Konstfack Degree Exhibition 2014 / Vårutställning 2014


MasterArt in the Public Realm • Kolbrún Ýr Einarsdóttir

Kolbrún Ýr Einarsdóttir


Kolbrún Ýr Einarsdóttir
b. 1983
+354 8642704 / +46 76777033

My Great-grandfather Walked on Water

The memory plays in my head like an endlessly looping piece of film. It is short and fast. There is no fading in between. It just begins over and over again. Ending as abruptly as it begins.

I saw my Great-grandfather walk on water.

It is an unbelievable memory that is etched in my mind, the kind originating in dreams rather than reality. The kind that is dismissed, buried under the tumbling of everyday life. But the kind that sticks and makes an appearance when you least expect. It played in my head once in a while until recently it became a constant undertone in my mind. Suddenly my dreams were filled with strange images and glimpses from the river; fast, short, fleeting. And they were all beautiful.

I found the clip after going through many hours of home videos. It is short, about ten seconds. Short like my memory of it.

I remember the smell in the air, the sounds from the whimbrel, the sun. Soft breeze; I hear the whimbrel, squint my eyes towards the sun and then towards the river. For a while I only see red, orange and yellowish spots from looking into the sun. Then I see him emerge from the yellow. He walks slowly, hands behind his back. Then everything fades into yellow again. For a brief moment he walked on the water.

There is a dark blue hue over the landscape, a cold day most likely. Or it could just be the bad quality of the video. The water flows slowly, sparkling in the sun. The camera is unsteady, shaking up and down while zooming onto him. First slowly, then too fast. Everything is so silent, almost holy.

Then I realize the volume in the computer is turned down, so I turn it up and hear my grandmother laughing loudly behind the camera.

That explains the shaking.

My Great-grandfather Walked on Water

Minnet spelas upp i huvudet på mig som en filmslinga som upprepas i det oändliga. Det är kort och snabbt. Utan gradvisa övergångar. Det bara börjar om igen och igen.

Jag såg min gammelmorfar gå på vattnet.

Det är ett minne som inte går att tro på och som jag länge hade avfärdat, men den där korta sekvensen fortsatte spelas upp i mitt huvud tills jag bestämde mig för att ta reda på dess ursprung. Sökandet ledde mig till en plats från min barndom, en flod på norra Island. Längs vägen upptäckte jag andra historier som inte direkt går att tro på, men som kanske är rimliga. Efter ett tag var jag inte längre på jakt efter sanningen, utan snarare ögonblicket där verklighet och fiktion smälter ihop.