Amphibious Trilogies

Talking Walking Swimming

Amanda Steggell
Hovedøya, Oslo 11.07.2018, 15.10hrs

High summer in the Nordic regions. A heatwave. Talking to Andrew on the phone while walking along the pontoon where my boat is tethered, I spot a large shoal of juvenile, silver mackerel fish swimming in columns very close to the pontoon, just under the surface of the water. I have the impression that I am looking down onto an aquatic version of a terrestrial motorway. I start to walk beside them.

The school of fish and my body are now moving at the same tempo. The shoal is so large that I can’t see where the columns of fish begin and end. 10m or 20m? The total body of fish is enacting a big organism on the move. Intermittently, the streams of fish swimming close to me make a 180 degree turn about. The others follow in line, like the motion of a snake or eel. A warning sign. A decoy. A survival tact. I turn about and follow them. This happens many times, enough that I feel in tune with the movement and flow of the whole body of the fish. An almost synchronised swimming and walking feat. Is this an example of an extending choreography? One of dancing across boundaries?

As they swim, the fish make traces in the water, V-shaped and spiralling ripples that create concentric circles as the water meets the pontoon. My footsteps are sounding along the planks of the pontoon. The audible steps are like tickers of time, each one lasting about two thirds of a second. By way of vibrational transference, they are sensed by the fish. My shadow follows fluidly along the pontoon, like compass dial, like bio dial, enabled by the sun’s radiation. Is choreography delimitated to human conceptual notions? I would like to say, yes! Of this, I am a little unsure.


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Dark Islands

2 April 2018.

Here I am. The snow lays heavily on the ground. It’s rather chilly. I am standing outside the Norwegian Coastal Administration (NCA) Vessel Traffic Centre (VTC) in Vardø. VTC shares a home with the Directory of Fisheries and the recently added analysis unit. Each unit has specific responsibility areas. Together, the main task is to analyse available information of vessel activities and movements, and to detect unregulated transport of goods and unregulated fishing. By means of radar monitoring, ship reporting and Automatic Identification System (AIS), they cover a vast stretch of water; from the coastlines of Troms and Finnmark, to nearby Russia and further away islands of Jan Mayen and Svalbard.

Behind me stands a redundant Arctic Ocean observation buoy for realtime logging and transferring of environmental data. Eye catching, resembling a classic UFO. The buoy, called Wavescan, is particularly amphibious, rigged to gather oceanographic, meteorological (metocean) and water quality data. Wavescan runs on solar power, GPS positioning and two-way communication. It is able to function in very extreme environmental conditions, such as in very deep water, strong currents, high winds and in remote locations. About a year ago the buoy was one of several floating nodes of a national research project. As I understand, the main goal of the project was to make a tool to monitor and map the motion of the ocean from different positions around Norway’s northern coastlines. The results of the research contribute to anticipate and warn ships of potential dangers at sea. I asked the VTC staff if the buoy would be able to work today. The answer was ‘probably’, but the battery would need to be replaced.

In the background are the Globus 1 and 2 Satellite Stations administered by the Norwegian Intelligence Service(NIS). Close by, the Globe 3 Station is under construction – a joint project between NIS and the US Air Force Space Command. While the radar stations are outwardly highly visible, what goes on in the inside is highly secret, fortified by security fences surrounding the military site with staggered warning signs in English, Norwegian and Russian. ‘KEEP OUT”.

A statement given by The Norwegian intelligence service proclaimed that the tasks of the new radar will be to follow and categorize objects in space, monitor national interest areas in the north, as well as collect data for national use for research and development. To expand on this comment, the new base station would have the same function of the Globus 2, only better. However, in a storm the covering of the antenna was blown away, exposing the orientation of the radar dish. It was rather embarrassing, pointing directly towards Russia.

To be clear ‘Vardø’ is both the name of a town and the administrative centre for the wider Vardø Municipality in Finnmark, Norway. The town lies on a small island called Vardøya, near the mouth of the Varangerfjord, on the edge of the Barents Sea.

Vardø is the easternmost town of all the Nordic countries. Located at 31°E, it shares a meridian line with the Great Cheops Pyramid in Giza. To mark this a small non-invasive pyramid has been planted on the top of Reinøya, close to Vardøya, on the exact same altitude as the pyramid in Giza. Both Reinøya and its neighbouring island, Hornøya, are protected nature reserves. In the spring about 10.000 polar seabirds migrate from the south pole to make their nesting places on the steep cliffs. Thanks to the fabulous Biotope Architecture Bureau, flocks of bird enthusiasts come from all over the world to take part in this spring mating ritual. They bring with them their money; a source of income for a small island trying to survive through the thick and thin.

