Suchergebnisse

This article is written on the occasion of the 500 years anniversary of the Lutheran reformation (siðbót) which started in 1517. The aim is to point out new perspectives worth considering in research on the main implications of the reformation in the political field (siðaskipti) and cultural and / or social field (siðbreyting). In this regard, it is pointed out that in researches of such a complex historical process is inevitable to assume pre-defined pardigms that can serve as prerequisites for the interpretation of the subject. It is also pointed out that, up to present time, a single one-sided paradigm which describes the reformation as a revolution has been assumed in Icelandic studies of the reformation which assumes that the transition from a catholic to a lutheran church in Iceland has been sudden and for more or less political reasons, ie. for the efforts of Christian the III:rd of Denmark to increase his assets, properties and power in the country. The article argues that the relationships between religion and politics was much more complexed at this time than has generally been expected, as well as that Christina the III:rd and his representatives in Iceland considered it as their duties as christians to promote the reformation in the country and in that way respond to the demand of Luther to the christian nobility to rescue the Church on the basis of the gospel. In the article it is assumed that the reformation in Iceland happened in the period 1539-1600 and the development took place on various religious, ecclesial, political and cultural fields. In that way it is meaningful to describe it as a viscous reformation.

In this article I discuss how various collective art projects involving artists and curators using the city as an exhibition site have transformed artistic discourse in Iceland. Chantal Mouffe´s conception of public space as a battleground and art practices as agnostic interventions into this space raise questions about the branding and commodification of art and cultural institutions. Mouffe believes that despite the unrestrained commercial control of the urban landscape, artists still have the possibility of intervening in the political and economic status quo. Employing Mouffe´s analyses as a guiding principle, the study confirms that the permanent value of art in public spaces need not be limited to individual artists' form, style or content, but may be capable of mobilizing political, critical and artistic discussions within the urban community.

This article discusses the phenomenon of self-harming or "non-Suicidal Self-In-jury" (nSSI). The International Society for the Study of Self-Injury defines non-sui cidal self-injury as the deliberate, self-inflicted damage of body tissue without suicidal intent and for purposes not socially or culturally sanctioned." The article discusses the cultural and social representations of self-injury, what is implied in it, who engages in it, and for what reasons. A lot can be deduced from interviews with self-harmers who use it to gain control over bad feelings and stress, by hurting their body and participating in risky behaviour. This dangerous activity often has more complicated sides with reference to rituals and spiritual associations to bloodletting, cleansing of all evil and healing, absolution and much wanted peace of mind. Finally, the changes in self-harming discourse and channels of communication are discussed. It has opened up during the last two decades with the arrival of social media. The self-harmers have built their own subcultures with special aesthetics and often preferring theatrical staging or performances instead of verbal expres-sion. These channels can have an uncanny power and influence over young and vulnerable people. The conclusion of the article is that all this requires an informed discussion as a special world, a special angst which is expressing itself in ways that might develop into suicidal behaviour if it is not taken seriously.

Moonstone: The Boy Who Never Was (Mánasteinn: Drengurinn sem aldrei var til, 2013) by Sjón tells of three eventful months in the life of Máni Steinn in the fall of 1918. In this short period the volcano Katla erupts, the Spanish flu rages and Iceland regains its sovereignty from Denmark. Building on Judith Butler's, Mary Douglas's and Michel Foucault's theories regarding the body as a cultural construct, this article focuses on body discourse as presented in Moonstone. According to Douglas there is a direct link between boundaries of the body and boundaries of society. Everything that endangers the stability of society's boundaries is considered social pollution. Foucault's theory on panopticism likewise identifies surveillance and discipline of citizens' bodies as means of maintaining society's social structure. Because Máni Steinn is queer, his body is considered abnormal according to the period's definitions on what constitutes a healthy and stable body. Aberrations from the "healthy", heterosexual body creates divergence within society's fabric. To regain the appearance of a "pure" society Máni needs to be hidden or banished from it. Yet the arrival of the Spanish flu to Reykjavík deconstructs conventional definition of the body and unravels the social hierarchy. The distinction between the healthy and the infected is obliterated, as the body becomes a site where irreconcilable opposites merge. During the turmoil of the Spanish flu boundaries of the body become as unstable as society's boundaries become fluent.

The regulation of film exhibition in Iceland has closely shadowed the history of cinema exhibition itself. Although regulation practices have undergone various shifts and realignments throughout the twentieth century, they retained certain core concerns and a basic ideological imperative having to do with child protection and child welfare. Movies were thought to have a disproportionate impact on children, with "impressionable minds" often being invoked. Their interior lives and successful journey towards maturity were put at risk each and every time they encountered unsuitable filmic materials. Thus, while assuming that adults could fend for them-selves among the limited number of theaters in Reykjavík, children were a whole another matter and required protection. Civic bodies were consequently formed and empowered to evaluate and regulate films. But even in the context of fairly rigorous surveillance and codification, the turn taken by regulatory authorities in the 1980s strikes one as exceptional and unprecedented. The Film Certification Board (TFCB) was, for the first time, authorized to prohibit and suppress from distribution films deemed especially malignant and harmful. Motivating this vast expansion of the powers of the regulatory body were concerns about a variety of exploitation and horror films that were being distributed on video, films that were thought to transgress so erroneously in terms of on-screen violence that their mere existence posed a grave threat to children. Two years after finding its role so radical-ly enlarged, TFCB put together a list of 67 "video-nasties", to borrow a term from the very similar but later moral panic that occurred in Britain. Police raids were conducted and every video store in the country was visited in a nation-wide effort to remove the now illegal films from rental stores. This article posits that the icelandic nasties list can be viewed as something of a unique testament to the extent to which the meaning, aesthetic coherence and the affect of cultural objects is constructed in the process of reception, while also main-taining that the process of reception is thoroughly shaped by historical discourses, social class, embedded moral codes and a social system of values, as well as techno-logical progress. in what amounts to a perfect storm of moralizing, political games-manship and the sheer panic of a certain segment of the population, the governing institutions in iceland managed in the span of months to overturn constitutionally protected rights to free speech and privacy, as well as undermine central principles of the republic. Two decades would pass before these setbacks were recuperated, and then only on a legal and institutional level. While analyzing the history of the icelandic video nasties, the article also attempts to grapple with and articulate the symbolic register of the ban, how it speaks to the status of cinema in Iceland at the close of the twentieth century, and what ideological strains, morals and/or values were being put into play and funneled into this particular debate. Then, to close, the role of the most notorious of the nasties, Cannibal Holocaust (Ruggero Deodato, 1980), is examined in the context of media coverage and parliamentary debates at the time.