Hunting for treasure on a remote island off the coast of northern Norway sounds like something from a True Adventure magazine. And, of course, anything with such a fantastic storyline would naturally conclude with the hunter finding treasure. But that would never happen in real life… or would it?

Ever since I stayed a week at an artist retreat on the archipelago of Fleinvær six years ago I’ve daydreamed about getting back. It wasn’t the rustic/modern accommodations or the simple/nutritious meal offerings that lured me there, though they were both perfectly splendid. 

There was something about the way the salt-infused atmosphere, the thin pastel or gray tones of the sky overhead and the coarse, dense vegetation underfoot fused into one panoramic drama whatever the weather. Over a few short hours, on any given day, the Atlantic swept a kaleidoscope of conditions across the islands, including bright sunlight, lashing wind, pelting rain and double rainbows. With so many changes occurring, time was hard to measure. I eventually gave up trying to judge intervals and let experiences set the pace of the day.

Fortunately, I had an ally on Sørvær, the founder and guiding light of The Arctic Hideaway, Håvard Lund. His persistent attempts to bring Elin and me back to Nordland over the intervening years finally coalesced with the aid of a special honorific for the district. The city of Bodø and environs were designated the European Capital of Culture for 2024. With some funding provided for his Arctic Art Island initiative, Håvard was able to bring us and three other artists to the Hideaway for month-long residencies.

Suitcases were barely across the threshold of our cabin before I was back outside for a tramp around the island. Although we had been discussing possible land art projects over the months before arriving, nothing was decided except to say that we’d figure it out once I was there. This arrangement was far from those that Dan Snow Stoneworks typically engaged in, where most have a building site in mind and the materials and construction plan have at least been given forethought. Our residency project, up to the day we stepped off the ferry onto Sørvær was a complete unknown.

Maybe it comes from experience, or maybe it is innate, but I do have a nose for stone. Time and again I stumble upon obscure sources of loose stone if I just start wandering around. The talent, if it can be called that, extends to moments during the walling day when a particularly sized and shaped stone is required for a spot on the wall. Without it being in sight, I will ferret into a stock pile to immediately come up with the hidden gem, waiting just below the surface. 

There was no reason to believe that the island shoreline contained any amount of loose stone suitable for use in a hand-built construction but apparently my stone-dowsing ability was operational that first day on the island. Like the dozens of other small islands that comprise the Fleinvær archipelago, Sørvær is essentially a dome of glacially-swept bedrock with a thin layer of soil supporting rugged vegetation holding fast to the rock through a tough root system. My goal was to locate an area of densely accumulated stones of a size I could deal with on my own. The only equipment available to me would be plastic pails for shifting materials so the art project  would need to be immediately adjacent to the stone supply. One additional criteria, since I had no permission to make anything other than on the Hideaway property, where there was no loose stone, it would be best if the site wasn’t within sight of any dwellings. The perfect location drew me to it in short order.

I can say that the project designed itself because after a quick survey of the site and materials there seems to be only one direction forward. There were already ledge outcrops stepping up from the water’s edge. They would make a sturdy backbone for the piece. For a piece to have any visual impact in the midst of the expansive setting it would have to display the largest area of stonework possible. The effort to move stones up the slope would increase as the piece grew, so more stonework would be devoted to lower sections than upper ones. To guide the shape of the piece’s surface string lines would be pulled from a single point at the top, fanning out and around as they descended to fixed points at the bottom. The design and guide implementation was finished as soon as it was started.

A cache of stones, ready for shifting, lifting and setting, is my idea of a treasure chest. As any treasure hunter knows, the whereabouts of a discovery is best kept a secret. For the following thirteen days, only a few people knew what I was doing or where it was happening. The twenty-five minute trek from our cabin to the seaside ledge bank passed a dozen uninhabited summer cottages, crossed a tidal inlet, skirted a freshwater pond favored by eider ducks and crested a hill that provided a broad view east of peaks on a mainland mountain chain and a ragged line of uninhabited islets, anchored to the west, out in the North Atlantic Ocean. Once on site, I settled into a routine of dry stone construction.

After the construction rose up a ways it was time to incorporate scaffolding. Boards built into the stonework provided support for a catwalk used for holding a stone supply and buckets of hearting. It was also where I stood to continue setting pieces into the construction at a 90 degree angle to the guide strings. Eventually, a second support system and walkway was added. 

Walling progresses with ease when it becomes a rhythmic activity. Stones picked from below the high tide line were carried up the ledge steps, placed on the scaffolding, set into the piece and backed with hearting. The process repeated itself again and again, the weather being the only thing making changes throughout the work day.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. There was no expectation that once the owner viewed the land art piece I’d created along the edge of their property that they would be pleased. In fact, I had every reason to think that they would take offense at my trespass and insist the stones be returned to where they were gathered from. At the time of this writing, the land owner has been made aware of my intrusion and seen photographs of the piece. We await to hear whether they consider the work a travesty or a treasure.

All credit due to Håvard Lund and The Arctic Hideaway’s caretaker, Melissa Davies. Misha Diaconu was the heart of the art making spirt there. Our four week stay was a true delight.