This page simply reformats the Flickr public Atom feed for purposes of finding inspiration through random exploration. These images are not being copied or stored in any way by this website, nor are any links to them or any metadata about them. All images are © their owners unless otherwise specified.
This site is a busybee project and is supported by the generosity of viewers like you.
Some adventurous people hiking in the Kerlingarfjöll mountains taking in the amazing landscape this part of the highlands of Iceland has to offer.
Kerlingarfjöll is the ultimate year-round paradise for adventure-seekers.
For image licensing or print enquiries, please contact me at: [email protected]
Kerlingarfjöll is the ultimate year-round paradise for adventure-seekers.
For image licensing or print enquiries, please contact me at: [email protected]
Kerlingarfjöll is the ultimate year-round paradise for adventure-seekers.
For image licensing or print enquiries, please contact me at: [email protected]
Walkers climbing the ridge as steam rises from the earth at Hveradalir geothermal area in Mt. Kerlingarfjöll in the highlands of Iceland, which is one of the largest high-temperature geothermal areas in Iceland.
First of all, I wish everyone a great end to 2024 and an even better start of 2025!
This is a photo from my favorite 2024 hike - and it is of course Iceland, Landmannalaugar to be precise.
A place where the colors of the Rhyolite mountains are just insanely beautiful. Also one of those places where you'd likely ask yourself if this is a real place on earth - luckily it is.
For someone who almost exclusively hikes solo, being alone in such places is almost like a mystical experience. The silence and that view were worth the trip to Iceland by themselves.
Getting to this particular viewpoint requires wading the very cold Jokulgilskvisl River and, generally speaking, it's a tough hike. But it's well worth the effort.
I also made a video of this hike - for those interested it's the latest one on my YouTube channel.
Hiking & Photography Blog / Instagram / YouTube / Prints
The sensational Dettifoss waterfall in North East Iceland.
Posted a colour version of this back in 2016 but here is the long-awaited mono version.
There are couple of little blobs just to the left of the waterfall that are people on the opposite shore.
Fuji X-T1, XF 18-55/2.8-4 R LM OIS, 6.5 secs at f/8, ISO 200. Lee Seven5 10 Stop "Little Stopper" ND Filter.
Icelandic highlands
Taken from the rim of Víti Crater in the Krafla fracture zone, North Iceland. Hlíðarfjall (771m) dominating the skyline to the south through the dust storm.
Víti crater was formed in 1724 by a massive eruption in the Krafla region. The crater is technically a maar or explosion crater and lies within the broader environment of the Krafla caldera. Krafla itself is behind and left of the camera.
Extensive harvesting of geothermal energy (steam) also takes place in this area with Krafla being considered among Iceland's most active volcanos with around 29 recorded events since the island was settled.
September 2015 archive.
Fuji X-T1, XF 55-200 f/3.5-4.8 R LM OIS, 1/100th sec at f/10, ISO 200 ~55mm
Veiðivötn, Icelandic highlands
Somewhere, Iceland, July 2024
How far can you go with abstraction and minimalism before a photo no longer conveys any emotions and becomes merely graphic?
This following series is rather inconspicuous, quiet, and very abstract, reduced to simple forms. The photos were all taken in heavy rain. The “fog” in the background is actually a dense wall of fine droplets that soaks through weatherproof clothing in minutes. The strong wind played its part, and the temperature had dropped significantly that day. So it was genuinely cold. Despite the abstraction, the photos still give me a strong sense of coldness I felt in that moment.
Still, I believe the feeling these photos convey is subjective. Or rather, whether they convey any feeling at all depends on the viewer. For me, it works, and I’m amazed at how far I can push minimalism without losing the feeling I had that day.
I’d love to experiment more with this approach when I get the chance. I feel there’s still much to explore in making these kinds of images more aesthetically interesting and emotional—without losing the minimalism and sense of calm.
Somewhere, Iceland, July 2024
How far can you go with abstraction and minimalism before a photo no longer conveys any emotions and becomes merely graphic?