In conversations with island people, they say that Biotope has inspired a new approach to the bird life on Vardø. Something so habitually overlooked. Overlooked is the BBC series who were working on Hornøya when I visited the island. Something to appreciate and take joy in. They were filming puffins with a stealth camera installed in a kind of a robotic puppet Puffin. The Puffin puppet was programmed with several behavioural movements and smells, and with a stealth camera to record the violence of Puffins in the mating season. All that they left was their money for services rendered. What they did not acknowledge was that they were filming on the island – Hornøya. This I have found is symptomatic to Vardø. People come and go. Researchers like to come here, but they do not leave a footprint on Vardø once their studies are over.

In good times the rich waters of the Barents Sea provide ample food for the bird colonies. In recent times climate changes, fisheries, pollution and various other human and non-human activities have contributed to the decline of seabirds. Fishing and seafood processing still remains to be a main source of income of Vardø, despite the virtual collapse of the fishing industry in 2017. There is a saying of islanders, when the ocean thrives, the birds thrive, Vardø thrives. So called non-indigenous species ( ‘invasive species’) such as the King Crab do also thrive. They come in hordes are proficient eco-engineers eradicating the natural ecosystem of the sea bed, hey, they taste deliciously in the Vardø Hotel restaurant and in Vardø College where you can both purchase and eat such local delicacies for a smallish price. If you are lucky, then you can have an almost free meal from the fishers on the newly half-restored fishing processing plant.

I am inspired by this resilient community. I want to bring something back. At the time of writing I am thinking of a project where the buoy is put back into the sea. I would like to engage with the youths of Vardø and Kystverket to make visible/tangible the data that the buoy can produce.


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Pacific oysters on Hovedøya

To recap: I have been spending my time on Hovedøya in my boat for over 8 weeks. During this time I have been monitoring the Pacific oysters (C gigas). Until this summer I have never observed such oysters (or any other oysters) in the six year  period of living aboard a boat. My first observations of such oysters in July 2017 were scattered patches of oysters – some smallish, others looking more mature – about 25 of them on the edge of the stoney beach besides my boat.  Since then the water has been clouded by sporadic bouts of rain, high winds, higher temperatures causing green sheens of algae, all of which has hidden the underwater world.

Yesterday, at 7am, I did my practice of removing mainly glass and plastic debris coming onto the shore. The temperature had dropped, the water was clear. Clinging on to rocks,  about 10-30cm underwater, were a multitude of very small pacific oysters – about half the size of an infant’s little fingernail, unmistakable from other shell fish in shape and form.

Under my nose and through the green shroud of algae, the few oysters had been spawning larvae …. but how long does it take from spawning to become a ‘spat’ cemented down to rocks, glass and other shellfish?

Please do read the taxonomy, anatomy and life cycle of oysters  that this image is a part of. Then read the negative and positive impacts of such non-native oyster species..

In the meantime I will watch over the little oysters to see if I can fathom out how many will survive. There are too many to count. What I really need is a visual scanning system that can show growth and mortality ranges.


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Floating Residency. Videos 1 & 2

Fieldwork documentation

Floating Residency, Akerselven Boat Society, Hovedøya, Oslo, July 2017
Amanda Steggell
∼  Amphibious safari: on the trail of the stinging lion’s mane jellyfish (Cyanea capillata)

Tenta{c}tive approach for capturing water-wise motion

Video 1: Upon spotting stinging jelly fish from the jetty.

  • Tie one end of a line to an underwater POV camera, and the other onto your wrist.
  • Sink the camera down to the estimated depth of the jellyfish. (A bit tricky; the water plays tricks with orientation.)
  • Let the camera hang there until you presume that the jellyfish is out of camera vision.
  • Tentatively, pull the camera out of the water making sure that you don’t touch either the camera house or the rope with your bare hands. Both might have touched the jellyfish’s stinging tentacles.

Video 2: Upon spotting a spawning jellyfish depositing her larvae on a stoney beach.

  • Crouch down, pull out your cell phone, turn on the video camera app.
  • Get as close to the jellyfish as you can.
  • Keep an eye on the water. When you look through the screen in this close-up encounter scenario, it’s difficult to judge distances between the camera and the water. Be aware that sudden surges in the the water can wash the poisonous tentacles onto your hands and feet.

