Introducing Borealis

In summer 2024, I made my first trip to the isolated arctic archipelago of Svalbard. Svalbard is the world's northernmost inhabited island in the world, with its largest settlement of Longyearbyen only 800 miles south of the North Pole. It's a place with a peculiar history, and contentious future, with the island being a sovereign state of Norway, though being open to all. It has both Norwegian and Russian settlements, and it is one of the few places in the world where you can arrive, live, and work without a visa. Interestingly, it is also a part of the world that has no native human population. Humanity was not meant to inhabit this part of the world.

Visiting in the summertime, I experienced my first midnight sun, explored the seas and glaciers, hiked inland, and learned about the island's history of exploration. The sea and its adjacent glaciers were a vivid icy blue, and the land a mix of earthen mud and muted-green thawed tundra. Upon visiting Longyearbyen's (surprisingly sophisticated) art gallery, I discovered the artist Kåre Tveter, a Norwegian painter. I became enraptured by his oil paintings of storms and changing light during the island's long winter.

 

"Svalbard is fierce, solitary, angst-filled; it allows me to put my own existence in perspective. I have found reality here. And beauty."  ~ Kåre Tveter

 

I decided to return during the transition from polar night to midnight sun, to experience the juxtaposition of light and weather in such an extreme climate. Having summer's permanent light had its advantages for exploration, but I felt drawn to the possibility of experiencing the archipelago at its most savage.

In March 2025, I travelled back to Svalbard during the winter. I convinced fellow Hackney Downs Studios resident and visual artist Coline L'Achiver, of Studio Cosmogram, to accompany me and experience the severity of the arctic for herself.

Less than 24 hours after arriving, I set off on an eight-hour snowmobile excursion to the east coast of the island, accompanied by a Finnish guide and a lovely group of fellow explorers. Despite having been raised in the Rocky Mountains of Canada, I was amazed by the vastness and severity of the climate. Driving through whiteouts, blizzards, and light snowfall, I experienced the beauty of seeing land and the sky merge together into a singular white. In less poetic terms, I exclaimed "it feels like I'm riding through an ice cream cone!" The whiteness would break for black punctuations of rock, a reindeer emerging from the mist, or the most magnificent glaciers I have ever seen. We stopped for breaks at the glaciers, and I admired the patterns of ice and variant colours of turquoise that emerged from the snow. It was as if a diamond was emerging from the earth. Despite driving a snowmobile at 60 km/hour across uneven snow and ice, I spent most of the day in an observant, peaceful trance.

A few days later I set off on a nighttime excursion on snowmobile, accompanied by Coline. Under the moonlight, we drove to a Sami-style hut in the valley. We admired the nighttime sky, the mystical appearance of a wooden hut and fire in the wild, and I felt a sense of accomplishment convincing a sophisticated French artist to traverse across the tundra with me.

Our time in town consisted of cosy coffees, watercolour illustrations, further learning on the island's history, aurora borealis (northern lights) sightings, and tempting frostbite as we tried to take photos of the shifting light in the frigid cold.

Our final adventure culminated in a chaotic mushing experience with six huskies. Despite the energy of the dogs, the silence when travelling by natural means (versus the combustive engine of a snow mobile) brought a different kind of calm. On this excursion we both sighted an incredible grey gradient in the mountains and sky. We both were drawn to this subtle expression of colour, and Coline became inspired to try to replicate this with ombre screenprint once back in London.

Svalbard is a place of many contrasts. Talking with the island's Russian inhabitants, they spoke with sadness of years past where (now-defunct) Ukrainian settlements would compete with Russian and Norwegian settlements in the 'Arctic Games'. An act of play had disintegrated into today's act of war. 

The archipelago is a place where so many of the world's contradictions come face to face - climate change and a booming economy; tourism and preservation; peaceful coexistence and struggle for geopolitical domination. It's an incredible part of the world to experience now, though there's growing tension on the island over climate change and international political forces angling for control over the most northern part of our planet.

I cannot postulate that a fashion and art collection inspired by this isolated place can challenge any of these issues. At times it feels futile to filter this tension into something merely aesthetic. As with all of my work, I can only hope that by raising awareness of these faraway climates and places it can make the world feel smaller, more relatable. Fear, arrogance, and misunderstanding are the undercurrents of much of the world's turmoil. It is a very small part to play, but I humbly aim to transmit unity, curiosity, and understanding through beauty. 

~ Katarina (Founder & Creative Director)

 

Borealis - a slow fashion exploration coming November 2025.