{"title":"Teikningar","description":"","products":[{"product_id":"thetta-er-nu-meira-ruglid","title":"Þetta er nú meira ruglið","description":"\u003cp\u003eÞessar línur komu til mín.\u003cbr\u003eHárið er í rugli.\u003cbr\u003eLínurnar eru í rugli.\u003cbr\u003eAndlitsdrættirnir eru í rugli.\u003cbr\u003eKonur eru bara almennt í rugli.\u003cbr\u003eGuði sé lof að það séu til\u003cbr\u003ekarlar sem hafa vit\u003cbr\u003efyrir þessum konum!\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e#fokk \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e2022\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð með ramma - \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003eH:33cm x B:23cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThese lines came to me.\u003cbr\u003eThe hair is a mess.\u003cbr\u003eThe lines are a mess.\u003cbr\u003eThe facial features are a mess.\u003cbr\u003eWomen are just generally a mess.\u003cbr\u003eThank God there are\u003cbr\u003emen who have common sense \u003cbr\u003efor these women!\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e#fuck\u0026amp;nbsp;\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"My Store","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":52468035191148,"sku":null,"price":24000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/Tetta_er_nu_meira_ruglid.jpg?v=1754467834"},{"product_id":"gomul-og-satt","title":"Gömul og sátt","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð með ramma - \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003eH:32,5cm x B:23,4cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eÞegar ég koms að því ung að aldri að ég mundi sennilega ekki eiga neitt sérstaklega gott líf og að öllum líkindum ekki ná neinum af mínum markmiðum, svo sem að klára nám, finna maka eða eignast fleiri börn ákvað ég að reyna að hlakka bara til eldri áranna. Þá ætlaði ég sko að verða sátt. Þá yrði ég lífsreynd, ætti minn litla bústað rétt fyrir utan borgina í kyrðinni og sæti í mínum ruggustól með mitt síða gráa hár og horfði út í náttúruna, eða runnan sem umlyki lóðina sem ég byggi á. Já, seinna ætlaði ég sko að verða ánægð. En fram að því... það yrði eitthvað annað.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eNú, þegar ég er orðin gömul, hálfsjötug, þá get ég með sanni sagt að ég vissi ekkert í minn haus áður fyrr. Þetta er allt sami skíturinn. Eini munurinn er að núna er ég hætt að leita að tilganginum eða hinum eina sanna og hvað þá réttu hillunni. Það er allt eins og það á að vera og ég þarf bara alls ekkert að skilja eitt né neitt frekar en eitthvað annað.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e2019\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e---\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhen I realized at a young age that I probably wouldn't have a particularly good life and probably wouldn't achieve any of my goals, such as finishing school, finding a spouse, or having more children, I decided to try to just look forward to my older years. Then I was going to be content. Then I would be experienced in life, have my own little house just outside the city in the quiet and sit in my rocking chair with my long gray hair and look out at nature, or the bush that surrounds the plot of land I live on. Yes, later I was going to be happy. But until then... it would be something else.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eNow, when I'm old, half-seventy, I can honestly say that I didn't know anything about myself before. It's all the same shit. The only difference is that now I've stopped looking for purpose or the one true love and let alone the right shelf in life. Everything is as it should be and I just don't need to understand anything or anyone more than anything else.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":52476300263788,"sku":null,"price":25000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/Gomulogsatt1.jpg?v=1754470051"},{"product_id":"lucas-fra-kenya","title":"Lucas frá Kenya","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð með ramma - H:42cm x B:32cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eLucas vaknaði áður en sólin náði alveg yfir þökin í litla hverfinu rétt fyrir utan Nairobi. Það var enn svalt í loftinu og börnin hans sváfu þvers og kruss undir ljósu moskítóneti í rúminu við gluggann sem var einnig hulinn moskítóneti því það er aldrei hægt að passa sig of mikið á þessum kvikindum. Hann stóð smá stund kyrr og hlustaði á andardráttinn þeirra áður en hann fór fram í eldhúskrókinn. Á borðinu lá ananas sem hann hafði keypt daginn áður á markaðnum. Hann var óþarflega lengi að velja hann því hann vildi finna þann sætasta því honum fannst börnin sín eiga það besta skilið. Lucas hafði alltaf verið þannig. Hann átti ekki mikið en hann gaf hlutum samt athygli. Hvort sem það var matur, tónlist eða fólk.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÍ horninu stóð appelsínugulur bakki sem hafði fylgt honum í mörg ár. Hann setti ananasinn á bakkann og hélt honum upp aðeins eins og hann væri að skoða listaverk. Hann hafði lært að skera ananas frá móður sinni þegar hann var ungur strákur og enn í dag heyrði hann rödd hennar í hausnum „Ekki flýta þér. Góður matur á skilið tíma.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÚti heyrðist mótorhjól keyra framhjá og einhver kalla til nágranna síns. Dagurinn var að byrja. Þriggja ára sonur hans vaknaði fyrstur og kom gangandi syfjaður fram á gólfið. „Pabbi, er þetta fyrir okkur?” Lucas brosti án þess að snúa sér við. „Kannski, ef þið eruð stillt og góð börn.” Hann glotti út í annað, hann var að stríða nývöknuðu barninu. „Pabbi, er ég góður strákur?” spurði strákurinn strax. Lucas leit yfir öxlina og reyndi að halda alvörusvip þó hann væri að springa úr stolti og langaði að brosa allan hringinn því honum fannst börnin sín vera bestu börnin í heiminum. „Hmm. leyfðu mér aðeins að hugsa málið.” Drengurinn lagaði strax líkamsstöðuna sína og reyndi að líta út eins og besta barn í heimi. Þó það hafi enga sérstakt útlit, að vera besta barn í heimi.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eOg í þessum litla eldhúskrók, með berar tær á köldu gólfinu og morgunljósið yfir ananasinum, fann Lucas að þó lífið væri stundum erfitt þá var hann hamingjusamur.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e---\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eLucas woke up before the sun had fully risen over the rooftops of the small neighborhood just outside Nairobi. The air was still cool and his children were sleeping crosswise under a light mosquito net in the bed by the window, which was also covered with a mosquito net because you can never be too careful with these bastards. He stood still for a moment, listening to their breathing, before going into the kitchenette. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eOn the table was a pineapple that he had bought the day before at the market. He took an unnecessarily long time to choose it because he wanted to find the sweetest one because he felt that his children deserved the best. Lucas had always been like that. He didn’t have much, but he still paid attention to things. Whether it was food, music, or people. In the corner stood an orange tray that had accompanied him for many years. He placed the pineapple on the tray and held it up slightly as if he were looking at a piece of art. He had learned to cut a pineapple from his mother when he was a young boy, and to this day he could still hear her voice in his head, „Don’t rush. Good food deserves time.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eOutside, a motorcycle could be heard driving by and someone calling out to his neighbor. The day was beginning. His three-year-old son woke up first and came walking sleepily across the floor. „Daddy, is this for us?” Lucas smiled without turning around. „Maybe, if you’re good kids.” He grinned, teasing the newly awakened child. „Daddy, am I a good boy?” the boy asked immediately. Lucas looked over his shoulder, trying to keep a serious expression on his face even though he was bursting with pride and wanted to smile all the time because he thought his children were the best children in the world. „Hmm. Let me think about it.” The boy immediately adjusted his posture and tried to look like the best child in the world. Although it doesn't have any special appearance, being the best child in the world.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAnd in that little kitchenette, with bare toes on the cold floor and the morning light over the pineapple, Lucas found that although life was sometimes difficult, he was happy.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53806889894252,"sku":null,"price":20000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2535.jpg?v=1779796694"},{"product_id":"elior-vask","title":"Elior Vask","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð með ramma - H:32cm x B:32cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eFígúran heitir hét Elior Vask. Enginn vissi nákvæmlega hvað hán gerði, bara að þegar síminn hringdi um miðjar nætur og ráðherrar fóru að hvísla í stað þess að tala, þá var Elior kallað inn.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHán vann í neðanjarðarbyggingu undir borginni þar sem engir gluggar voru og loftið ilmaði alltaf örlítið af heitu ryki og gömlum rafmagnsvír. Verkefnið var einfalt í orði en ómögulegt í framkvæmd: að taka ákvarðanir sem enginn annar þorði að taka. Á hverjum morgni klæddi Elior sig í einkennisbúninginn með gylltu axlaskúfunum sem virtust þyngjast með hverju árinu. Hán rakaði höfuðið sjálft vegna þess að það sparaði tíma. Fjórar mínútur á dag urðu að tuttugu og fjórum klukkustundum yfir árið. Hán hugsaði svona um allt.Augun voru verst. Þau stoppuðu aldrei. Þau leituðu alltaf að mynstrum, hættum, lygum. Þegar fólk talaði við Elior fannst því eins og hán sæi í gegnum húðina á því og inn í hugsanirnar sem það hafði ekki enn mótað sér sjálft.