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As the Krona Crumbles, Icelanders Turn to Crafts
Could creativity be a way out of crisis?
rlm351@nyu.edu
REYKJAVIK, Iceland - In Laugavegur, this capital city’s main shopping lane, one crafts store is thriving in spite of the economic crisis. Well, not in spite of it — because of it.
Nalin’s yarns, threads, needles and fabric scraps are flying off the shelves. The shop has repeatedly run out of stock in recent months, for two reasons.
“Those who can’t afford to buy presents are making them on their own, and those who can afford them are mostly buying handmade Icelandic items, because of the import limitations,” said storeowner Helga Jona, 33.
Iceland has been one of the countries hardest-hit by international financial crisis: it had to nationalize its banks, as unemployment soared and its currency collapsed. In January the government was forced out, replaced by an interim Social Democrat and Left-Green coalition, and a new prime minister, until new elections this spring.
In such tough economic times, many Reykjavikurs are turning to arts and crafts, both to save money and to make it.
Take Hildur Yeoman, 24. Before the banking crisis, she could make do with her salary as a sales assistant at Trilogia, a clothing store and gallery. Nowadays she makes frequent trips to Nalin, across the street, to buy supplies for her line of crocheted purses she sells with cards she illustrates herself.
Trilogia specialized in high-end British, French and Spanish designer pieces, and carried a little Icelandic work. But because the government has prohibited the deposit of money in foreign accounts – the only imports allowed are prime-necessity items, such as food – the store has been forced to stop ordering merchandise from abroad.
Local designers, often one-person brands, have come to the rescue.
Trilogia now features necklaces from Arora Eir, headpieces from Thelma Design, rouched bags from Hidden Goods and bow scarves from Gudbjorg Jakobsd.
“The well-to-do ladies are still going to shop for exclusive Christmas, birthday or Valentine’s Day presents. It’s just that those who used to buy Alexander McQueen are now buying Thelma,” said Yeoman.
Crafts to the Rescue?
Some craftspeople have arts and design training, while others have non-artistic day jobs and just happened to have paid attention when their grandmothers taught them how to knit those ubiquitous rose-patterned sweaters.
Boas Hallgrimsson, 28, is one of the latter, a schoolteacher who in his free time runs a design community in a loft in the hip 101 district. He sets up small shows for independent bands; his wife, Inga, does illustrations. They are joined by Jette Jonkers, a clothing designer; Myrra, a photographer; and Aron, a painter. All are regular citizens with Clark Kent jobs, who turn into artistic supermen after 5 p.m. On the day a reporter visited, the group was having a bazaar.
Nearby, it was also opening day at the design shop Verslunin Herdubreid. Since construction has dropped 80 percent, architects Johann Sigurdsson, 34, and Elin Gunnlaugsdottir, 44, saw no sense in maintaining their architectural practice. They moved the white elephant to the basement and opened the design shop in their firm’s storefront.
They contacted a few friends and artistic collectives, who brought over clothes, crocheted accessories, indie books, volcano-shaped chocolate and wire teddy bears. Three weeks later, Verslunin Herdubreid opened.
Bryndis Sveinbjornsdottir, Hildur Jonsdottir and Ottar Nordfjord — a fashion designer, graphic designer and illustrator, respectively — all answered the call.
How where they able to find so many handicrafts from creative sons and dottirs in only three weeks? For Sigurdsson, the store’s co-owner, it’s a jack-of-all-trades effect.
“We’re only 150,000 people here in Reykjavik, so that means each one of us has to know how to do everything,” he said. “And we really think we can do anything, arts and design included. Hey, that attitude is what got us into this financial problem. And it’s probably what will get us out of it.”
At another loft a few blocks away, Helga Braga, 44, an actress, former talk-show host and self-confessed fashion victim, was selling almost every item in her closet, from Dolce & Gabbana to top Icelandic designers.
“My husband, a carpenter, was laid off,” she said. “This is one of the few ways I can get some extra money.”
Although the new caretaker government has a social welfare cast, some retailers doubt things will change much right now.
“At least there’s a silver lining,” said Sara Eysosdottir, the owner and head designer of the psychedelic clothing store Naked Ape.
“Because of the exchange rate, more foreigners are coming here, and they’re buying what we’ve got in the stores: local design.
“And in a sense, the financial collapse has gotten young people busy. They have realized that they can’t just be on Facebook all day; that if they want to survive, they’re going to have to use their creativity and start making things to sell.”
Iceland's economic collapse touched off a boom in local design. Design shop owner Sara Eysosdottir says the attractive exchange rate is bringing in more foreign shoppers.
Fashion designer Bryndis Sveinbjornsdottir is selling her creations at new design studio, begun by a pair of architects who switched fields as the construction industry crumbled.
Photos by Rabeika Messina