JPG

i knew nothing about iceland before i got on the flight other than what seanie blue told me. still to this day, i haven't read a book or one word beyond the wikipedia's discussion of seismology as it relates to iceland.

And yet i have come home with a picture of the landscape plastered on my heart like a tattoo, woo woo. (to quote a pop song that i would gladly have sold out to have written.)

This makes me rethink the importance of literature. i mean literature is essential to me, and information only makes the fiction i try to write even better. and yet what i am learning more and more is that there's something beyond the books that gets to the heart of what makes us feel alive - and that is what i'm after all the time it seems.

Thoreau in Walden refers to nature's ability to take you to this place where books cease to be important anymore and i know this is what i felt it in Iceland. being brought to the fore by such a striking place satisfied me on such a level that i lost my desire to know any more than what i absorbed by looking at every rock, crack, star, face and icy shore. my eyes gathered then bit then swallowed. i touched it, i froze in it, and i dreamt about that damn factory.

In the Waking Up in Djupavik photo essay.

Also in the At the Edge of Nowhere: Iceland photo essay.