Force of attraction

In Iceland, volcanoes and glaciers are not separate elements, but parts of the same system. Fire acts beneath the ice, and ice shapes what fire has created. Subglacial eruptions, lava flows, and continuous melting create unstable plains, crossed by fine sediments and a shifting network of glacial streams. The volcanic valleys preceding the Katla system are the direct result of this precarious balance: expanses of black, damp sand, almost devoid of fixed points, where water draws temporary lines and the ground changes consistency with every step. It is an open, vast landscape that does not guide the gaze but disperses it, keeping those who cross it in a state of continuous attention.

The first time I tried to reach this place, I made a simple yet revealing mistake. I followed an off-road track leading to a nearby canyon, convinced I could park and cross the valley on foot. Only once I was there did I realize the obvious: the numerous fords to overcome made crossing impracticable, especially with the pouring rain that accompanied the entire day. There was no intelligent solution, only the choice to turn back. At that moment, I felt almost foolish, as often happens when the environment effortlessly dismantles every presumption.

During the second trip, reaching this valley became my main objective. I carefully studied the access, an unmarked track, difficult to spot if you don't know exactly where to look. The road crosses an immense volcanic plain, a sea of black sand that slowly leads towards the ice. As one approaches, the landscape is charged with contrasts: the saturated black of the ground, and in the background, like an apparition, green mountains emerge, almost out of context, seemingly drawn to this dark void.

Force of Attraction arises from this tension. From the invisible force that holds opposing elements together: sand and water, stillness and motion, light and darkness. The weather was consistent with the place: a dismal, suspended day, interrupted for just an instant by a sudden opening. The low sunlight was sliding towards the sea when it crossed the valley. It lasted a very short time, but I was there, ready.
In Iceland, it's not about dominating the landscape, but about accepting its gravity and letting yourself be drawn in, without resistance.