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eElior svaf sjaldan meira en tvo tíma í senn. Á skrifborðinu lá alltaf kaldur tebolli og lítill miði með handskrifuðum orðunum:\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Ekki gleyma að þú ert líka manneskja.\"\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHán vissi ekki lengur hver hafði skrifað það. Kannski hán sjálft, á sérstaklega slæmum degi.Stærsta vandamálið var ekki vinnan sjálf. Ekki kreppurnar, hótanirnar eða leyniskjölin.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHeldur þögnin.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e---\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThe figure is called Elior Vask. No one knew exactly what they did, only that when the phone rang in the middle of the night and ministers started whispering instead of speaking, Elior was called in.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThey worked in an underground building under the city where there were no windows and the air always smelled faintly of hot dust and old electrical wire. The task was simple in theory but impossible in practice: to make decisions that no one else dared to make.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eEvery morning Elior put on the uniform with the golden shoulder tassels that seemed to grow heavier with each passing year. They shaved their head themself because it saved time. Four minutes a day turned into twenty-four hours over the year. They thought about everything like that.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eTheir eyes were the worst. They never stopped. They were always looking for patterns, dangers and lies. When people talked to Elior, they felt as if Elior could see through their skin and into the thoughts they hadn’t yet formed for themselves.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eElior rarely slept more than two hours at a time. On his desk was always a cold cup of tea and a small note with the handwritten words \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\"Don’t forget that you are also a human being.” \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThey no longer knew who had written it. Maybe they themself, on a particularly bad day. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThe biggest problem wasn’t the work itself. Not the crises, the threats, or the secret documents.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBut the silence.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53807038234988,"sku":null,"price":20000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2539.jpg?v=1779797246"},{"product_id":"elisabet","title":"Elísabet","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHún heitir Elísabet, en allir kalla hana Betu nema amma hennar sem neitar að stytta nöfn af prinsipástæðum. Hún lítur út eins og kona sem veit nákvæmlega hvað fólk sagði um hana í menntaskóla og fannst það allt frekar fyndið. Beta vinnur á snyrtistofu sem breytist hægt og rólega í óopinbera meðferðarstöð fyrir konur hverfisins. Fólk kemur auðvitað í plokkun og litun, en endar svo að tala um skilnaði, senda fyrrverandi skilaboð inni á klósetti, eða gráta yfir kaffibolla með of miklum sykri. Beta hefur séð allt. Hún hefur einu sinni klippt af konu hárkollu óvart, fengið borgað í humri og bannað tveimur fullorðnum systrum að rífast inni í biðstofunni eins og þær væru átta ára. Augun hennar eru svona stór af því hún elskar slúður. Safaríkt slúður. Hún vill vita, hver kyssti hvern fyrir utan sjoppuna, hver fór leynilega til Tenerife með Pilateskennaranum, og af hverju Gunna á hæðinni fyrir ofan er allt í einu farin að kaupa rauðan varalit aftur.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBeta man líka allt. ALLT. Ef þú sagðir henni árið 2017 að þú værir kannski að hugsa um að læra sálfræði, þá mun hún spyrja þig sjö árum síðar „Jæja hvernig gengur í sálfræðinni?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHún er með langan háls af því hún eyðir helmingnum af lífinu í að halla sér fram og segja „NEI. Segðu mér ALLT.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003ePerlufestin fékk hún frá ömmu sinni sem sagði „Konur eiga alltaf að hafa eitthvað fallegt nálægt hálsinum ef þær ætla að segja sannleikann.” Beta veit ekki alveg hvað það þýðir, en hún notar festina samt næstum á hverjum degi.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÁ föstudagskvöldum situr hún úti á svölum með gos í vínglasi af því henni finnst það „líta út eins og maður hafi stjórn á lífinu.” Svo hringir hún í vinkonu sína og segir „Ég ætla bara að vera heima í rólegheitum.” Tveimur tímum síðar er hún yfirleitt byrjuð að dansa einhvers staðar þar sem enginn ætlaði sér upphaflega að fara.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHer name is Elizabeth, but everyone calls her Beta except her grandmother, who refuses to shorten her name on principle. She looks like a woman who knows exactly what people said about her in high school and finds it all rather funny. Beta works at a beauty salon that is slowly turning into an unofficial rehabilitation treatment center for the women in the neighbourhood. People initially come in for plucking and coloring, of course, but then end up talking about divorce, texting their ex in the bathroom or crying over a cup of coffee with too much sugar. Beta has seen it all. She has once accidentally cut off a woman's wig, been paid in lobster and stopped two grown sisters from arguing in the waiting room like they were eight years old. Her eyes are so big because she loves gossip. Juicy gossip. She wants to know who kissed who outside the convenience store, who secretly went to Tenerife with the Pilates teacher and why Gunna from upstairs has suddenly started buying red lipstick again.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBeta also remembers everything. EVERYTHING. If you told her in 2017 that you were maybe thinking about studying psychology, she’ll ask you seven years later, „So, how’s psychology going?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eShe has a long neck because she spends half her life leaning forward and saying „NO. Tell me EVERYTHING.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eShe got her pearl necklace from her grandmother, who said, „Women should always have something beautiful around their neck if they’re going to tell the truth.” Beta doesn’t really know what that means, but she still wears it almost every day.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eOn Friday nights, she sits out on the balcony with a club soda in a wineglass because she thinks it „makes you feel like you’re in control of your life.” Then she calls her friend and says, „I’m just going to stay home and relax.” Two hours later, she’s usually dancing somewhere no one was originally planning to go.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53807057043820,"sku":null,"price":20000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2537.jpg?v=1779797645"},{"product_id":"nia-fra-sudur-afriku","title":"Nia frá Suður Afríku","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð með ramma - H:32,5cm x B:27cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eNia býr í litlu þorpi í Suður-Afríku með foreldrum sínum, systkinum, ömmu sinni, afa sínum, hundinum Bongo, einni kú sem heitir Prinsessa og geit sem heitir Elvis. Elvis hefur sérstakan áhuga á þvotti, heimavinnu og öllum pappírum sem skipta máli.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHúsið þeirra er sjaldan hljótt. Það kraumar alltaf eitthvað: pottur á eldavélinni, útvarp í eldhúsinu, hundur að gelta út í loftið eða afi hennar að segja sögu sem byrjar á: „Þegar ég var ungur maður…”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eNia er elst systkinanna. Þegar hún vaknar byrjar dagurinn hjá öllum hinum líka. Hún bindur skóreimar, finnur týndar vatnsflöskur og rekur litla bróður sinn út úr húsinu áður en hann nær að fela sig aftur bak við kúna.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003ePabbi hennar bindur bækur inni í litlu verkstæði við húsið. Hillurnar eru fullar af rifnum kápum, nálum, þráðum og bókum sem lykta eins og ryk og rigning. Nia elskar að sitja hjá honum eftir skóla og horfa á hann vinna. Hann réttir henni stundum bók og segir: „Opnaðu hana.” Nia gerir það alltaf mjög varlega, eins og hún sé að opna eitthvað lifandi.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eMamma hennar eldar í grunnskólanum í þorpinu og allir krakkarnir þekkja hana. Sumir mæta í röðina bara til að sjá hvað hún hafi búið til þann daginn. Þegar það er kryddað baunaréttur klárast maturinn fyrst hjá henni. Nia er mjög stolt af því.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eEftir skóla hjálpar hún ömmu sinni að hengja upp þvott. Amma hennar syngur alltaf meðan hún vinnur, oft sömu lögin aftur og aftur. Nia kann þau öll utan að og syngur með án þess að hugsa um það.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÁ kvöldin safnast fjölskyldan oft saman úti fyrir húsið. Afi hennar situr í stól sem brakar í hvert skipti sem hann hallar sér aftur og segir sögur um fólk sem enginn annar man lengur. Litlu systkinin hlaupa um, hundurinn sefur í moldinni og Elvis geit reynir yfirleitt að borða eitthvað sem hún má alls ekki borða. Nia hlær hæst þegar einhver annar byrjar að hlægja fyrst. Hún er með stór, róleg augu sem taka eftir öllu: þegar mamma hennar er þreytt, þegar pabbi hennar er ánægður með bók sem hann lagaði, eða þegar einhver í skólanum situr einn of lengi.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eKennararnir í skólanum treysta henni. Litlu krakkarnir elta hana í frímínútum. Hundurinn sefur fyrir utan herbergið hennar á næturnar eins og það sé mikilvægt starf. Og stundum, þegar allt heimilið er sofnað, situr Nia ein úti undir stjörnunum með bók sem pabbi hennar batt sjálfur.