To get to Ragnar Kjartansson’s countryside studio, I flew to Reykjavík, drove to a scarcely inhabited fjord called Borgarfjörður an hour north of the city, splashed across a tidal waterway in a four-wheel-drive vehicle, and pulled up to a bluff overlooking the glacial river Hvítá. There, in a small cottage, I found the artist fixing a proper Icelandic repast of dried haddock and headcheese and bottles of Egils Gull beer. Little did I know what the prodigy of Icelandic performance art had in store for me.
Image credit: Wolfgang Träger