This following series is rather inconspicuous, quiet, and very abstract, reduced to simple forms. The photos were all taken in heavy rain. The “fog” in the background is actually a dense wall of fine droplets that soaks through weatherproof clothing in minutes. The strong wind played its part, and the temperature had dropped significantly that day. So it was genuinely cold. Despite the abstraction, the photos still give me a strong sense of coldness I felt in that moment.
Still, I believe the feeling these photos convey is subjective. Or rather, whether they convey any feeling at all depends on the viewer. For me, it works, and I’m amazed at how far I can push minimalism without losing the feeling I had that day.
I’d love to experiment more with this approach when I get the chance. I feel there’s still much to explore in making these kinds of images more aesthetically interesting and emotional—without losing the minimalism and sense of calm.
Somewhere, Iceland, July 2024
How far can you go with abstraction and minimalism before a photo no longer conveys any emotions and becomes merely graphic?
This following series is rather inconspicuous, quiet, and very abstract, reduced to simple forms. The photos were all taken in heavy rain. The “fog” in the background is actually a dense wall of fine droplets that soaks through weatherproof clothing in minutes. The strong wind played its part, and the temperature had dropped significantly that day. So it was genuinely cold. Despite the abstraction, the photos still give me a strong sense of coldness I felt in that moment.
Still, I believe the feeling these photos convey is subjective. Or rather, whether they convey any feeling at all depends on the viewer. For me, it works, and I’m amazed at how far I can push minimalism without losing the feeling I had that day.
I’d love to experiment more with this approach when I get the chance. I feel there’s still much to explore in making these kinds of images more aesthetically interesting and emotional—without losing the minimalism and sense of calm.
Somewhere, Iceland, July 2024
How far can you go with abstraction and minimalism before a photo no longer conveys any emotions and becomes merely graphic?
This following series is rather inconspicuous, quiet, and very abstract, reduced to simple forms. The photos were all taken in heavy rain. The “fog” in the background is actually a dense wall of fine droplets that soaks through weatherproof clothing in minutes. The strong wind played its part, and the temperature had dropped significantly that day. So it was genuinely cold. Despite the abstraction, the photos still give me a strong sense of coldness I felt in that moment.
Still, I believe the feeling these photos convey is subjective. Or rather, whether they convey any feeling at all depends on the viewer. For me, it works, and I’m amazed at how far I can push minimalism without losing the feeling I had that day.
I’d love to experiment more with this approach when I get the chance. I feel there’s still much to explore in making these kinds of images more aesthetically interesting and emotional—without losing the minimalism and sense of calm.
Skaftá, Iceland, July 2024
What I find particularly fascinating and challenging about composition in photography is how deceptively simple it seems on location, and how often I realize later that I got it quite wrong.
Having worked as a designer for decades, and spent much of my life designing, drawing, and painting. Thoughts about composition, contrast, and colors are second nature to me. My eyes and brain are fairly well trained, and many aspects of visual balance come intuitively.
When I set up a camera, four questions immediately come to mind:
1. What can and should be left out?
2. Are the proportions between the elements in the frame balanced?
3. How are the tonal values, and how do they relate to one another?
4. Is the composition visually pleasing?
I take several shots, keeping these questions in mind. During this process, I often shift the camera’s position looking for the optimal composition. With a digital camera, this allows me to see the actual tonal values as the camera "sees" them. So far, these are all trivial things.
Things get quite “dramatic” at home when I compare the shots, searching for the interesting ones. It often surprises and frustrates me to realise how overconfident I was on location. The slightest shifts in the camera’s alignment can dramatically affect the quality of the photo. Moving just slightly down or to the right can throw off the balance or flatten the scene. I’m frequently baffled by how such minor changes in position, angle, and focal length can have such a large impact.
It frustrates me that I didn’t catch these nuances or even think to check for them while shooting. I feel ashamed that I once again didn't notice my overconfidence, even though I should have known better by now. Of course, I am aware that the photos are not necessarily unusable because of this. But I'm still annoyed about missed opportunities where I could have learned something and I have to hope that I don't make the same mistake again next time.
Please don’t get me wrong—I’m not trying to make my work look bad or fish for compliments. I just want to learn. As I share these thoughts with you, I hope to hear your experience on this topic. How do you approach things on site, and how do you avoid your own pitfalls?
Skaftá, Iceland, July 2024
Have you ever experienced something like this?
