Designer Thórunn Árnadóttir may not be able to stop time, but she can certainly slow it down. Already, the 25-year-old dynamo’s clock is making regular appearances on design blogs and in the media, including a mention in the New York Times for her role in the budding Slow Design movement. But as IR’s Jonas Moody discovers, Árnadóttir is in no rush for fame. Time is on her side.

Published in the 2007 spring issue of Iceland Review – IR 46.01. By Jonas Moody, photos by Páll Stefánsson.

Jonas Moody: The first time I saw you, you were dressed like an old woman pushing a wheelbarrow full of foam-rubber cream cakes down Laugavegur. When did your performance art becoming clock-making?

Thórunn Árnadóttir: My friend and I wanted to do something about the tendency of Icelanders to go to cafés these days and get a latte and a croissant instead of the old coffee parties we used to have at people’s homes with cakes. We started with two characters, the two Hnallthóras, a woman who makes massive cakes in a Halldór Laxness story. The designs that came out of this project were also aimed at getting people to reconsider Icelandic traditions, like the Krummi jewelry rack and the Kleinur necklaces [see pg. 34]. When I work I don’t see the final project right away. My design process is open and tends to meander. The clock I have been working on for two years from all different directions, like how African tribes experience time.

JM: Your clock has been mentioned in connection with a relatively new philosophy called “Slow Design,” which promotes slower product creation and consumption as a measure against the hectic pace of modern life. How do you feel about this movement?

TA: Slow Design is not only about doing everything slower, but it encourages people to think about the process and origin of the things around them. The West depends on making everything easy, cheap and fast for the consumer. But what really are the benefits of this system and what do we end up sacrificing for these “qualities”? My clock [see pg. 34] fits the slow-design concept well because it tells you that you don’t necessarily have to follow the systematic pace of society. It’s not necessarily the “correct time”.

JM: Besides the clock, you have assembled quite a peculiar portfolio with buzzing wall-hangings, nationalistic chocolates, athletic tablecloths and hypercolor radiators. How are these quirky plans of yours hatched?

TA: Behind every piece is some little story, a twist on objects we are familiar with. I want to make people curious the moment they see the piece, but also keep that aesthetic charm that makes it appealing without having to know the concept behind it. I like it when an object’s concept and aesthetics go effortlessly hand in hand.

JM: You work with a diversity of materials—metal, leather, fabric, broken headphones, even smoke and shadows. What’s the thread that connects it all?

TA: It’s the idea that leads me to the material. Like in the case of Flower [leather magazine rack, see pg. 34], I needed a material with flexibility, softness and strength, and my quest led me to leather. Smoke is another good example [used in the Andaglas incense lamp]. I spent a lot of time in my tiny, windowless bathroom experimenting with incense sticks and LED lights. I felt like a smoked leg of lamb, but it was about finding a way to catch the mesmerizing movement of smoke in an object.

JM: Beyond the initial curiosity, how do you want people to interact with your design?

TA: I want people to see the everyday world around them from a different perspective. Take a chair, for example. It’s not just a thing to sit on. But at some point a decision was made that it should have a certain form and be made of a certain material. That chair speaks to culture, economics, fashion. We can express a thought in so many ways—in words, in music, in paintings, in clothes, in buildings… and in objects.

JM: If it’s the initial concept that lights the fire under your designs, where do you find your sparks?

TA: If I’m completely lost with where to start I browse through books and Google. I type in words I find intriguing and look through hundreds of pictures and texts. Sometimes this leads to curious research. For instance, through researching projects I now know how to bake “kleinur” [the time-honored Icelandic knotted doughnut], the meanings of Ghanaian symbols and how to repair an old, rotten book. Then I start sketching, but my “sketching” can take on various forms: text, drawings, photographs, mock-ups or experiments with materials. I even cut up a stuffed bunny once. I was going to use my own stuffed animal, Kata the bunny, but got teary-eyed just before jamming the knife into her belly. So I bought a new one especially for the operation.

JM: Lopapeysa-themed confections, the mini-kleinur necklace, the Krummi crow-shaped jewelry rack. Icelandic culture seems to make some cameo appearances in your work. Is that a conscious decision?

TA: It’s healthy for a designer or artist to make an effort to study her own background and heritage. Especially because in these times of globalization where you can observe what’s happening in art and design anywhere in the world, we probably spend more time browsing the internet rather than reading folktales or going to the national museum. I’m not keeping this as a theme in my design, but these studies have helped me to build a good base for my design thinking. It helps a lot to know your own culture in order to understand other cultures and trends.

JM: Everything seems to be happening so quickly for you. I mean, you just graduated last year. For someone who’s partial to Slow Design, how is life in the fast lane?

TA: The attention is good, but a girl’s got to pay her rent! I’m working full-time at a café right now and trying to get my work into production. But if you rush too much you don’t get the juicy ideas.