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From the archives / Words

In 2015 my family and I visited Stykkishólmur. I took some photographs. They didn’t turn out any good but one way or the other the place stuck with me. Then, during the time between then and now, the images have somehow confirmed what seems to be the core of my photography; to provide comments on this and that, perspectives, answers perhaps, to questions that didn’t get asked at the time, questions that hadn’t yet reached the surface and possibly never would have been asked hadn’t it been for the photos and their commentaries.

The order here is a bit messed up, I see that, but that’s all right. As long as there is movement, some movement.

Fjord, islands, the unspectacular.

And Stykkishólmur. In a restless kind of way I wanted to love the place. Restless, not as in not genuine, but hollow. Either way, at the same time I was terrified to risk it, whatever it was, enough to suffocate whatever might have happened hadn’t it been for the fear of reaching for, or out, or..

I do believe it is a lovely, lovable place though. For what it’s worth.

A house on a hill.

*Stykkishólmur is a village on the Snæfellsnes peninsula in West Iceland.

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