Location data

Hovedøya is one of several small islands off the coast of Oslo, Norway in the Oslofjord. The island is quite small, no more than 800 metres across in any direction. It is well known for its lush and green nature, with a wide variety of trees, bushes and flowers.
from Wikipedia 

Area: 0.4 km2
Area code: 0150
Administrative region: Oslo


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Beachcombing on Hovedøya

Since April I’ve been staying on my boat on Hovedøya, just one of the little islands in the inner Oslo fjord. Large parts of the island are protected by the Cultural Heritage Act. This is were I live in the summer season. I mostly stay on the island unless I really need to leave (for example, to buy provisions), even though the city is very close. Almost every day I clear up the stoney beach close to the jetty, finding all kinds of plastic, glass, syringes and a lot of other rubbish washed up on the shore. Today I found something quite alien and alive.

I have observed the urban development of Oslo Harbour from my boat for the last six summers and have found that this development has contributed exponentially to the amount of rubbish I gather each morning. ∼ Many people crowd onto the recently constructed city beaches to enjoy the sun and sea. When this happens many castaways, such as ice cream wrappers, chicken bones, tampons, condoms and doggy poo bags, come floating over to the little stoney beach. The ferries that go to the small islands depart from a more accessible location than before, greatly increasing the number of persons that visit the islands. In the high season I dream that Hovedøya is sinking under the weight of all the visitors.

This morning the water level was very low, exposing less contemporary objects in the mud; thick broken glass (cloudy coloured, dark brown, green and black) that must have come from very old bottles, pieces of old pottery and large iron nails from traditional wooden boats. I also found a scattering of Pacific oysters (natives of Japanese seas) anchoring themselves to the rocks. Never before have I found a wild oyster on Hovedøya.

Recently there has been a rapid expansion of  Pacific oyster (crassostrea gigas) populations on the Scandinavian coasts. The oysters have been referred to as ecosystem engineers; species that have the ability, directly or indirectly, to modify, create or destruct habitats.

Unlike the ‘native’ oysters of Norway, which are oval and rather flat in form, the shells have sharp edges and are shaped by the environment they inhabit. I found such oyster shells filling in the niches between rocks. In Apr 2016 I helped organise a seafood foraging course at Steilene, just a little further south from Oslo. The oysters we harvested were much larger than those on Hovedøya and more conformable in shape. I presume that the oysters on Hovedøya are young ones, first cementing themselves in the gaps between rocks before growing bigger. Given time, they may establish themselves as a large colony. Given the right conditions Pacific oysters can live up to about 30 years.

Foraged food on Steilene, Apr 2016.

Oyster on Hovedøya, Jul 2017

Much like the invasion of the Alaskan king crab some years back, the explosion of wild oysters along parts of the Norwegian coast are about to displace native species, and may also account for the very low count of mussels in Norway this year. The normally shy eider ducks that migrate to Hovedøya in the spring  must be feeling this recession too. Each day, family groups pay frequent visits to my boat, diving under the water to feed on mussels living on the keel. From inside the boat the collective noise they make is phenomenal, sounding like a sea monster trying to find a way in. I try to supplement their diet with bread crumbs, but they just they throw their beaks up in distain. Not surprising really, as they feed on mussels, clams, scallops, sea urchins, starfish, and crabs. Mussels are their favourite food. Oysters are mine.

If I had been given the option of oysters or bread, I would opt for oysters – breakfast, lunch and dinner (preferably with a slice of lemon and a glass of champagne). Gobbling them up seems a good way to go to restore some balance  in the local ecosystem. Others have been thinking about this too. I found an article in The New York Times; Chinese Offer to Eat Denmark’s Oyster Problem to Extinction (28.04.2017).

Briefly; soon after the Danish Embassy in Beijing released an online report about a ‘plague’ of Pacific oysters along parts of the Scandinavian coast, over 15.000 social media comments and recipes came flooding in.

Most of the advice offered by commenters boiled down to a simple solution: Send armies of Chinese tourists to scarf down the oysters. But that advice often came with a witty twist: “Free up visas and introduce oyster-eater visas, 10 years unlimited re-entry,” said one of the initial suggestions. “I’d bet that these oysters would be exterminated in about five years.”

Another comment;

“I solemnly swear to join the Danish Oyster-Resistance Volunteer Army,” said another. “I will dedicate my tongue and taste buds to Sino-Danish friendship until these oyster invaders are vanquished.”

