At the foot of Svinafellsjökull, an offshoot of Europe's largest glacier, Vatnajökull, a frozen lake stretched out. Here, calved icebergs normally float, slowly becoming one with the water. But on that cold winter day, I encountered a completely different world. The lake was completely frozen over, caught in a moment of serene stillness.
The ice surface told a story of movement and stasis. The cracks, once caused by the dynamic force of the glacier and icebergs, had frozen over again. In those cracks, drifting snow had nestled, trapped in an icy embrace. The white lines drew jagged patterns, like veins in the blue-grey ice, making the landscape seem almost otherworldly.
What struck most was the deafening silence. No sloshing water or cracking ice. Only the breath of the wind, barely audible, caressed the frozen plain. The ice, now fully calmed, reflected the dim winter light, which spread in countless colours across the glistening surfaces.
I stood there, surrounded by the crackling sensation of cold that pulled deep into my bones, and the light that danced enchantingly on the cracked sheets. The silence, almost tangible, brought a sense of timelessness. As if the moment, caught between movement and freezing, would last forever. n. ?
My name is Gerry van Roosmalen, photographer and author with a passion for images and stories that touch. After years in the corporate world, I followed my heart and chose photography in 2002. I completed the Fotovakschool in Apeldoorn, specialising in portrait and reportage photography.
Documentary and landscape..
Read more…