Sigurd Andersen

Sigurd Andersen spends his life in the haunted damp of South Georgia's defunct whaling station, shadowing around the crumpled remnants of industry. Once a mainlander full of forgotten names, he now clings to faces, each marked by the cuts and scars of maritime life. By day, he repairs both minor and existential breakdowns, filing the eerie quiet with the metallic clang of iron meeting iron, and by night, alone in his hollowed-out corner, he frets over the switchpoints of dreams.