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÞá finnst henni heimurinn bæði rosalega stór og mjög nálægur í einu.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e---\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eNia lives in a small village in South Africa with her parents, siblings, grandmother, grandfather, the dog Bongo, a cow named Princess and a goat named Elvis. Elvis is particularly interested in laundry, homework, and all the paperwork that matters.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eTheir house is rarely quiet. Something is always simmering: a pot on the stove, a radio in the kitchen, a dog barking into the air, or her grandfather telling a story that begins: „When I was a young man…”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eNia is the oldest of the siblings. When she wakes up, everyone else’s day begins the same way. She ties shoelaces, finds lost water bottles, and chases her little brother out of the house before he can hide behind the cow again.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHer dad binds books in a small workshop attached to the house. The shelves are full of torn covers, needles, thread, and books that smell like dust and rain. Nia loves to sit with him after school and watch him work. Sometimes he hands her a book and says: „Open it.” Nia always does it very carefully, as if she is opening something alive.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHer mother cooks at the village primary school and all the kids know her. Some people line up just to see what she has made that day. When it is a spicy bean dish, she is the first to finish her food. Nia is very proud of that.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAfter school, she helps her grandmother hang out the washing. Her grandmother always sings while she works, often the same songs over and over. Nia knows them all by heart and sings along without thinking.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eIn the evenings, the family often gathers outside the house. Her grandfather sits in a chair that creaks every time he leans back and tells stories about people no one else remembers anymore. The little siblings run around, the dog sleeps in the dirt and Elvis the goat usually tries to eat something she is absolutely not allowed to eat. Nia laughs the loudest when someone else starts laughing first. She has big, calm eyes that notice everything: when her mom is tired, when her dad is happy with a book he edited or when someone at school sits alone for too long.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThe teachers at school trust her. The little kids chase her around during recess. The dog sleeps outside her room at night as if it were an important job. And sometimes, when the whole family is asleep, Nia sits alone outside under the stars with a book that her dad bound himself.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThen the world feels both very big and very close to her at the same time.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53807076180332,"sku":null,"price":15000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2533.jpg?v=1779798076"},{"product_id":"leifar-af-samtali","title":"Leifar af samtali","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð: - H:18cm x B:34cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÉg teiknaði þessa mynd eins og hún væri leifar af samtali, sem hún var að einhverju leyti. Ég hafði átt gott samtal fyrr um daginn en samtalið á þessari mynd er samt allt annað samtal. En hún kom samt út af hinu samtalinu sem ég átti fyrr um daginn. Ég veit ekki hvort þú skiljir hvað ég er að tala um en það er allt í lagi. Það er rosalega oft sem ég skil ekkert hvað fólk segir en ég brosi samt og læt sem ég skilji.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eGlasið vinstra megin er bæði hálffullt og hálftómt, eftir því hver horfir. Ertu ‘já og’ manneskja eða ‘já en’ manneskja? Spyr glasið þar sem það stendur eitt og sér eins og einhver hafi farið frá því í miðri hugsun. Mynstrið utan á því minnir næstum á eitthvað erfðamynstur eða endurtekningu sem fólk tekur ekki eftir. Nema fólk eins og ég því við tökum eftir öllu. Þú getur spurt foreldra mína. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eEplið í miðjunni varð eins konar tákn fyrir mannslíkamann. Það er einfalt, brothætt og tímabundið. Epli byrjar að rotna um leið og það er tínt, alveg eins og líkaminn byrjar að eldast um leið og hann fæðist. Það er eitthvað klassískt og næstum heilagt við það. Eins og í gömlum málverkum þar sem ávextir voru notaðir til að minna fólk á lífið, dauðann og tímann.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eVasinn með greininni er kannski það sem lifir lengst á myndinni. Greinin hefur verið slitin af tré en heldur samt áfram að standa upprétt í vatni, eins og lítil tilraun mannsins til að halda í lífið aðeins lengur.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eOg svo er þarna þessi svarti garnbolti. Sem er grænn í alvörunni en þar sem ég notaði svartan penna varð garnið svart. Eins og svartnættið, þunglyndið sem skilur eftir sig garna-slóð eða dregur sig saman í einn hnikil sem er stundum flæktur og stundum svo mikið flæktur að það þarf utanaðkomandi hjálp til að leysa flækjuna.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÞað má segja að hann er hugsunin sem hættir ekki. Kvíðinn. Minningin. Hugmyndin sem verður svo stór inni í höfðinu að hún breytist í hnút.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eMér finnst hann líka breyta allri myndinni. Án hans væri þetta rólegt kyrralíf. Með honum verður eitthvað órólegt undir niðri.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eMyndin er táknmynd þess hvernig fólk reynir að skapa reglu og fegurð í kringum sig á meðan hugurinn er stundum algjör flækjupungur!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e---\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eI drew this picture as if it were the remnants of a conversation, which it was to some extent. I had a good conversation earlier in the day, but the conversation in this picture is a completely different conversation. But it was still the result of the other conversation I had earlier in the day, sort of. I don’t know if you understand what I’m talking about, but that’s okay. There are a lot of times when I don’t understand what people are saying, but I smile anyway and pretend that I do.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThe glass on the left is both half full and half empty, depending on who’s looking. Are you a ‘yes and’ person or a ‘yes but’ person? The glass asks as it stands alone as if someone walked away from it in the middle of a thought. The pattern on the outside of it almost resembles some genetic pattern or repetition that people don’t notice. Except for people like me, because we notice everything. You can ask my parents.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThe apple in the middle became a kind of symbol for the human body. It’s simple, fragile and temporary. An apple begins to rot as soon as it is picked, just as the body begins to age as soon as it is born. There is something classic and almost sacred about it. Like in old paintings where fruit was used to remind people of life, death and time.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThe vase with the branch is perhaps the longest-lived thing in the picture. The branch has been torn from the tree but still continues to stand upright in the water, like a small attempt by man to hold on to life a little longer.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAnd then there is this black ball of yarn. Which is really green but since I used a black pen the yarn turned black. Like the black night, the depression that leaves a trail of yarn or contracts into a single knot that is sometimes tangled and sometimes so tangled that it needs outside help to untangle the tangle.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eIn other words you could say it is the train of thoughts that doesn't stop. The anxiety. The memory. The idea that gets so big inside your head that it turns into a knot.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eI also think he changes the whole picture. Without it, the picture would be a calm still life. With it, something unsettling happens underneath.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThe picture is a symbol of how people try to create order and beauty around them while their minds are sometimes a fucking ballsack of a mess!\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53807436923244,"sku":null,"price":8000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2531.jpg?v=1779803127"},{"product_id":"siggi-einhenti","title":"Siggi Einhenti","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð: - \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003eH:34cm x B:18cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÞetta er Siggi Einhenti eða Siggi sem týndi hendinni en fann karakter eins og hann kallar sig sjálfur á góðum dögum. Þegar Siggi var lítill var hann með tvær alveg venjulegar hendur og mjög litla framtíðarsýn. Hann ætlaði annaðhvort að verða trymbill, kafari eða maður sem situr inni í Krambúð og segir „nei posinn er niðri”.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSvo einn daginn gerðist slysið. Hann sofnaði í sófanum hjá ömmu sinni á meðan hún var að hekla og þegar hann vaknaði hafði önnur höndin hans einfaldlega… farið.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eFjölskyldan leitaði alls staðar, í sófanum, í frystikistunni, inni í Toyota Yarisinum og einu sinni í potti af kjötsúpu af því afi hans varð stressaður og hugsaði ekki skýrt. Engin hönd. En Siggi tók þessu furðu vel. „Kannski varð hún bara leið á mér,” sagði hann og fékk sér ristað brauð.