Dear Kristin,

Today I decided to make an idiotic project: to collect all the stones found in the apartment and photograph them. One by one, as a kind of portrait photography. There are stones pretty much everywhere here. On the shelves, on the floor, in boxes, in jars, as doorstops and as decoration. In the bedrooms, in the studios, in the storage room and the kitchen. It's fascinating to think about all the different people who lived here, and that they decided to pick up one or more stones, perhaps put them in their pocket or bag and carried them all the stairs up to the apartment. Why? And when? What caught my interest when it comes to these hard lumps is precisely this aspect that they are traces left by people who lived here, they're one of the many layers that gradually has been built. But what also interests me are stones' special meanings here in Iceland. Throughout history, mythology and in everyday life. For example, it's said that Icelandic children are taught not to throw stones because they might hit the invisible elves and so-called huldufólk, and thus bring misfortune to the child's family. It's also said that when farmers are clearing their fields from stones they are still extra careful not to disturb stones that are home to trolls. Even major road construction has been influenced and changed because people have been afraid that the road route would disturb the peace of the fairy folk. Stones, in other words, are far from being dead matter here.

I walked around for a long time and gathered all the stones I could find. Eventually, my desk was so full that I had to start putting them on the floor instead. The thought struck me that if this collecting process would continue maybe the stones will completely take over the apartment and the boundary between "inside" and "outside" would be erased and the concepts turned inside out. What a wonderful picture. I was about to give up on my project when I found a big wooden box full of small black smooth sea stones. There must have been at least 300 of them. I decided to pretend as nothing happened and to ignore them. And after all, they were so small that they could hardly be called stones anyway... Still I brought the box to the studio and the floor close to the desk. This was a decision I would regret later when I suddenly found myself flat on the floor with my heart fast and hard throbbing, with an aching chin, elbow and knee. I had stumbled over the wooden box and fell headlong to the floor. After regaining normal pulse and my breathing had calmed down a bit, I managed to get up on my feet. Nothing was broken, but I could barely put weight on my left leg because of the pain in the knee. So now I'm limping slowly, still wondering what happened and can't stop thinking that me collecting stones might have been interpreted as collecting artillery by some elves. Maybe they thought I gathered stones to throw at them and therefore put a stumbling block by moving the box? Maybe there lived a little troll in one of them? Probably not. But maybe...?

The stone portraits are now gathered in a small book that I send to you.

Love,
Johanna