09/09/2026
Some journeys are not meant to be documented.
They are meant to be absorbed.
Last year I travelled to Iceland with the desire to observe its landscapes, but photography soon became something more intimate: a way of collecting fragments of a place and translating them into my own visual language.
I worked with different forms of image-making — photographing the landscape, creating Polaroids, experimenting with lumen prints made from plants and seaweed, and creating poetic portraits of my dear friend Gabi Barnat immersed in the vastness of nature.
Each process became a different way of listening.
The imperfections of the analogue image, the marks left by organic matter, the unpredictability of light and chemistry, the movement of a body through an immense landscape — all became part of the work.
I am interested in what happens when photography moves beyond representation.
When an image is no longer simply a record of what was there, but becomes a trace of an encounter.
Iceland was not the subject.
It was the material.
A landscape to photograph, touch, transform and remember.
What remains is a collection of fragments —
of light, water, plants, skin and memory.
A journey, translated into images.