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÁrum síðar kom hins vegar sannleikurinn í ljós. Höndin hafði ekki dáið. Hún hafði flúið. Núna býr hún einhvers staðar á Akureyri undir nafninu \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSteinunn\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e og vinnur líklega á handverksmarkaði. Siggi vill ekki tala mikið um það. „Við þurftum bæði pláss til að vaxa,” segir hann alltaf og klórar sér á hökunni til að reyna að líta út fyrir að vera spekingslegur.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eMaginn á honum varð líka stór eftir slysið. Það var ekkert endilega af því að hann borðaði mikið, þó hann eigi mjög flókið samband við kanilsnúða, það var öllu heldur út af því að allar ósagðar tilfinningar söfnuðust í maganum á honum eins og loft í sunddýnu. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSamt er Siggi furðu hamingjusamur maður. Hann gengur um bæinn á litlu tánum sínum, daðrar við afgreiðslufólk í bakaríum og brosir eins og hann viti eitthvað sem aðrir vita ekki. Sem flestir vita samt að er ekki satt.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e---\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThis is Siggi One-hand, or Siggi who lost his hand but found character, as he calls himself on good days. When Siggi was little, he had two completely normal hands and very little vision for the future. He planned to either become a drummer, a diver, or a man who sits inside a 7-Eleven and says “no, the register is down stairs”.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThen one day the accident happened. He fell asleep on his grandmother’s couch while she was crocheting and when he woke up, one of his hands was simply… gone.\u003cbr\u003eThe family searched everywhere, on the couch, in the freezer, inside the Toyota Yaris and once in a pot of meat soup because his grandfather was stressed and not thinking clearly. No hand. But Siggi took it surprisingly well. “Maybe it just got tired of me,” he said and ate some toast.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eYears later, however, the truth came out. The hand hadn’t died. It had fled. Now she lives somewhere in Akureyri under the name Steinunn and probably works at a craft market. Siggi doesn't want to talk much about it. \"We both needed room to grow,\" he always says, scratching his chin to try to look wise.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHis stomach also got big after the accident. It wasn't necessarily because he ate a lot, although he has a very complicated relationship with cinnamon rolls, it was more because all the unspoken feelings collected in his stomach like air in a swimming mattress. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eYet Siggi is a surprisingly happy man. He walks around town on his little toes, flirts with bakery clerks and smiles as if he knows something that others don't. Which most people know isn't true.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53808597172588,"sku":null,"price":8000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2526.jpg?v=1779826856"},{"product_id":"sameining-1","title":"Sameining","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð: - H:34cm x B:18cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÞessi vera heitir Sameiningin.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHún minnir mig á að undir öllum nöfnum, tungumálum, húðlitum, trúarbrögðum, þjóðsöngum og fjölskyldusögum erum við öll með beinagrind sem lítur svo gott sem eins út.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSameiningin varð til úr öllum beinunum sem höfðu einhvern tíma dansað og sungið. Beinum sem höfðu, hlaupið berfætt yfir hraun á Íslandi, borðað soðna banana í Úganda, flotið í bleika vatninu í Senegal, róið út í brjáluðu veðri við Vestfirði, trommað, grafið gröf, skrifað ástarbréf, alið börn, mokað snjó, kveikt elda og gengið Kilimanjaro. Hún er þess vegna ekki beinagrind eins manns. Hún er beinagrind mannkynsins. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÁ Íslandi man Sameiningin sérstaklega eftir gömlum sjómanni í litlu sjávarþorpi. Hann hét Jón og var með skakkar hendur eftir áratugi á sjónum. Hann talaði lítið, svaf lítið og trúði því að maður ætti aldrei að kvarta yfir kulda. Á kvöldin sat hann samt stundum einn í eldhúsinu og nuddaði hnéin af því að hann verkjaði í beinin undan veðrinu. Þúsundum kílómetrum í burtu, í Úganda, sat kona sem hét Amina undir mangótré og nuddaði líka hnén sín eftir langan dag. Hún hafði aldrei séð snjó. Jón hafði aldrei séð mangótré. Þau töluðu ekki sama tungumál. Þau hefðu líklega ekki skilið hvort annað. En beinin í þeim skildu hvort annað fullkomlega. Þreyta er nefnilega alþjóðlegt tungumál. Sama er með sorgina.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÞegar móðir missir barn á Íslandi bogna axlirnar hennar fram á nákvæmlega sama hátt og hjá móður í Senegal. Þegar einhver hlær svo mikið að hann missir andann hristast rifbeinin eins hjá krökkum í Reykjavík og Kampala. Sameiningin gengur þess vegna hljóðlega á milli fólks og hvíslar „Þið eruð miklu líkari en þið haldið.” En fólk gleymir því oft.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÞað rífst  og skammast um landamæri, húðlit, trú, peninga og fána. Svo deyr það og verður að sömu hvítu beinunum.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e---\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThis being is called the Unity.\u003cbr\u003eIt reminds me that beneath all the names, languages, skin colors, religions, national anthems and family stories, we all have a skeleton that looks pretty much the same.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe Unity was created from all the bones that had once danced and sung. Bones that had run barefoot over lava in Iceland, eaten boiled bananas in Uganda, floated in the pink water of Senegal, rowed out in crazy weather in the Westfjords, drummed, dug a grave, wrote love letters, raised children, shoveled snow, lit fires and hiked Kilimanjaro. It is therefore not the skeleton of one person. It is the skeleton of humanity.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eIn Iceland, the Unity is particularly remembered by an old sailor in a small fishing village. His name was Jón and his hands were crooked from decades at sea. He spoke little, slept little and believed that one should never complain about the cold. In the evenings, he would sit alone in the kitchen, sometimes rubbing his knees because his bones ached from the weather. Thousands of miles away, in Uganda, a woman named Amina sat under a mango tree, also rubbing her knees after a long day. She had never seen snow. Jon had never seen a mango tree. They didn’t speak the same language. They probably wouldn’t have understood each other. But their bones understood each other perfectly. Fatigue is an international language. The same goes for grief.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhen a mother loses a child in Iceland, her shoulders hunch forward in exactly the same way as a mother in Senegal. When someone laughs so hard that they lose their breath, the ribs shake in the same way in kids in Reykjavík and Kampala. That’s why unity moves silently between people, whispering, “You’re a lot more alike than you think.” But people often forget that.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThey argue and shame about borders, skin color, religion, money, and flags. Then they dies and become the same white bones.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53808790798700,"sku":null,"price":8000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2522_1f86f5dc-72be-46b1-98bc-9cfb1104242a.jpg?v=1779835179"},{"product_id":"simaleysi","title":"Símaleysi","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð: - H:34cm x B:18cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHann heitir Birkir af því að mamma hans sagði einu sinni að nafnið hljómaði eins og einhver sem myndi „redda sér”. Sem er fyndið, því Birkir er eiginlega alltaf pínu týndur.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÍ morgun vaknaði hann of seint. Hann burstaði tennurnar með andlitskreminu sínu (óvart), fór í einn skó og einn sandala og hljóp út í strætó með skólatöskuna hálfopna eins og særðan fugl. Það var ekki fyrr en í stærðfræðitíma að hann fattaði það.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSíminn.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHeima.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÁ eldhúsborðinu líklega. Við hliðina á hálfdrukkna kaffibollanum sem pabbi hans skilur alltaf eftir, mömmu hans til skemmtilega lítils ama og banana sem enginn vistist ætla að borða. Eða henda. Eða urða.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAllt í einu leið Birki eins og hann væri nakinn. Kennarinn var að tala um jöfnur. x + 4 = 12. En Birkir gat bara hugsað:\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Hvað ef einhver sendi mér skilaboð?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Hvað ef ég þarf að vita hvað klukkan er?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Hvað ef eitthvað gerist?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Hvað ef ég er bara… ekki til núna?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSem var auðvitað kjánalegt. Honum var alveg sama um símann mestallan daginn venjulega. Hann mátti ekki einu sinni vera í honum í tíma. Og frímínúturnar voru svo stuttar að maður náði varla að opna eitt meme áður en bjallan hringdi aftur.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eEn samt.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eVinstri höndin hans hélt áfram að leita í tóman vasann eins og líkaminn trúði ekki stöðunni sem elsku Birkir var í.