Fire, Ice and Two Seasons

In May, my friend and fellow photographer Vincent Verstraete, who planned the journey, and I set out for Iceland, driven by a shared passion for its raw landscapes and elusive wildlife. What began as an idea quickly became a full expedition across a land of fire and ice.

We chased shifting light across black sand beaches, hiked through wind-battered valleys and stood beneath thunderous waterfalls that seemed to shake the earth. Along the way, we followed winding roads into the highlands, endured sudden Arctic squalls and waited in silence for moments when puffins took flight or wild horses emerged from the mist.

Each day revealed another face of Iceland, glaciers glowing at sunrise, volcanic craters beneath heavy skies and vast horizons that constantly reminded us of the scale and power of nature. It was a journey defined by unpredictability, patience and discovery, where every frame carried the spirit of adventure.

The January Return

I returned to Iceland in January, when the island seemed to have withdrawn into itself. The days were remarkably short, the light low and fleeting, and much of the summer birdlife had disappeared. Yet this absence created something I had not experienced in May: silence and solitude.

There were far fewer visitors, and familiar landscapes appeared almost unrecognisable beneath winter snow, darkness and changing weather. Roads stretched through vast, empty scenery, while brief periods of pale daylight could transform the mountains, glaciers and volcanic landscapes into something almost monochromatic.

This journey also had a very specific purpose: to search for the elusive Arctic fox. We spent time exploring and waiting, hoping for that fleeting encounter. It never came. The foxes remained hidden, and I returned without the photograph I had imagined.

Yet I have learned that not every journey is measured by what you manage to photograph. Sometimes the search, the waiting and even the absence of the expected encounter become part of the story.

January showed me another Iceland, quieter, harsher and more solitary. And although the Arctic fox remained unseen, the experience of standing in those vast winter landscapes, almost alone, was itself something worth remembering.

The first 36 images in this collection were captured during the May expedition, while the following 24 photographs come from my January return. Together, they reveal two very different faces of the same extraordinary island, one alive with summer wildlife and long northern days, the other shaped by winter, silence and fleeting light.