Sky Rope
May 2025
I closely followed Signe Emdal’s path from maker, with a production of gorgeous jacquard-knitted one-off throws and scarves, to successful textile artist with a gallery representation in Paris and a growing list of interesting exhibitions on her CV. Until 1 June, her art can be seen in Denmark in the group exhibition DENNE NYE VERDEN (This New World) at Lundsgaard Gods in Kerteminde.
In this story, however, the theme is not Kerteminde or Paris but Djúpavík and wool, which is my current focus, as I prepare bookazine no. 13, which, as previously announced, is a theme issue on wool.
More specifically, it is the story of an artwork that Signe and her brother, Kristian Emdal – who is a visual artist, musician and builder of wooden ships, among other pursuits – created for the group exhibition The Factory in 2025 in Djúpavík on Iceland.
The Factory is an annual art exhibition in a former herring factory in Djúpavík, a small town on the north-wester peninsula of Vestfirðir.
The herring factory closed in 1954, when the herring stock collapsed, and the town was all but depopulated.
In 1985, Eva Sigurbjörnsdóttir and Ásbjörn Þorgilsson moved to Djúpavík and converted the building that had served as housing for the women who worked at the herring factory into Hótel Djúpavík. They also began to restore the factory, which has since hosted art exhibitions and cultural events.
Every year, the curated group exhibition presents a new selection of artists from Iceland and abroad. The pieces are often site-specific and span a wide range of media and formats, such as textile, sculpture, photography, video, audio and installation art. The exhibition explores topics related to nature, cultural heritage and how we, as human beings, relate to our surroundings.
This year’s exhibition, titled Sky Dancers runs from 24 May to 12 September 2025.
It was curated by Emilie Dalum, who is Danish, and is arranged by Hótel Djúpavík.
The main material of the Emdals’ piece in the exhibition is wool – Icelandic wool that Signe brought home from a residency at the Icelandic Textile Center in Blönduós in November.
As chance would have it, Emilie Dalum sent her the invitation to take part in THE WATER BENEATH just two days into her residency, not knowing that Signe was then in Iceland.
We are sitting in Kristian’s kitchen, talking about the siblings’ collaborative project, and before I leave, they invite me into the attic to see the almost-finished piece, which is just a few days away from being packed up and transported to Iceland, where it will be finished.
This is their first joint project, but the collaboration seems very significant to them in several ways.
Signe tells me that when she received the invitation, she was, naturally, delighted, but she also knew immediately that she did not want to present the type of artworks she has been creating and exhibiting in recent years. They are just too delicate, she explains, and wholly unsuited for the rugged factory architecture. She also knew immediately that if she was going to take part in The Factory, she would invite Kristian to join her – and he immediately accepted.
The invitation was perfectly timed, he says. For the past five years, he has been focused on his trade as a shipbuilder, and he misses working with art. In this way, the joint project with Signe is both a new beginning and a continuation of a former path that he had stepped away from for a while. Moreover, both the architecture of the exhibition venue and this year’s theme relate to his maritime craft and its materials as well as the Emdal family’s generations-long connection to the sea.
‘We began to exchange written messages about our individual areas of focus in relation to the piece and its content,’ says Kristian. ‘We viewed it as a connection between the universe and the earth. All along, I had this idea that we were going to end up with a rope – perhaps not an actual rope but a connection between two worlds.’
‘Throughout 2024, I was focused on interstellar media,’ says Signe. ‘I guess I have a tendency to disappear into the cosmos, but I am always working on remaining grounded or, rather, to send energy both ways – bot in my artistic practice and in other practices.’
Kristian recommends keeping a boulder under your dining table as a footrest and to help keep you grounded. I look under his table, and sure enough, there are a couple of rocks matching the size of a man’s feet.
So you began your research for the piece while you were still in Iceland, I say to Signe.
‘In fact, I also visited Iceland in 2018, that was where I developed my interest in weaving on the upright loom instead of knitting on a knitting machine. It was in Iceland that I really made the switch from crafts to art, so when I returned last year, I was expecting, or hoping for, a similar development.
I went with the purpose of studying Icelandic wool and its uses. The raw wool was difficult for me to work with – the smell of it almost made me physically ill. I am used to nice, clean wool yarn, which is highly processed, while raw wool has a strong smell of lanolin and is not necessarily clean.
I studied all sorts of things related to wool, including the farmers’ conditions and the economic aspects as well as the historical role and significance of wool. For example, I was fascinated with a technique that was used hundreds of years ago to make vararfeldur: a woven cape with locks of wool tied into the weave, using a method akin to rya knots.’