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÍ hádeginu sat hann einn með mjólkurfernuna sína og fannst eins og hann hefði misst útlim. Þá settist stelpa úr bekknum hjá honum. Hún hét Salka og tyllti niður appelsínu og tillti sér svo sjálfri gegnt honum. Og tók ekki upp símann sinn, ekki einu sinni til að taka mynd af appelsínunni sinni, þ.e hádegismatnum sínum, til að deila með heiminum.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Þú lítur út eins og þú hafir misst útlim,” sagði hún.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Síminn minn er heima.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Ó.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHún hugsaði sig um.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Kannski er heilinn þinn bara vanur því að einhver sé alltaf að hvísla einhverju að þér.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBirkir horfði á hana.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Ha?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Síminn,” sagði hún og yppti öxlum. „Kannski verður maður skrítinn þegar það verður allt í einu hljótt.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÞau sögðu ekkert í smá stund. Í fyrsta skipti þann dag tók Birkir eftir því að það var rigning úti. Þegar mjúk rigningin lenti á glugganum hljómaði það eins og einhver væri að steikja heiminn á mjög lágum hita. Hann tók líka eftir því að mjólkin hans var í laginu eins og lítið hús. Og að Salka borðaði appelsínur eins og reiður íkorni. Það var eiginlega soldið skondið.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÞegar hann kom heim seinna um daginn lá síminn nákvæmlega þar sem hann hafði ímyndað sér. Á eldhúsborðinu. Birkir tók hann upp. Sjö tilkynningar. Tvö TikTok. Eitt „hvar ertu?” frá vini sem hafði sent það í frímínútunum. Hann starði á skjáinn. Svo lagði hann símann aftur niður. Bara í smástund. Til að heyra rigninguna aftur.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e---\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThis morning he woke up too late. He brushed his teeth with his facecream (accidentally), put on one shoe and one sandal, and ran out to the bus with his school bag half-open like a wounded bird. It wasn’t until math class that he realized it.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHis phone.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAt home.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eProbably on the kitchen table. Next to the half-drunk cup of coffee that his dad always leaves behind, to his mom’s unrealistic , and a banana that no one seemed to want to eat. Or throw it away. Or bury.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSuddenly Birkir felt like he was naked. The teacher was talking about equations. x + 4 = 12. But all Birkir could think was:\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“What if someone texted me?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“What if I need to know what time it is?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“What if something happens?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“What if I’m just… not here right now?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eWhich was silly, of course. He didn’t care about his phone most of the day. He wasn’t even allowed to have it on during class. And recess was so short that you could barely open a meme before the bell rang again.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBut still.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHis left hand kept reaching into his empty pocket as if his body couldn’t believe the position dear Birkir was in.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAt lunch, he was sitting alone with his milkshake and felt like he had lost a limb. Then a girl from his class sat down next to him. Her name was Salka and she lowered down an orange and then herself across from him. And didn’t pick up her phone, not even to take a picture of her orange, her lunch, to share with the world.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“You look like you’ve lost a limb,” she said.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“My phone is at home.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“Oh.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eShe thought about it.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“Maybe your brain is just used to someone always whispering something to you.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBirkir looked at her.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“Huh?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“The phone,” she said and shrugged. “Maybe you get weird when it suddenly goes quiet.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThey didn’t say anything for a while. For the first time that day, Birkir noticed that it was raining outside. When the soft rain hit the window, it sounded like someone was frying the world on a very low heat. He also noticed that his milk was shaped like a small house. And that Salka was eating oranges like an angry squirrel. It was actually kind of funny.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eWhen he got home later that day, his phone was exactly where he had imagined it. On the kitchen table. Birkir picked it up. Seven notifications. Two TikToks. One “where are you?” from a friend who had sent it during recess. He stared at the screen. Then he put the phone down again. Just for a moment. To hear the rain again.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53810437357932,"sku":null,"price":8000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2510.jpg?v=1779893958"},{"product_id":"bjarni-bjarndal","title":"Bjarni Bjarndal","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð: - H:34cm x B:18cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBangsinn heitir Bjarni Bjarndal. Hann er ekki venjulegur bangsi. Hann er fyrrverandi bókasafnsvörður. Af því að hann mætti bara einn daginn og fór að haga sér eins og hann ætti staðinn. Í fyrstu reyndi starfsfólkið að fjarlægja hann. En það kom alltaf upp eitthvað skrítið vesen þegar hann var ekki nálægt. Fólk fann ekki bækurnar sínar. Prentarinn bilaði. Einhver grét yfir ritgerð um þorska. Kaffivélin gaf bara volgt vatn og nautþunnan niðurgang.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSvo að endingu var bangsanum bara leyft að vera.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBjarni sat alla daga í litlum stól fyrir aftan afgreiðsluborðið með pínulitlu gleraugun sín sem hann fann í dúkkuhúsi uppi á háalofti 1998. Enginn veit alveg hvernig hann sér í gegnum þau því glerin eru líklega bara sægrænar konfektumbúðir.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHann talaði mjög sjaldan. En þegar hann talaði sagði hann hluti eins og: „Þú ert að leita að bók sem þú heldur að sé um víkinga en er í rauninni um sorg.” eða: „Ekki treysta fólki sem brýtur saman horn í bókum. Það byrjar þar.” Það veit samt enginn hvað þetta \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003eþað\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e er og þegar hann er spurður gefur hann þeim hneykslanlegt augnaráð og gengur í burtu.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eKrakkarnir elskuðu hann. Fullorðna fólkið var örlítið stressað í kringum hann. Á kvöldin, þegar bókasafnið lokaði, gekk Bjarni hljóðlega á milli hillanna og lagaði bækur sem höfðu orðið leiðar á því að vera rangt flokkaðar. Hann hataði sérstaklega þegar sjálfshjálparbækur enduðu hjá hryllingssögum. „Þær vita alveg sjálfar hvar þær eiga heima,” muldraði hann stundum.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eEina nóttina kom nýr öryggisvörður í húsið og sá lítinn bangsa með gleraugu labba í gegnum gangana með tebolla. Öryggisvörðurinn sagði upp daginn eftir. Núna býr Bjarni enn einhvers staðar inni á gömlu bókasafni sem enginn fer mikið á lengur. Ef maður kemur þangað mjög seint þegar það rignir úti og dregur út réttu bókina getur maður stundum fundið lítinn miða inni í henni. Á honum stendur yfirleitt eitthvað eins og: „Þessi bók fann þig fyrst.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e---\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThe teddy bear is called Bjarni Bjarndal. He is no ordinary teddy bear. He is a former librarian. Because he just showed up one day and started acting like he owned the place. At first, the staff tried to remove him. But there was always some strange trouble when he was not around. People couldn’t find their books. The printer broke down. Someone cried over an essay about cod. The coffee machine only gave out lukewarm water and beef-thin diarrhea.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSo in the end, the teddy bear was just allowed to stay.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBjarni sat every day in a small chair behind the counter with his tiny glasses that he found in a doll’s house in the attic in 1998. No one really knows how he sees through them because the glasses are probably just sea-green candy wrappers.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHe spoke very rarely. But when he did, he said things like: “You think you are looking for a book about Vikings but it is actually about grief.” or: “Don’t trust people who fold corners in books. It starts there.” Nobody knows what \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003eit\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e is, though, and when asked, he gives them a shocked look and walks away.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThe kids loved him. The adults were a little nervous around him. In the evenings, when the library closed, Bjarni would quietly walk between the shelves, fixing books that had gotten tired of being miscategorized. He especially hated it when self-help books ended up next to horror stories. “They know exactly where they belong,” he would sometimes mutter.