By Lisette van der Geest
,,What a crazy shit, young man. I flew.” Kjeld Nuis stands barefoot on a moose skin in a tipi tent on a frozen Norwegian lake. He grins all his teeth to a small group of listeners. His right hand moves rapidly, as if it were a skate iron. About imaginary bumps with accompanying gigantic speeds, accompanied by spontaneously invented sounds. “Like zzzttt and pffft.”