‘I was fascinated,’ says Kristian, ‘by the fact that wool products used to be a form of currency that Icelandic sailors carried with them and used to trade with. In this way, the women who processed the wool contributed something of significant value. The ships were also propelled by woollen sails, which the women had woven, and the men wore woollen clothes knitted, woven and sewn by women.
When I wrote this to Signe, she told me that those observations had already been preserved in writing, in the Icelandic sagas, where the women’s work was described as vitally important, valuable, practical and symbolic.’
We go into the attic to see the piece: Sky Rope. The similarity with a rope is not immediately obvious.
It has locks like a vararfeldur but was not made using the original technique ‘because I always invent new methods,’ says Signe.
Like the rest of the wool, the long hairs and heavily tar-scented linen of hemp fibres from the boatbuilding workshop are sewn onto a piece of embroidery fabric. The backing is made of heavy canvas.
Kristian tells me that in his youth, he sailed on the training ship ‘Danmark’ and was responsible for repairing hammocks – he pulls out his sailmaker’s tools.
Many of the locks are fiery red – like Signe’s own hair – dyed with henna. Signe also tested other, more traditional plant dyes but that they did not appeal to her, and besides, she always prefers to apply the dye before the wool is washed, because the washing causes the locks to lose their suppleness.
Here, in the attic, the piece seems large, although, objectively speaking, it really is not. I wish I could visit The Factory this summer to experience the greatness of the small piece in the rugged setting.
Jeg har med interesse fulgt Signe Emdals vej fra kunsthåndværker med produktion af virkelig smukke jacquardstrikkede unika-plaider og tørklæder til succesfuld tekstilkunstner med gallerist i Paris og flere interessante udstillinger på sit CV.
Frem til 1. juni er hun aktuel i Danmark på gruppeudstillingen DENNE NYE VERDEN på Lundsgaard Gods i Kerteminde.
Her skal det hverken handle om Kerteminde eller Paris, men om Djúpavík og uld, som er mit fokusområde i denne periode forud for bookazine 13, der som tidligere nævnt, har uld som tema.
Eller rettere, det skal handle om et stedspecifikt værk, som Signe og hendes bror Kristian Emdal – billedkunstner, musiker og træskibsbygger blandt andet – har skabt til gruppeudstillingen på The Factory i 2025 i Djúpavík på Island.
The Factory er en årlig kunstudstilling, der finder sted i en tidligere sildfabrik i Djúpavík, en lille bygd i det nordlige Vestfjordene på Island.
Sildfabrikken lukkede i 1954, da sildebestanden kollapsede, og byen blev så godt som helt forladt.
I 1985 flyttede Eva Sigurbjörnsdóttir og Ásbjörn Þorgilsson til Djúpavík og omdannede den tidligere kvindebygning (bosted for kvindelige fabriksarbejdere i sildesæsonen) til Hótel Djúpavík. De begyndte også at restaurere fabrikken og har siden været værter for kunstudstillinger og kulturelle arrangementer i bygningen.
Den kuraterede gruppeudstilling præsenterer hvert år et nyt hold af islandske og internationale kunstnere. Værkerne er ofte stedsspecifikke og spænder over forskellige medier som tekstil, skulptur, fotografi, video, lyd og installationer. Udstillingen udforsker temaer relateret til natur, kulturarv og menneskets forhold til omgivelserne.
Årets udstilling under overskriften Sky Dancers finder sted fra 24. maj til 112. september 2025.
Kurator for udstillingen er danske Emilie Dalum, værten er Hótel Djúpavík.
Søskendeparrets værks hovedmateriale er uld – islandsk uld, som Signe har hjembragt fra et ophold på Icelandic Textile Center i Blönduós på Island i november.
To dage inde i opholdet modtog hun en invitation til at bidrage til THE WATER BENEATH fra kurator Emilie Dalum, der som et kuriosum ikke havde kendskab til Signes ophold på Island.
Vi sidder i Kristians køkken for at tale om samarbejdet, og inden jeg forlader dem, skal jeg på loftet for at se det næsten færdige værk, som er få dage fra at blive pakket ned og flyttet til Island, hvor det skal færdiggøres.
De to har ikke arbejdet sammen før, men samarbejdet er vigtigt på mange planer, fornemmer jeg.
Signe fortæller, at hun, da hun fik invitationen, naturligvis blev glad, men også med det samme vidste, at hun ikke kunne og ville bidrage med den type værker, hun har skabt og udstillet de seneste år. De er for sarte og delikate, fortæller hun, og helt uegnede til den rustikke fabriksarkitektur. Hun vidste også med det samme, at skulle hun udstille på The Factory,skulle hun invitere Kristian med – og det gjorde hun umiddelbart, og han takkede ja.
