Thordis Adalsteinsdottir : Some of it May Have Started at the River

Thordis Adalsteinsdottir : Some of it May Have Started at the River

Nunu Fine Art New York is delighted to present Some of It May Have Started at the River, a solo exhibition of new work by Icelandic painter Thordis Adalsteinsdottir. Influenced by post-pop art, minimalism, and expressionism, she creates works whose scale (up to nearly 4 by 4 feet) lends presence and gravitas to her cunningly whimsical imagery. Adalsteinsdottir delves into existential questions, enriching her work with a mixture of childlike playfulness and dreamlike alienation.

Interrelated like a collection of short stories, Adalsteinsdottir’s paintings portray anthropomorphic animal characters and cartoonish humans, often magically disproportionate to each other, against flat monochromatic or patterned backgrounds. For example, in Athena and the River, tiny figures in bathtubs—a nude young man in a top hat, a brown cat sporting a pink bra, and a Speedo-clad man taking a selfie while he practices yoga—float down a ribbon-like river, heading toward a waterfall that drops into a sink at which a giant rodent washes dishes. The comic atmosphere is offset by the impending doom of falling off a precipice, a fate also suggested by cigarette butts littered throughout the otherwise picturesque landscape.  

In Some of It May Have Started at the River, Adalsteinsdottir evokes the atmosphere of childhood stories and fairy tales. Yet she disrupts this nostalgic fantasy by also introducing discordant modern elements—plastic water bottles, cell phones, and surveillance cameras. Adalsteinsdottir listens to the news on the radio while she paints, infusing her work with an underlying sense of anxiety derived from the information she absorbs. This unease is palpable in images such as a dog wearing an explosive belt and a tiny soldier holding a semiautomatic weapon. These unsettling contemporary additions serve as powerful symbols that evoke pressing societal issues, ranging from digital dependency and social disconnection to ecological crises and war. 

 One of the ways that Adalsteinsdottir blends innocence and disquiet is through the recurring motif of milk, a beverage with tender associations of maternity and childhood, presented here in bizarre and unsettling circumstances. Familiar Consequences, for instance, shows a minuscule man wearing a yellow glove and holding a bucket of milk as he stares with a stunned expression at a gigantic hare with prominent teats that he may have just milked. Intriguingly, none of the works on view portray a character consuming milk. In fact, various foods and beverages depicted in Adalsteinsdottir's world—including cups filled with coffee, slices of apples, and bananas—remain unconsumed and conspicuously untouched.

Adalsteinsdottir’s absurdist narratives seamlessly blend the internal life of individual characters with their external activities, blurring the line between public and private in a way that invites voyeurism. We observe characters who are frequently being filmed, intently gazing at other subjects, or taking selfies. One character even wears a camera on his helmet. Our experience as viewers, these images suggest, parallels that of the subjects, fostering an emotionally fraught cyclical relationship. There is a pervasive sense that the ordinary, the private, and the dreamlike are all equally subject to visual scrutiny and judgment. 

Thus Adalsteinsdottir invites viewers to reflect on their role within society, questioning the boundaries between individuals and the efficacy of societal structures and schemes. “What is the plan?” Adalsteinsdottir’s works ask. “How do you know what to do, and does it seem to be working out?”

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