zaterdag 7 maart 2009

Ragnar Kjartansson

Once upon a time there was an island of desolate beauty, marked by volcanoes and glaciers, strange hot bubbling lakes and boiling geysers. Sometimes the sun shone even at night; other times it would be dark for days on end. This enchanted island was home to a boy called Ragnar. Like many boys his age, Ragnar liked to imagine what he would be when he grew up: the leader of a rock band, a knight in shining armour, a troubadour or even Death himself, wearing a black suit and carrying a shiny scythe. He would talk to the other kids about Death, and they thought he was a little weird, but he didn’t care. As he aged, his body got bigger, but inside he remained a kid. So he never came to believe that something wasn’t possible – he just carried on creating magical kingdoms in abandoned houses, dressing up in costumes, playing characters from his fantasy world, drawing pictures and making music.

It sounds like a fairy tale, but in
Ragnar Kjartansson’s case it’s all true.
source: Amanda Coulson - frieze magazine 2006

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