Ragnar Kjartansson, "The End," Icelandic Pavilion 2009.
From one of the busy main walking streets of Venice, I walk into a darkened courtyard that leads into the peaceful, flag-stoned, ground floor of the 14th century Venetian palazzo in which Ragnar Kjartansson is performing The End for the Icelandic Pavilion. It feels as if I have walked through time, not only because of the charming location, but because of the scene that greets me in the main room. Baroque music tinkles from out of a record player surrounded by disordered stacks of records. The light softly sparkles through the doors that open onto the canal. And in the center of everything is Ragnar. Ruddy and full of health, golden hair and beard a glint in the sunlight, his constant smile full of endless amusement in life, Ragnar commands attention. Dressed in Painter’s Smock, paintbrush held in gesturing hand, cigarillo held rakishly in the corner of his mouth, Ragnar grandstands in front of his unstarted canvas (and nearly nude male model – artist Páll Haukur Bjornsson) to the party seated upon the couch nearby. The party, dressed in a variety of “costumes”, includes father, mother, wife and fellow artist Davíd Thór Jónsson. Jónsson, in a smart blue day suit, strums on a guitar along with the music, and the party hums along – a tableau of the Venetian Renaissance painter’s studio amidst replete with fellow artists enjoying themselves at leisure. Though the beer cans which slowly pile up around the participants and the bright Speedo on model Bjornsson, add an absurd and amusing element to this otherwise idyllic scene.
What is so utterly appealing about Ragnar’s performance is that there is a delightful romanticism to it which is captivating and simply enjoyable. Standing before this scene I could not help but laugh and smile along with the performers. Like Ragnar himself, who I had a chance to talk to when he was in New York several months before the start of the Biennale, his performance is dynamic and engaging as well as humorous in the same vein as the performances of artists Gilbert and George. Ragnar comes from a theater and music family, and is also a musician – the singer in the Icelandic band Trabant. It is clear that at heart Ragnar is a true actor, something which makes his performance much different than that of an artist unschooled in the world of theater. He always enjoyed creating his own worlds, dressing up as different characters, and assuming their identity. One of his favorite identities was that of the “artiste,” the romantic notion of the great painter. Ragnar always loved the act of painting, although right out of school he became a performance artist. It is this image of the great painter which he engages so perfectly in the Icelandic Pavilion. Here he takes on the persona of great historic painter and delves into the past – which he says he is addicted to. For Ragnar, history is preferable because it can be romanticized, and as he says: “All the crap of reality can be filtered out.’
This is not to say that there is not a more serious side to the work. Ragnar also enjoys putting himself through tests of will and endurance, a bow to the intensity of 1970s performance such as that of Vito Acconci or Joseph Beuys (I won’t say Chris Burden because Ragnar is not quite that masochistic). For example, the other main work in the pavilion is a video and sound installation of Jónsson and him, covered in furs, playing American country music amidst the dramatic landscape of the Canadian Rockies. Ragnar, who had just returned from Canada when I met with him, described the excruciating cold that they suffered while recording this, which resulted in frostbite. In one splendid scene, Ragnar plays a black, grand piano alone in the midst of a huge, frozen lake surrounded by snow-covered mountains. Here the physical test of will in classic Performance art combines with Ragnar’s magnificent romanticism – he talks about the myth of the American West that lives on in the imagination of Europeans and the Icelandic people. Similarly, the romanticism of his live performance combines with an element of endurance that was not yet evident at the point when I visited the pavilion, the beginning of this several-month-long performance. Each day he and his model must continue to drink and smoke, model and paint. They will continue to do this each day, and the beer bottles will stack up amongst the paintings which will eventually also lean in stacks against the walls, as Ragnar continues to paint. Therefore, the lightness and gaiety of my experience may change into a more somber portrayal of the artist’s lonely and sometimes exhaustive journey, possibly through laborious repetition eventually, with luck, resulting in the slow evolution necessary to eventually attain perfection.
Yet despite the strenuousness of the tasks that Ragnar assigns himself, this is all part of his enjoyment in performance. And he greets the tasks with relish and exuberance. I absolutely recommend for anyone who happens to go to Venice for the Biennale to take the time to stop by and see Ragnar at work.
