Chromatic Fluid

The geothermal area of Hverir, in northern Iceland, on the shores of Lake Mývatn, represents one of the rawest and most direct manifestations of the island's volcanic activity. Here, heat does not emerge through water pools as in Hveravellir, but through solfataras, fumaroles, and boiling mud pots. The soil is dry, friable, devoid of vegetation, impregnated with sulfur and minerals that surface as light and dark clay muds. When these muds settle and dry, they stain the ground like natural tempera, creating complex, unstable, and continuously transforming chromatic surfaces.

After several days spent in the interior of Iceland along the F35, I reached Hverir by heading north. From the first flyovers, it was clear that this place required a different interpretation: not vertical in the landscape sense, but aerial and close-up, capable of isolating the surfaces from their context. I used the drone at a low altitude, moving slowly over the ground.

This is how Chromatic Fluid 1, Chromatic Fluid 2, and Merge were born. As I progressively approached the ground, the shapes began to change before my eyes: streaks resembling the movement of water, interrupted flows, areas of chromatic fusion where different elements seemed to meet and blend. The closer the distance, the more the landscape lost all geographical connotation, transforming into a fluid, almost dynamic field, where matter still seemed to be in motion despite its apparent immobility.

These images do not stem from a specific event, but from prolonged observation. They capture a moment in which the ground, while solid, retains the appearance of something still happening. In Chromatic Fluid 1 and Chromatic Fluid 2, color dominates as the primary element, appearing fluid, as if perhaps immersed in a liquid, while in Merge, the surfaces seem to merge, blurring the boundaries between individual components. All three works share the same formation process, but each aims to convey a different perception of the same phenomenon.

In Hverir, the landscape does not present itself as a definitive form, but as a trace of an ongoing chemical and geological process. These photographs do not seek to explain that process, but to capture a moment: a temporary, fragile condition, destined to change again, in which the earth appears more like a fluid substance than a stable surface.