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eOne night, a new security guard came to the building and saw a little teddy bear with glasses walking through the aisles with a cup of tea. The security guard quit the next day. Now Bjarni still lives somewhere in an old library that no one goes to much anymore. If you get there very late when it’s raining outside and pull out the right book, you can sometimes find a little note inside it. It usually says something like: \"This book found you first.\"\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53810473009516,"sku":null,"price":8000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2514.jpg?v=1779895647"},{"product_id":"elmar","title":"Elmar","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð: - H:34cm x B:18cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eDrengurinn heitir Elmar. Hann var tólf ára í þrjá daga. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eElmar var þannig barn sem fullorðið fólk talaði um með mjúkri rödd. „Þessi strákur…” sagði fólk oft og brosti síðan án þess að klára setninguna. Hann var með furðulega rólega nærveru, af því að hann hafði raunverulegan áhuga á fólki og hlustaði eins og fólk skipti máli. Þegar amma hans talaði um liðagigtina sína horfði hann ekki í símann. Þegar litla systir hans sagði langa leiðinlega draumasögu um hest með þrjú nöfn hlustaði hann eins og hún væri að lesa upp þjóðsögu. Og þegar fólk grét varð hann aldrei vandræðalegur. Hann settist bara hjá því.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÁ fermingardaginn hans rigndi svo mikið að presturinn sagði að Guð væri líklega bara með of mikið að gera. Elmar hló svo mikið að hann fékk hóstakast inni í kirkjunni. Hann fermdist í gulri hettupeysu undir kyrtlinum. Mamma hans varð smá stressuð yfir því.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003eEn presturinn hvíslaði: „Guði finnst gulur fallegur.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eEftir ferminguna sagði Elmar við litla frænda sinn að skýin væru líklega bara „hægfara hafragrautur himinsins.” Enginn vissi hvað það þýddi, en það varð samt setning sem fjölskyldan endurtók árum saman.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSvo einn daginn var hann bara… farinn.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eEnginn í fjölskyldunni talar um það á sama hátt. Amma hans segir að hann komi stundum í drauma og lagi teppið yfir fæturna á henni. Systir hans segist finna lykt af rigningu og mandarínum þegar hún er mjög leið. Pabbi hans sér stundum gula hettupeysu út undan sér í eldhúsinu seint á kvöldin. Og skrýtnast af öllu: þegar einhver í fjölskyldunni er að ganga í gegnum erfiðan dag birtast litlar hvítar fjaðrir einhvers staðar inni í húsinu. Í skóm. Á baðherbergisgólfinu. Ofan í morgunkorninu einu sinni, sem var óþægilegt en líka eiginlega fallegt. Enginn reynir lengur að útskýra það. Því ef Elmar er engill, þá er hann svona engill sem myndi segja „æj þetta reddast” og stela frönskum kartöflum af disknum þínum á meðan hann passar upp á þig.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e---\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThe boy’s name is Elmar. He was twelve for three days.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eElmar was the kind of child that adults would talk about in a soft voice. “This boy…” people would often say and then smile without finishing the sentence. He had a strangely calm presence, because he was genuinely interested in people and listened as if people mattered. When his grandmother talked about her arthritis, he didn’t look at the phone. When his little sister told a long, boring dream story about a horse with three names, he listened as if she were reading a folktale. And when people cried, he never got embarrassed. He just sat there.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eOn the day of his confirmation, it rained so much that the priest said that God was probably just too busy. Elmar laughed so hard that he had a coughing fit inside the church. He was confirmed in a yellow hoodie under his robe. His mother got a little stressed about it.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBut the priest whispered, “God thinks yellow is beautiful.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAfter his confirmation, Elmar told his little nephew that the clouds were probably just “the slow-moving porridge of the sky.” No one knew what that meant, but it became a phrase the family repeated for years.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThen one day he was just… gone.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eNo one in the family talks about it the same way. His grandmother says he sometimes comes to her in dreams and straightens the blanket over her feet. His sister says she smells like rain and tangerines when she’s really sad. His dad sometimes sees a yellow hoodie peeking out from under him in the kitchen late at night. And the strangest thing of all: when someone in the family is going through a hard day, little white feathers appear somewhere in the house. In shoes. On the bathroom floor. On top of the cereal once, which was unpleasant but also really beautiful. No one tries to explain it anymore. Because if Elmar is an angel, he's the kind of angel who would say \"oh, this will work out\" and steal french fries from your plate while he looks after you.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53810498797932,"sku":null,"price":8000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2518.jpg?v=1779897152"},{"product_id":"soley","title":"Sóley","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð: - H:34cm x B:18cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003eÞetta er Sóley.\u003cbr\u003eHún er átta ára, með blátt stjörnuspark í augunum og blóm sem vex beint upp úr hausnum á henni. Læknar reyndu einu sinni að útskýra blómið. Það gekk mjög illa. Einn sagði að þetta væri „óvenjulegur líffræðilegur útvöxtur.” Annar sagði að þetta væri líklega bara húfa sem hefði fest sig. Þriðji hætti í starfi og fór að kenna jóga á Spáni. Sóleyju sjálfri fannst þetta ekkert merkilegt. „Fólk vex með mismunandi hluti,” sagði hún alltaf. „Ég óx bara með blóm.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003eHún fæddist óvenju létt. Eins og líkaminn hennar væri ekki alveg sammála þyngdaraflinu. Þegar hún lærði að ganga virtist hún stundum hálfsvífa niður ganginn heima hjá sér. Mamma hennar sagði að hún hreyfði sig eins og teikning sem væri ekki alveg búin að ákveða hvort hún ætlaði að vera raunveruleg. Það skrítnasta við Sóleyju voru þó ekki beinin sem sáust í gegnum hana eða blómið á höfðinu. Heldur það að hún gat fundið þegar fólk var að fela sorg. Í leikskólanum settist hún alltaf hjá krökkunum sem sögðust vera „bara þreytt.”\u003cbr\u003eÍ grunnskóla spurði hún kennarann sinn einu sinni „Af hverju brosirðu alltaf með augunum slökkvum?” Kennarinn fór að gráta inni í kaffistofu korteri seinna.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003eSóley skildi ekki alveg af hverju fullorðið fólk varð svona skrítið í kringum sannleikann. Henni fannst hlutirnir einfaldir, fólk brotnar stundum, fólk grær stundum og flestir eru miklu viðkvæmari en þeir þykjast vera.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003eBlómið hennar breyttist líka eftir því hvernig henni leið. Þegar hún var glöð varð það stórt og gult eins og sól. Þegar hún var hrædd lokaðist það saman eins og hnefi. Einu sinni þegar afi hennar dó féllu öll blöðin af því og fjölskyldan þagði í heila viku af hræðslu. Svo einn morguninn kom lítið nýtt brum. Það var þá sem mamma hennar fór að trúa því að blómið væri miklu frekar einhver tegund af áttavita en bölvun.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003eNúna gengur Sóley um heiminn á stórum fótum og örmjóum beinum eins og lítil mannleg plöntuteikning. Fólk starir stundum á hana á götunni. Hundar elska hana. Gamalt fólk brosir ósjálfrátt til hennar. Og sorglegt fólk andar aðeins dýpra þegar hún er nálægt.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003eEnginn veit alveg hvað hún er.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eKannski barn.\u003cbr\u003eKannski planta.\u003cbr\u003eKannski einhver lítil áminning frá alheiminum um að við séum öll brothættar verur að reyna að blómstra úr eigin beinagrind.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e---\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThis is Sóley.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eShe is eight years old, with starlight in her eyes and a flower growing straight out of her head. Doctors once tried to explain the flower. It didn’t go very well. One said it was “an unusual biological growth.” Another said it was probably just a hat that had gotten stuck. A third quit their job and went to teach yoga in Spain. Sóleyja herself didn’t think it was anything special. “People grow with different things,” she always said. “I just grew a flower.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eShe was born unusually light. As if her body didn’t quite agree with gravity. When she learned to walk, she sometimes seemed to float down the hallway in her house. Her mother said she moved like a drawing that hadn’t quite decided whether she wanted to be real. The strangest thing about Sóley, though, wasn’t the bones that showed through her or the flower on her head. She could tell when people were hiding their sadness. In kindergarten, she always sat with the kids who said they were “just tired.