Noon.
Sunset.
Dusk.
It comes over the mountains from the glaciers, who draw it from the sky and send it back to the sea as an image of themselves.
November 5, 2016, Viðey
It comes as a flood. It comes in a fog river many kilometres in width. It doesn’t come from the Atlantic. That is Caribbean water out there. Up in the sky, well, that is a far different thing. That is not this world at all.
When I landed in Reykjavik three weeks ago, I found a map of Iceland made of stone and ice, frozen in the harbour. It was cold that day, with a strong wind. Now I am in the East Fjords and the wind came up again, and look what I found …
A Map of Iceland in Water and Ice
Still not perfect, but getting there.
Oh, and where am I sending this image from? Here…
All day I’ve been working on Gunnar’s book Inseln im Großen Meer, or Islands in the Wide Sea, which chronicled Gunnar’s trip to the Islands of the Atlantic and the Spanish Mediterranean in 1928. It is a beautiful book, with islands of light appearing out of the great dark sea, which is not just water but childhood and paradise, changing as the light and his mood changes, and always foreboding and dangerous, with the kind of awe usually reserved for God. Today, in East Iceland, though, all that water is more like this …
Last Night’s Photograph of the Night by the Night…
… on a retina of ice.
This, too…