To such comments, the Embassy replied;

“Thank you to the righteous advance team of oyster eaters,” …. “The beaches of Denmark await you.”

Like the king crab, Pacific oysters may become a lucrative export product, but whether this will have a positive effect on local ecosystems remains to be seen. A recent article, DNA analyses reveal secrets about the Pacific oyster (NIVA 28.06.2017) probes this issue. It is one of global climate change, larvae drifts, simulated ocean models and genetic analyses.


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On silence

Notes on the unspoken, silence

This spring I have had the opportunity to participate in a small gathering at what is called Fordypningsrommet at the island group of Fleinvær the 20th. 21st and 22nd of January ( The small group of people gathered were all occupied of what is not spoken about – being at Fleinvær – windblown islands outside of Bodø – meant that we were gathered for days only relating to the others and our surroundings. We shared topics not normally spoken about. Some of them rather personal, some about questions hard to address with words and better expressed through music, movement, visualising and art.

Being a writer I was moving into unfamiliar terrain of expression. Personal reflection in close association with people who wish to share and interact both with their surroundings and others give a possibility to insights and experiences not normally achieved. A mother spoke of her relationship to her mentally sick son – a man about his struggle with alcohol and others about their own challenges.

Being professionals and some of us historians we spoke about the tragedies of the past – just north of the islands of Fleinvær a British Warship was torpedoed in 1915. We talked about the past and the memories in the small fishing communities of Fleinvær and Helligvær. Places where life is always vulnerable and where most families have lost family members at Sea. Even if far in the past those who died and those who survived in 1915 are very much part of the historical heritage and memories of the islands. In some ways even created strong bonds to their families in far-away England.

The researchers who have worked with interviews with families, survivors and rescue workers of the Alexander Kielland accident in 1980 where 123 oil workers died, spoke about their interviews and the memory of the past. We spoke about what is chosen to be remembered and what is, in many people’s opinion, best forgotten.

Some months later I opened the exhibition Poetry of Silence. The artist Kristin Skrivervik ( at Prosjektrom 3 at Vinstra in Gudbrandsdal north of Lillehammer. The exhibition included recordings, film and pictures. The artist, having worked in a variety of places, have been very much being inspired by the Saami culture, music and nature. After the exhibition, we had an art-talk and the artist spoke about theories and thoughts of movement by the musician, physicist and philosopher Ernst Florens Friedrich Chladni (1756–1827) “Entdeckungen über die Theorie des Klanges.”

The question of silence and what is deliberately silenced is very much the essence of the core issues of humanity and tolerance as well as the limitation of expression. That is why we need to challenge using art as well as relating to other living beings and non-human nature itself. I am expressing myself like this because the concept of nature as separate from man is naturally meaningless. We breath air and drink water – we can never separate from other surroundings, still we have the meaningless experience of being totally apart.


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Island field notes 2016-17

Island field notes 2016-17

Island field notes (and what gets let in and left out of the pond?)


‘If I were The Ocean’, the working exhibition, held at the Norwegian Maritime Museum at Bygdøy in August 2016, can be seen as a map and a compass for the entire Amphibious Trilogies project. Amanda Steggell and I used this map and compass at the isle of Fourni in September 2016.

Instead of circumnavigating the island, or climbing its highest peak, we navigated the northern shores of the island by walking as far as we could in every direction. When we found we couldn’t get any further by foot, we would enter into the water and swim to the next shore, and then continue to walk. This is the amphibious way of getting about. We also tried to find passages between different islands that were close enough to swim across. (⇐ ?)

Every morning Amanda would go out with the local fishermen to get the catch of the day. And every evening we would sit in the fish restaurant and eat what they had caught. This became another of our routines that gave a variation to the otherwise sleepy fisher village. One day there was a great deal of fish, octopus and lobster. Other days almost none.

Besides walking, swimming and fishing we would read, draw, do tai chi tai chi (⇐ ?), dance (⇐ ?), photograph, film, speak to locals, gather herbs and document the events as they unfolded. Amanda´s practice of enquiring could be considered to be of an enquiring journalistic approach.

In my opinion, the first trip to Fourni was a way of testing out all the different directions that Amphibious Trilogies can take in the coming three years.


In September of 2016, while staying at the island of Fourni Amanda and I visited the neighbouring island of Samos. We met the volunteering group Samos Volunteers who are working at a camp for boat refugees coming over the water from Turkey. We joined in for two days teaching English classes and gave swimming lessons for refugee kids at a shelter at the Paradise Hotel. The meeting with Jasmine Doust of the Samos Volunteers and encounter with the refugees sparked the idea to come back to Samos again in 2017 to work for a longer period of time. It also sparked the idea for a ‘pond ballet’, a colouring book and making plastic rope out of plastic bottles. More about this later.


