Berglind Hreiðarsdóttir

Through touching the object that known as the photograph, I try to approach it from the process that is its creation. The relationship to the photograph is complicated and I tend to distrust it.

Water is without shape. It embodies a mirror that reflects its surroundings. The same goes for the image. When our surroundings are flooded with images, we can hardly tell one snapshot from another. The photograph is our grasp; a way to remember a moment, a movement, time, state and people we connect to. It provides support when we need to face loss and temporality. Skin absorbs water by touch, and our memory is touched by photographs and shapes our thinking. But a drop of water hollows the stone, transforms it and the photographic print will fade and be interpreted variously. Referring to a process and discussing it with the absence of a photograph, opens a dialogue about images shaping our memories as a force of change.

In a certain sense I comment on these invisible forces allowing them to direct my process, the idea of touching a photograph and allowing photographs to touch us, to be exterior to the visual world but live through it. I inspect diverse aspects of the photograph, but we see what we want to see and teach others to see the same, shaping a communal memory.