Driftwood

Life in a Nordic Town

Let the tide take you. Be shaped by the wind and the waves.

I had already heard Erlendur Finnbogi Magnússon’s name before I met him. It struck me as impressively Icelandic sounding. He creates sculptures from salvaged material, most usually Siberian driftwood he plucks from local waters. I inadvertently photographed his Skagaströnd installation, with the aurora swirling overhead. The resulting images brought us to meet at the Nes artist studio.

We chatted warmly, albeit through broken English – my Icelandic is yet to progress beyond ‘Takk’. Using my photo as reference, he explained, the rusted statue was ‘Loki, The Trickster’ – a Norse god, reviled for his deceitful ways. As a subtle rebuke to his infamy, Erlendur fashioned the life sized figure from an old manure cart. Seeing I was not quite understanding his spirited mix of languages, he drew me a sketch, complete with horse and stink lines. ‘Sheet’, ‘Sheet’, he joked, motioning to the odorous cargo. I knew then we’d get on.

Eager to see more of his work, I arranged to meet him at his studio. The space is littered with hollow chunks of faded cedar, each at a different stage of transformation. A table of beautifully carved sculptures displays decades of crafted expertise. Limited to what English he kindly grapples with, our conversation was driven mainly by gestures, smiles and head shaking.

He ambled through his gallery, pointing at the knots and dents, ripples and rings in various pieces. ‘Horse’, he exclaimed proudly, running his arm along the length of his latest project. True enough, there was a sleek resemblance to a stallion’s face. The elegant shell also retains its central root. ‘Like a vein’ he explained earnestly. ‘It gave wood the food’. To him, this wood is very much alive.

Erlendur’s salvaged material begins its journey in the Russian White Sea. Encased in ice, it is estimated to travel for six years before landfall in Iceland. Wood that drifts longer becomes water logged and sinks. I asked him why he works with driftwood. Pointing to a hulk of jagged bark; ‘it takes the salt and the sea’ he replied; ‘salt makes strong’.

Erlendur floats, like the driftwood he lovingly carves, sharing time between his native Iceland and Edinburgh. Some trees remain stationary, with strong roots and healthy leaves. They see the land around them shift from season to season. Some fall into the sea and float with the current, taking on salt. They are shaped by the roll and turn of the tide.

In weaker times, I have thought longingly, of the forests, with established roots and abundant foliage; where trees grow tall, and enjoy the shade of each other. Observing the fruit of Erlendur’s transient, creative life is to experience the texture and richness an uncertain voyage can carve. I see the shape moulded by the tumble of freezing waves. I am reassured by the strength the salt gifts, and the twist of tide that brings driftwood to new shores.