We arrived in Samos, Greece on 3 April 2017 and worked for Samos Volunteers daily from 6 am until at least 6 pm for 3 weeks (until 23 April) at the shelter at Paradise Hotel and in the refugee camp.

There were around 700-800 persons living in the camp at that time. Around 200 of them were children. Around 40 persons, mostly families with small children and/or pregnant women, were staying in the shelter. Every night there were between 20-30 new persons arriving to the island by boat from Turkey.

The everyday routine of activities consisted of working at the tea kitchen, library, English lessons, children’s activities, playing chess and backgammon, walking on hikes and arts and crafts; drawing and dancing workshops. During these activities there was no time to reflect upon the overall situation. We could only deal with each moment, one at a time, or else the graveness of the overall situation would make us unable to do any practical tasks at all.

Meeting with the refugees was very intense, direct and often resulted in laughter despite the harsh conditions, the lack of common language and many chances of misunderstanding.

The two events that Amanda and I were responsible for, the dancing and drawing workshops, didn´t not necessarily require words.

The grown-ups:

In the workshop for grown-ups every Tuesday and Thursday we facilitated a welcoming atmosphere in which the men would feel free to participate and start their own activities. We would be holding the space rather than activating it, so that the men could join in or bring their own activities to the space. An Algerian man spent several weeks painting a sign. A man from Kurdistan would bring his Udh to the classroom and play wedding songs. Then other men started to dance traditional wedding dances, and we joined them. A deaf man from Syria could easily join in dancing and drawing.

The kids:

The dance workshop for kids was held at the shelter at Paradise Hotel. There was not much explanation needed because the children would simply copy our actions. The workshop consisted of a warm-up circle where everybody got to suggest a movement and then everybody else copied them. We then moved as slow as we could, like we were moving in water, to some electronic music. Afterwards we did the Dance of the Evolution, starting as a one-cell-creature, going through all the different stages of development before ending in John Travolta-disco dance. We would end the workshop again in a circle with a breakdance movement called the wave. Everybody held hands and watch a wave move through body of one person at the time through the circle.

One kid that came over to Amanda and me during library and wanted to skip rope. After asking many times Amanda gave in and we started to make believe that we were swinging a rope. The kid saw that there was no rope, but still he started to jump. Everybody else around saw it and started to smile at the fact that the kid didn´t care if there was no rope there, but nevertheless jumped to 100. The smiles spread all around the main square of the camp. For Amanda and me this was the purest moment of belief in our whole stay at Samos and an example of how performance can create hope.

On our first visit to Samos in September 2016 we asked several people what the refugees needed the most. One man, a former refugee himself, answered that they need money and hope. When we asked Jasmine Doust of Samos Volunteers what was needed, she said that the kids love to colour, and that´s how the idea for the colouring book came. Amanda asked me if I could make one, and I drew five images. Two were of superheroes, refugee boy and refugee princess with whom the kids could identify. The other three were of a paper boat, a paper plane and a kite. The idea was that the drawings could be coloured and also images of objects that could physically be made simply by folding paper.

Together with the kids we folded paper planes and boats out of the blank pages in the book, but we didn’t get around to make kites. The idea behind the boat was to physically deal with their past of traversing the sea by boat, and by colouring it and folding it into a paper boat, also mentally deal with the fact that that’s how they got here. The planes were to symbolise their future; hopefully they would be allowed to fly to Athens or to another place in Europe.  The idea for the kite was that the kids could draw their past on one side of the kite, and their future on the other side, and that when they later would run with the kite on the beach it would give them the feeling that they were in charge of their own life.

On the cover of the colouring book there is a smiling frog under the big block letters saying REFUGEES WELCOME. The Refugees Welcome movement are very visible in the west, but is not very visible in the periphery of Europe. The idea to put an amphibian on the cover came from Amanda. When showing it to my cousin, Charlotte Bik Bandlien, she asked if the frog was meant to resemble Pepe the Frog of the Alt Right movement in the US of A. First then it became clear to me why putting a frog under those letters had resonated with me. Mixing the logos of the two political organisations that are the furthest apart in one drawing, and also the refugee children colour of it, it makes for a powerful action that produces a strong image of the present reality.

