Katrín Gunnarsdóttir’s bare feet pat the plexiglass mirror on stage. It’s the only sound in the theater. The patter quickens with her pace, she starts to breathe louder, louder, louder, faster, and then cut.

Sveinbjörn Thorarensen is a recurring pattern in the patchwork of Reykjavík’s culture collage. As a solo producer he’s Hermigervill. On the afternoon that I meet him, in the basement headquarters of the Icelandic Dance Company, he has three gigs lined up after our interview. The last time I saw him he was banging his head against a piano and hypnotizing the Reykjavík City Theatre crowd with his theramin.