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eIn elementary school, she once asked her teacher, “Why do you always smile with your eyes closed?” The teacher started crying in the cafeteria a short time later. Sóley didn’t quite understand why adults became so strange around the truth. She thought things were simple, sometimes people break, sometimes they heal and most people are much more sensitive than they pretend to be.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHer flower also changed depending on how she felt. When she was happy, it became big and yellow like the sun. When she was scared, it closed up like a fist. Once, when her grandfather died, all the leaves fell off and the family was silent for a whole week out of fear. Then one morning, a small new bud appeared. It was then that her mother began to believe that the flower was much more of a compass than a curse.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eNow Sóley walks the world on big feet and skinny bones like a little human plant drawing. People sometimes stare at her on the street. Dogs love her. Old people smile at her involuntarily. And sad people breathe a little deeper when she's near.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eNo one really knows what she is.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eMaybe a child.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eMaybe a plant.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eMaybe some small reminder from the universe that we are all fragile creatures trying to blossom from our own skeletons.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53814233629036,"sku":null,"price":8000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2524.jpg?v=1779957366"},{"product_id":"rakel","title":"Rakel","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð: - H:34cm x B:18cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eRakel vinnur í blómabúð sem heitir Blómahúsið en lítur meira út eins og staður sem selur mjög dýrar jarðarfarir fyrir plöntur. Eigandinn heitir Unnur og talar um túlípana eins og þeir séu viðkvæmir listamenn með drykkjuvandamál. Rakel mætir alltaf fimm mínútum of seint með kaffibolla sem hún lofaði sjálfri sér að kaupa ekki. Hún hengir upp úlpuna sína, kveikir á litla útvarpinu við kassann og byrjar daginn á því að bjarga plöntum sem starfsfólkið gleymdi að vökva daginn áður. Hún býr ein í íbúð á annarri hæð fyrir ofan tannlæknastofu. Á kvöldin heyrir hún stundum fólk stynja niðri meðan hún er að sjóða núðlur og það hefur eyðilagt ótrúlega mörg rómantísk kvöld fyrir henni. Svo nú er hún alfarið hætt að deita eða hitta fólk.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eRakel á þrjá diska, sjö kaffibolla og eina pönnu sem hallar aðeins til vinstri. Hún hélt alltaf að hún myndi verða svona manneskja sem á fallegt heimili með samstæðum handklæðum en það virðist satt að segja ekki vera í hennar eðli.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÁ laugardögum fer hún í matvörubúðina með mjög skýran innkaupalista: klósettpappír, pasta, tómata, sjampó.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSvo kemur hún heim með: enn einn kertastjaka, ferskt basil, ananas, og einhvern mjög sérstakan ost sem hún hafði aldrei séð áður.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eRakel er líka búin að vera á leiðinni að fara að byrja að hreyfa sig síðan 2019. Hún borgar enn í ræktina af því henni finnst óþægilegt að segja upp áskriftinni. Einu samskiptin hennar við staðinn síðustu mánuði hafa verið þegar hún fékk tölvupóstinn: “Við söknum þín ❤️” Henni fannst það persónulega mjög aggressívt.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÍ vinnunni kemur reglulega inn maður sem kaupir eina rós á hverjum föstudegi. Enginn veit fyrir hvern hún er. Rakel og samstarfskona hennar eru með sex mismunandi kenningar um málið og ræða þær af þeirri alvöru sem venjulega er frátekin fyrir rannsóknarlögreglu.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eRakel sjálf hefur aldrei verið sérstaklega dramatísk. Hún gleymir hlutum bara stöðugt, brennir sig reglulega á of heitu kaffi og talar stundum við fólk á meðan hún er með tyggjó fast í hárinu án þess að taka eftir því.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e---\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eRakel works at a flower shop called The Flowerhouse, but it looks more like a place that sells very expensive funerals for plants. The owner is called Unnur and talks about tulips as if they were sensitive artists with a drinking problem. Rakel always shows up five minutes late with a cup of coffee that she promised herself she wouldn’t buy. She hangs up her coat, turns on the small radio at the register and starts her day by rescuing plants that the staff forgot to water the day before. She lives alone in an apartment on the second floor above a dentist’s office. At night, she sometimes hears people moaning downstairs while she’s boiling noodles, and it has ruined countless romantic evenings for her. So now she’s stopped dating or meeting people altogether.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eRakel has three plates, seven coffee cups and one frying pan that leans slightly to the left. She always thought she would be the kind of person who has a beautiful home with matching towels, but honestly, that doesn’t seem to be in her nature.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eOn Saturdays, she goes to the supermarket with a very clear shopping list: toilet paper, pasta, tomatoes, shampoo.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThen she comes home with: another candleholder, fresh basil, pineapple and some very special cheese she had never seen before.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eRakel has also been on her way to starting to exercise since 2019. She still pays for the gym because she feels uncomfortable canceling her subscription. Her only interaction with the place in the last few months has been when she received the email: “We miss you ❤️” She personally found it very aggressive.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAt work, a man regularly comes in who buys one rose every Friday. No one knows who it is for. Rakel and her colleague have six different theories about the matter and discuss them with the seriousness usually reserved for detectives.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eRakel herself has never been particularly dramatic. She just constantly forgets things, regularly burns herself on too-hot coffee and sometimes talks to people while she has gum stuck in her hair without noticing.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53814280946028,"sku":null,"price":8000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2520.jpg?v=1779959069"},{"product_id":"birkir","title":"Birkir","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð: - H:34cm x B:18cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHann heitir Birkir af því að mamma hans sagði einu sinni að nafnið hljómaði eins og einhver sem myndi „redda sér”. Sem er fyndið, því Birkir er eiginlega alltaf pínu týndur.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÍ morgun vaknaði hann of seint. Hann burstaði tennurnar með andlitskreminu sínu (óvart), fór í einn skó og einn sandala og hljóp út í strætó með skólatöskuna hálfopna eins og særðan fugl. Það var ekki fyrr en í stærðfræðitíma að hann fattaði það.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSíminn.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHeima.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÁ eldhúsborðinu líklega. Við hliðina á hálfdrukkna kaffibollanum sem pabbi hans skilur alltaf eftir, mömmu hans til skemmtilega lítils ama og banana sem enginn vistist ætla að borða. Eða henda. Eða urða.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAllt í einu leið Birki eins og hann væri nakinn. Kennarinn var að tala um jöfnur. x + 4 = 12. En Birkir gat bara hugsað:\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Hvað ef einhver sendi mér skilaboð?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Hvað ef ég þarf að vita hvað klukkan er?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Hvað ef eitthvað gerist?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Hvað ef ég er bara… ekki til núna?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSem var auðvitað kjánalegt. Honum var alveg sama um símann mestallan daginn venjulega. Hann mátti ekki einu sinni vera í honum í tíma. Og frímínúturnar voru svo stuttar að maður náði varla að opna eitt meme áður en bjallan hringdi aftur.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eEn samt.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eVinstri höndin hans hélt áfram að leita í tóman vasann eins og líkaminn trúði ekki stöðunni sem elsku Birkir var í.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÍ hádeginu sat hann einn með mjólkurfernuna sína og fannst eins og hann hefði misst útlim. Þá settist stelpa úr bekknum hjá honum. Hún hét Salka og tyllti niður appelsínu og tillti sér svo sjálfri gegnt honum. Og tók ekki upp símann sinn, ekki einu sinni til að taka mynd af appelsínunni sinni, þ.e hádegismatnum sínum, til að deila með heiminum.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Þú lítur út eins og þú hafir misst útlim,” sagði hún.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Síminn minn er heima.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Ó.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHún hugsaði sig um.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Kannski er heilinn þinn bara vanur því að einhver sé alltaf að hvísla einhverju að þér.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBirkir horfði á hana.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Ha?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e„Síminn,” sagði hún og yppti öxlum. „Kannski verður maður skrítinn þegar það verður allt í einu hljótt.