Fridtjovhamna.

We boarded the zodiacs and gathered on shore. After everyone was on land, we trekked into the rolling landscape of the moraine alongside a mostly frozen stream and passed a frozen waterfall.

After maybe 15 minutes, we came to the dead glacier. This photo looks up at the mountains above the bay of Fridtjovhamna at the edge of a dead glacier (to the right, part of the glacier Fridtjovbreen). A Dead Glacier is a meteorological term for a glacier that has stopped moving because it has either been separated from the rest of the glacier or has diminished in accumulation. Dead glaciers are usually covered by moraine. You can see in this photo how rocky the edges of these glaciers are. When they drag across the ground, they scrape up dirt and rocks that get frozen into the ice. Then, when the glacier retreats, the rocks get left in piles of debris.

We hiked a few minutes longer and came to a large arch in the ice. It created an echoing cavern over the stream we’d followed. The form reminded me of the impressive rock formations in Utah - solid forms eroded over time. This timeline slightly sped up from that of the red rocks of Arches, but to us the time seemed to stand still while we watched for a few moments in silence.

We hiked back from the arch and set up a stationary landing spot to sit, photograph, or make work. I found an indent in the dead glacier covered with fresh snow that looked welcoming, so I decided to take a nap on the rocky ice. (This became one of my favorite activities to do on landings.) After an hour or two, we hiked back down the stream and boarded Antigua for lunch and to move to van Keulenhamna.

Mary Ellen, taking photos of the mountains on the way from Fridtjovhamna to van Keulenhamna.

On the way, we passed incredible formations in the land. It looks as if some of the rocks in Svalbard were picked up, crumpled like paper, and dropped back down into the water. Not having any trees or foliage of any kind gives you a better view of our evolving planet. Many times on this trip I realized that I’ve been thinking about geologic time as having mostly happened in the past. But, changes happen around us - with us - every day. We are a part of geologic time, embedded within it.

This activity is made possible, in part, by funds provided by the Metropolitan Regional Arts Council (MRAC) through a grant from The McKnight Foundation.