For years I had been captivated by the beautifully sparse landscapes of Iceland. I’d spend hours absorbing images of stunning waterfalls, fjords hugging the coast, massive glacial fingers reaching toward the sea and expansive lava fields completely void of foliage. These were things of dreams. It was almost as if the lonely Nordic island in the middle of the Atlantic was another planet altogether, completely alien and unobtainable.
That was, until one summer night when a close friend and I were sitting on his back porch catching up over beers after a few months apart. As always, we began discussing where we each hoped to travel to next. I began fantasizing about Iceland and before I had the opportunity to finish my thought he interrupted, “I’ve been tracking roundtrip tickets to Iceland for months—I’m buying one this week, you in?” And like that my dreams of photographing Iceland’s vast and desolate landscapes were no longer a fantasy.