Every evening Amanda and I would debrief and recap. We would talk about the day, what had happened and how we felt about it. We would let down our guard and tell each other thing we liked and didn´t like, and we would allow ourselves to laugh about situations that were no fun at the time when they happened. This relief helped being in the tense atmosphere camp.

The Samos Volunteers:

Every Wednesday there was the volunteers’ weekly meeting at the Paradise Hotel where we would update one another on the events of the past week and discuss new issues. Meeting with the other volunteers was challenging in the sense that Samos Volunteers consist of persons of diverse backgrounds and from equally many different nationalities as the refugees in the camp. All of them arrived to Samos with the good intentions to help out, but there are many different ways to help out. We soon found out that there was an established hierarchy among the volunteers, which determined who got to help out, where and how.

This became clear on the second week when Hans-Jørgen Wallin Weihe, our collaborator, arrived. Since our visit in September the year before the volunteers had adapted a structure more similar to the one that we found between the police, the army and the other NGOs found inside the camp. Hans-Jørgen was only allowed to work with the refugees outside the camp. His wife and her sister were refused access when they approached the camp on their own. Hans-Jørgen, and ultimately Amanda and I, got to feel the tensions that this situation created. The encounter with the hierarchy of Samos Volunteers echoed a part of the project; what is allowed in and what gets left out of the pond? And who decides?


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Impressions of Samos

Being in Samos was an impression of the great contrast between then tourist Samos and the harsh world of the razor wired fenced in area of refugees. At the same time the reality of the volunteers with all their competencies and lack of competencies, personal hierarchy  and rivalries contrasted to the complexity of the refugee community 

– some of whom being real refugees – some coming from other reasons – the male dominance – the female group and the children – then the workers, some of them working as part of a condition for social welfare benefits – some professionals of various professions and some dedicated to their work with humanistic motives and some into the work because of the income.  

During my period – a week – the camp was open – however I experienced the camp as a trap – ready to be closed down whenever demanded. Guns and razor wire a reality that could be used  whenever external forces required them to be used.

 There are many games and actors some of them puppets in a puppet theatre – some of them with independence and willingness to act outside of the scene and the theatre. Then the children always ready to attach themselves to humans and individuals who can give them some kind of humanity and learning experiences. They were like seeds ready to germinate if conditions were right – and vulnerable to draught and lack of fertile sound.

 The camp was a pond with amphibious beings – ready to move on and develop – and just as ready to succumb all possibilities if draught and human pollution would come. Predator fish could make the pond a trap – predator birds could make the pond a trap – and humans could pollute and make it into a deadly place.

 Around the pond a beautiful landscape – recreation and humanity with an invisible wall to the other reality.

Ladies all covered up – still undressed and vulnerable. Men behaving like dominating men- still controlled and subordinated a system of individuals and bureaucracy – undressed and blind to their vulnerability – still very much aware of their situation – then everyone giving their censored selected truth through mobile telephones to another reality somewhere some other place.


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Post Paradise Blues

I got the Post Paradise blues.

Just got back to Oslo after 3 weeks staying at the Paradise Hotel working with volunteers with refugees on Samos Island. Now back I feel a need for some debriefing. Normalising? What does this mean/entail? I am listening to Grace Jones, her Island Life album.


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Contested Borderscapes

From: Contested Borderscapes
To: Amanda Jane Steggell
Subject: Abstract received
4 April 2017, 10.57

Many thanks for submitting your abstract to Contested Borderscapes. The Organizing Committee will be in touch soon!

Text: All think twice. It’s just another day for you and me in paradise.
Affiliation and Keywords: Oslo National Academy of the Arts, Samos Volunteers Group. Arts-based perceptions and communications.
Track 5: Representations and communication

Abstract: All think twice. It’s just another day for you and me in paradise. Do islands offer a feeling of isolation or of freedom?Who and what gets attracted to-, or left out of a pond? What is the hope, happiness and trauma of the pond and sea?

This contribution concerns arts-based perceptions of littoral zones of conflict. It draws on mixed creative methodologies from choreography and performance in particular with inclusions of design fictioining and sociology, as we ‘do things’ together with refugees living in one of five refugee shelters on Samos, namely The Paradise Hotel. The contribution will take the shape of a performance lecture that will convey through ‘movements’ between three interlocking thematics, ‘Island’ and ‘Pond’ and the ’Passage’ between the two. We are currently experiencing how these thematics come into play as returning participants of the Samos Volunteer Group. What has changed since we have been here last, and how do we adapt to the momentary now?


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