Invitationen faldt på det helt rette tidspunkt, fortæller han. De seneste fem år har han helliget sig sit håndværk som skibsbygger, og han savner at arbejde med kunst. Arbejdet med Signe er på den måde både en frisk begyndelse og en forlængelse af noget gammelt, men forsømt. Læg dertil, at både arkitekturen på The Factory og årets tema knytter an til hans maritime håndværksfaglighed og materialekatalog, og at familien Emdal i mange generationer har haft tilknytning til søen.
”Vi indledte med at skrive frem og tilbage om, hvad vi hver især var optaget af i forhold til værket og dets indhold,”fortæller Kristian. ”Vi skrev om de,t som en forbindelse mellem universet og jorden. Jeg havde hele tiden en idé om, at det skulle ende med et reb – men det behøver måske ikke være et reb, det kan godt ende med at forbinde to verdener uden at være så konkret.”
”Jeg var i hele 2024 optaget af interstellare medier,” fortsætter Signe, og fortsætter: ”Jeg har lidt en tendens til at forsvinde ud i kosmos, men jeg arbejder hele tiden på min jordforbindelse, eller rettere på at sende energi begge veje – både i min kunstneriske praksis og i mine andre praksisser.”
Kristian anbefaler at have en sten under spisebordet til at hvile fødderne på for at holde jordforbindelsen. Jeg kigger under hans bord, og der ligger ganske rigtigt et stykke klippe i passende størrelse til et par herrefødder.
Du påbegyndte så din research til værket, mens du var på Island, konstaterer jeg henvendt til Signe.
”Faktisk var jeg også på Island i 2018, det var der, jeg blev optaget af at væve på den opretstående væv, fremfor at strikke på strikkemaskine. Det var på Island, jeg for alvor tog skridtet fra kunsthåndværket ind i kunsten, så jeg vendte tilbage sidste år med en forventning eller en forhåbning om, at der ville ske et eller andet.
Jeg var der med det formål at studere den islandske uld og dens anvendelsesmuligheder. Den rå uld var ikke helt let for mig – jeg fik det nærmest fysisk skidt af lugten. Jeg er jo vant til det meget forarbejdede, pæne, rene uldgarn, og den rå uld lugter kraftigt af lanolin og er heller ikke nødvendigvis ren.
Jeg undersøgte alt muligt omkring ulden, bøndernes vilkår og afsætningsmuligheder, men også uldens betydning historisk set. Blandt andet blev jeg optaget af den teknik, som for flere hundrede år siden blev brugt i det, som hedder vararfeldur – en vævet kappe, hvor der var bundet uldlokker ind i det vævede ved hjælp af en teknik, der minder om rya.”
”Jeg var optaget af,” siger Kristian, ”at uldne produkter i tidligere tider var den valuta, som de islandske søfolk havde med sig og kunne handle med. På den måde skabte kvinderne, som forarbejdede ulden, store værdier. Søfolkene sejlede også med uldne sejl, som kvinderne havde vævet, og var klædt i uld, som kvinderne havde strikket, vævet og syet.
Da jeg skrev det til Signe, kunne hun fortælle, at de tanker allerede var nedskrevet i de islandske sagaer, hvor kvindernes arbejde blev beskrevet som både livsnødvendigt og værdifuldt, praktisk og symbolsk.”
Vi går på loftet for at se værket – som hedder Faldereb. Ligheden med et reb er ikke påfaldende.
Det har lokket som en vararfeldur – ikke udført i den oprindelige teknik, ”for jeg opfinder altid nye metoder,” siger Signe.
De lange hår er ligesom den øvrige uld og kraftigt tjærelugtende hør- eller hampefibre fra bådebyggerværkstedet syet på et stykke stramaj. Bagsiden er lavet af kraftig sejldug.
Kristian fortæller, at han som ung sejlede med skoleskibet Danmark og var den, som reparerede hængekøjer – han finder sit sejmagerværktøj frem.
Mange af lokkerne er ildrøde – som Signes hår – farvet med henna. Signe fortæller, at hun også testede mere traditionelle plantefarver, men at det ikke fængede hende, og at hun i øvrigt foretrækker at lægge farven på ulden uden at den bliver vasket ud først, for krøllerne mister spændstigheden, når de vaskes.
Her på loftet fremstår værket som værende stort, det er det objektivt set ikke – jeg ville ønske, at jeg skulle besøge The Factory denne sommer for at erfare det lille værks storhed i de rustikke rammer.
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