Lucas Farrell


(higher-res pdf)

















I wrote this essay in October of 2009, while living in northern Iceland, in the town of Skagaströnd. I was sharing studio space with my companion, the artist [Louisa Conrad], who at the time was working on a series of ink/blood drawings of Icelandic cod on vellum—a provocative assembly-line of feverish little elegies. Our studio was in an old herring (síld) factory, first erected back in the 50s or 60s, before the devastating collapse of that species due to overfishing (though many locals still cite supernatural intervention as the major contributing force to their disappearance). Louisa was also documenting the 5 o'clock sky on a daily basis—the seasonal "disappearance" of light—, with the help of her Roloflex. It was during one of these outings that she discovered a hook piercing her boot-bottom. She quickly made of it a gift. Placed it right there on my desk. This essay, then, was my attempt at a description; which further required finding a proper form to render said description (if only for an instant) nearly sufficient.