Walking across the tundra, negotiating the waterways, carrying an armful of vegetables for soup.
Background:
Svalbard is a barren landscape, devoid of trees. Instead there is the sparse vegetation of the tundra: mosses and lichens, and other low-growing plants. And fields of rocks, many, many rocks; and water flowing across the surface, making its own paths across the landscape.
Evidence of human occupation is apparent – all but one coal mine is shuttered, leaving behind mounds of coal, looming contraptions for the transportation of coal to the harbor, unoccupied buildings including housing for the miners who are no longer there.
Because of the permafrost, all of the buildings sit on pilings above ground. Pipes for water and sewage run across the surface of the land. Parked everywhere are snow mobiles in greater numbers than the population. Outside of town are fenced-in pounds with hundreds of near-wild and constantly barking sled dogs. Tourism is the new industry…
But we were there in September, before the snow had arrived. Nothing was hidden under a blanket of pure white snow; everything was visible.
Performance:
My performance in Longyearbyen took place outside of town, beyond the reservoir. I chose to walk across the rocky landscape, through open land, negotiating the waterways. I wore a long wool coat, and carried a heavy bag full of carrots and leeks to give to Stein Henningsen the festival organizer, who was waiting at the end point on the road. He had been cooking meals for us, and I thought that vegetables for a soup would be helpful. Vegetables are very dear in Svalbard, flown in by plane.
As I walked, I wondered if I would be mistaken in my white coat for a polar bear and shot. In one location, I came across polar bear prints in the mud, as well as reindeer and artic fox prints. But I didn’t see any animals while walking, except Stein’s dog who initially came along with me before turning back. The distance, if traveled in a straight line, would probably have only taken a half hour or so. But moving along the waterways to find places that I could ford, took longer. It took me nearly two hours before I finally reached the road where Stein was parked.
There were moments when I thought I would have to turn back, when the rocks felt treacherous or the water too deep to cross. But I kept walking carefully, moving up along each stream until I found a place to ford without getting my feet wet, and then heading again towards my destination, the culvert going under the road.
My path crisscrossed the landscape. To the people on the road my route was mysterious. The surface water was not visible from their vantage point. I would be getting closer to them, and then for no apparent reason I would turn my back and begin to move away from them into the distance, until I again began to walk towards them, always trying to find a way across the water to the culvert at the road.
