FJALLALOFT
In this cycle of paintings, I explore the imagined recollection of Icelandic landscapes—layers of memory viewed from a distance, like an observer watching their own past. These are not first-hand memories, but reconstructed images from a third-person perspective—observers' memories. The painted mountains and hills have no direct reference to real places. The viewer cannot tell whether the landscape is a remembered scene or a fictional terrain with no name. Pastel tones, softened by dreamy hues, clash and blend with neon accents, simultaneously constructing and deconstructing the illusion of perspective. Nothing in the image is real, yet it evokes a strong sense of familiarity. Could these hills belong to the horizon of our childhood? Or are they shaped from sand in playgrounds where we once played, imagined into existence by a child’s hand? Abstraction begins to feel realistic; memories start to take form. The space around us feels full—overflowing with quiet beauty—and yet strangely empty. Like the dusty fragments of childhood memories, these paintings sit somewhere between presence and absence, dream and place.