Icegate

Katla is an Icelandic glacier that coexists with a volcano: beneath the Mýrdalsjökull ice cap, an active magmatic system pulses, occasionally interacting with the overlying ice. This does not make its behavior “different” from that of other glaciers from the perspective of glacial dynamics – Katla flows, cracks, and reshapes itself for the same physical reasons that govern any mass of ice – but its proximity to the volcano adds an intermittent factor: subglacial eruptions and geothermal activity can cause rapid melting, water flows, and jökulhlaups that quickly reshape the area.

In November 2022, I decided to venture into this ice with a clear intention. I had already been to this area to shoot Force of Attraction, and after the mistakes of the first trip, reaching it was not particularly difficult. After my last experience, this time I wanted to focus on photographing the interior of the glacier, and to do so, I would have to go through its enormous entrance cave.

Conditions were ideal. Dry ground, clear air, intense sun. Contrary to many of my usual searches, here strong light was not a limitation, but an ally. I needed contrast, three-dimensionality, sharp shadows that could interact with the deep blue of the ice and the warmer reflections of direct light. Inside the cave, I observed for a long time, letting the space suggest the composition. The entrance itself was the answer: that line of ice that started to the left of my feet and led the gaze towards the opening, in perfect harmony with the vibrant texture of the walls.

I set up the tripod and started shooting, but the photograph only found its definitive form when the sun appeared at the entrance. A sharp, almost theatrical backlight transformed the interior of the cave into a play of glittering surfaces and deep shadows. At that moment, I was inside an ice giant that, for a few moments, seemed to breathe light. A visual and physical experience that remains imprinted far beyond the image.

Six months later, at the beginning of spring, I returned to the same place. Even from a distance, it was evident that something had changed. Where the large tunnel once opened, there was nothing left. The cave had completely collapsed. The glacier had reshaped itself, closing some passages and opening others, deeper, more internal ones. It was not a loss, but a transformation.

This image today not only documents a place that no longer exists in the same form. It is a testament to the volatility of things, to the fragility of structures we take for granted, even when they appear monumental. In an increasingly evident context of climate change, Katla's ice becomes a symbol of an unstable balance: powerful, magnificent, but temporary. It reminds us that nothing is definitive, and that even what seems eternal can change shape, disappear, and be reborn elsewhere.