I traveled to Iceland driven by a force that carried me north to try to understand why in a landscape completely foreign to me, I felt at home, protected by the walls of an imaginary refuge. Without giving me answers, I realized that this land has managed to ignite the sparks of memory in me, stimulating my unconscious to recognize places and objects as familiar even though I met them for the first time on my journey. So traces have become signs, objects have become childhood memories and an unknown land has become home.
This is the story of my relationship with the island; a land of “ancient solitude” as Manganelli defines it in his book Isola Pianeta, it is this feeling of solitude, not sought but somehow necessary, that carried me along the endless coasts of the west fjords.
The path I trace guides me inside this refuge made of land and sea, finally aware that home has never been so close.