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÞau sögðu ekkert í smá stund. Í fyrsta skipti þann dag tók Birkir eftir því að það var rigning úti. Þegar mjúk rigningin lenti á glugganum hljómaði það eins og einhver væri að steikja heiminn á mjög lágum hita. Hann tók líka eftir því að mjólkin hans var í laginu eins og lítið hús. Og að Salka borðaði appelsínur eins og reiður íkorni. Það var eiginlega soldið skondið.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÞegar hann kom heim seinna um daginn lá síminn nákvæmlega þar sem hann hafði ímyndað sér. Á eldhúsborðinu. Birkir tók hann upp. Sjö tilkynningar. Tvö TikTok. Eitt „hvar ertu?” frá vini sem hafði sent það í frímínútunum. Hann starði á skjáinn. Svo lagði hann símann aftur niður. Bara í smástund. Til að heyra rigninguna aftur.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e---\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHis name is Birkir because his mom once said that the name sounded like someone who would “get out of their own way.” Which is funny, because Birkir is always a little lost.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThis morning he woke up too late. He brushed his teeth with his facecream (accidentally), put on one shoe and one sandal, and ran out to the bus with his school bag half-open like a wounded bird. It wasn’t until math class that he realized it.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHis phone.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAt home.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eProbably on the kitchen table. Next to the half-drunk cup of coffee that his dad always leaves behind, to his mom’s unrealistic , and a banana that no one seemed to want to eat. Or throw it away. Or bury.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eSuddenly Birkir felt like he was naked. The teacher was talking about equations. x + 4 = 12. But all Birkir could think was:\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“What if someone texted me?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“What if I need to know what time it is?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“What if something happens?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“What if I’m just… not here right now?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eWhich was silly, of course. He didn’t care about his phone most of the day. He wasn’t even allowed to have it on during class. And recess was so short that you could barely open a meme before the bell rang again.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBut still.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eHis left hand kept reaching into his empty pocket as if his body couldn’t believe the position dear Birkir was in.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAt lunch, he was sitting alone with his milkshake and felt like he had lost a limb. Then a girl from his class sat down next to him. Her name was Salka and she lowered down an orange and then herself across from him. And didn’t pick up her phone, not even to take a picture of her orange, her lunch, to share with the world.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“You look like you’ve lost a limb,” she said.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“My phone is at home.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“Oh.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eShe thought about it.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“Maybe your brain is just used to someone always whispering something to you.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eBirkir looked at her.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“Huh?”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e“The phone,” she said and shrugged. “Maybe you get weird when it suddenly goes quiet.”\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThey didn’t say anything for a while. For the first time that day, Birkir noticed that it was raining outside. When the soft rain hit the window, it sounded like someone was frying the world on a very low heat. He also noticed that his milk was shaped like a small house. And that Salka was eating oranges like an angry squirrel. It was actually kind of funny.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eWhen he got home later that day, his phone was exactly where he had imagined it. On the kitchen table. Birkir picked it up. Seven notifications. Two TikToks. One “where are you?” from a friend who had sent it during recess. He stared at the screen. Then he put the phone down again. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eJust for a moment. To hear the rain again.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53814285730156,"sku":null,"price":8000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2510_8eb1bd36-e4dc-4d34-83fc-e7c93ab33301.jpg?v=1779959269"},{"product_id":"teikning","title":"Teikning","description":"\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eStærð: - H:34cm x B:18cm\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eMér finnst þessi blýantsteikning áhugaverð vegna þess að ég er ekki endilega að reyna að teikna raunverulegan (realistic) líkama heldur er ég frekar að reyna að finna hann á meðan blýanturinn strýkur blaðið. Mér finnst eins og línurnar sýni hugsunarferlið mitt jafn mikið og lokaútkomuna. Ég leyfi mér að leita að forminu í stað þess að fela allar tilraunirnar.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÞað er hreyfing í myndinni. Mér finnst eins og fígúran sé ekki alveg kyrr heldur föst á augnabliki milli jafnvægis og falls. Stellingin er bæði mjúk og dramatísk og mig langaði að ná þessari tilfinningu fyrir líkama sem er lifandi frekar en fullkomlega mótaður.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eÉg valdi líka að hafa andlitið mjög einfalt og óskilgreint. Mér finnst það gera fígúruna meira að hugmynd eða tilfinningu en ákveðinni manneskju. Þá fær áhorfandinn meira pláss til að túlka sjálfur hver hún er eða hvað hún er að upplifa..\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eMér finnst autt rýmið í kringum fígúruna líka mikilvægt. Það lætur hana standa eina með sjálfri sér, næstum eins og hún sé að æfa sig að vera til. Það er eitthvað viðkvæmt og óklárað við það sem mér finnst fallegt. Ég elska ókláruð verk. Verk í vinnslu og ferlið. Það segir oft svo miklu, miklu meira en fullkláruð verk sem eru oft of slípuð, til að vera sem fullkomnust. Þó að kláruð verk geti auðvitað líka verið dásamleg.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAð svo sögðu held ég að ef ég hefði unnið þessa teikningu meira, hreinsað allar línurnar eða skyggt hana mikið, þá hefði hún misst eitthvað af þessari hráu og lifandi orku. Fyrir mér liggur styrkleikinn einmitt í því að hún er ekki alveg fullkláruð. EN, kannski hefði hún verið miklu betri en hún er núna. Málið er að undanfarið hef ég ekki haft neina löngun í að teikna eða mála eða skapa eða gera neitt. Svo átti ég yndislegt samtal við besta vin minn um daginn og það gaf mér svo fallega ró í sálina og ég gat setið í núinu og bara teiknað á meðan kvöldsólin skein inn um stofugluggann. Það var þá sem þessi teikning varð til.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e---\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eI find this pencil drawing interesting because I'm not necessarily trying to draw a realistic body, but rather trying to find it whilst the pencil strokes the paper. I feel like the lines show my thought process as much as the final result. I allow myself to search for the form instead of hiding all the experimentation.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThere is movement in the image. I feel like the figure is not completely still but caught in a moment between balance and fall. The pose is both soft and dramatic and I wanted to get this feeling of a body that is alive rather than perfectly formed.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eI also chose to keep the face very simple and undefined. I feel like it makes the figure more of an idea or a feeling than a specific person. Then the viewer has more room to interpret for themselves who she is or what she is experiencing.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eI also think the empty space around the figure is important. It lets her stand alone by herself, almost as if she is practicing being. There is something fragile and unfinished about what I find beautiful. I love unfinished works. Works in progress and the process. It often says so much, much more than finished works that are often too polished, to be perfect. Although finished works can of course be wonderful too.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp dir=\"ltr\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eThat said, I think that if I had worked on this drawing more, cleaned up all the lines or shaded it a lot, it would have lost some of this raw and living energy. For me, the strength lies precisely in the fact that it is not completely finished. BUT, maybe it would have been much better than it is now. The thing is, lately I have had no desire to draw or paint or create or do anything. Then I had a wonderful conversation with my best friend the other day and it gave me such a beautiful peace of mind and I was able to sit in the present and just draw while the evening sun shone through the living room window. That's when this drawing was created.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"svavs","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":53814286025068,"sku":null,"price":8000.0,"currency_code":"ISK","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/files\/IMG-2528.jpg?v=1779959443"}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0913\/6593\/3420\/collections\/IMG-2539.jpg?v=1779803406","url":"https:\/\/svavs.is\/collections\/teikningar.oembed","provider":"svavs","version":"1.0","type":"link"}