Getting started with editing my photos from Iceland felt unusually difficult. Normally, I can hardly wait to dive in—often before I even get back home. But not this time. Every time I sat down to sort through the photos, I felt a strange reluctance, almost a sense of repulsion.
I assume it has something to do with my desire to think in larger series—something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. But I’m finding it surprisingly difficult. There are many ways to turn a seemingly loose pile of photos into a coherent set. One approach I find particularly appealing is starting with 2-3 photos that inspire you. You edit them, bring out their character, and then look for others that complement the group. What “complement” means, of course, can be many things.
And that’s where I hit a wall. Nothing worked for weeks.
I was only able to break through when I decided to think in smaller series—not 12, 15 or so, but just 3 photos at a time. That worked. The different sets don’t necessarily fit together graphically, but clearly, I needed to start small.
Still, the intensity and length of the blockage really took me by surprise.
Somewhere in Veiðivötn, Iceland, July 2024
Have you ever experienced something like this?
Getting started with editing my photos from Iceland felt unusually difficult. Normally, I can hardly wait to dive in—often before I even get back home. But not this time. Every time I sat down to sort through the photos, I felt a strange reluctance, almost a sense of repulsion.
I assume it has something to do with my desire to think in larger series—something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. But I’m finding it surprisingly difficult. There are many ways to turn a seemingly loose pile of photos into a coherent set. One approach I find particularly appealing is starting with 2-3 photos that inspire you. You edit them, bring out their character, and then look for others that complement the group. What “complement” means, of course, can be many things.
And that’s where I hit a wall. Nothing worked for weeks.
I was only able to break through when I decided to think in smaller series—not 12, 15 or so, but just 3 photos at a time. That worked. The different sets don’t necessarily fit together graphically, but clearly, I needed to start small.
Still, the intensity and length of the blockage really took me by surprise.
Þóristindur, Iceland, July 2024
This photo has a special meaning for me. It shows me that self-perception often has nothing to do with reality. It's a bit painful to be made aware of this so clearly, but at the same time very valuable - both as a person and as a photographer.
Even though I occasionally enjoy capturing well-known and frequently photographed places, my heart belongs to discovering subtle beauty that often only exists in the moment. In my opinion, this is the magic of landscape photography: leaving the beaten track, following your intuition not knowing what awaits you around the corner. To spend days in a silent dialog with yourself, eyes wide open and vigilant. To experience the wind, clouds, sun, rain, snow, fog, sand, hills, mountains, rivers, lakes, stones and to create an aesthetic synthesis that captures the uniqueness of what you experience.
As fulfilling as this process may be, it is not easy to produce aesthetically exciting work. Of course, we photographers are aware of this. But if it is to be an aspiration then the ability to discover hidden beauty and compose it in a photographically meaningful way must be learned. Developing an intuition for places, things and light does not happen by itself. It requires lots of practice. However, if you only follow trends and popular and well-worn places, this ability atrophies.
Yeah, so much for my self-image.
This picture is a bad copy of Bruce Percy's photo, which you can find here, also the gallery. Bruce, as far as I know, follows similar principles as I described above, which is one of the reasons his work has a big influence on me. When I took this photo, I only thought of elements like “stone island in the foreground”, “mountain range in the background” and “hills of black sand inbetween” that I could vaguely recall in his work. But I didn't have THAT particular photo in mind, at least not consciously. It was only during editing when I noticed that I had made a copy. Don't get me wrong, I still like it.
Although I stayed away from popular places, the influence of Bruce Percy was so strong that I followed his work without realising it. This experience shows me how deeply we are influenced in our thinking and seeing by others. My self-image as an individual photographer is an ideal that I will continue to follow. But now I know that it will always remain just that: An ideal.
(Something tells me, Bruce is very familiar with this experience)
Langisjor, Iceland, July 2024
During my trip to Iceland this year, I did quite a number of river crossings in my big boy Land Cruiser. This car is huge—and it needed to be, as some of the river crossings were quite challenging. But there was this one particular crossing on the F208 south route near Landmannalaugar. I think it was the Kirkjufellsós river, though I’m not 100% sure. After examining the river, it seemed a bit more challenging, but I figured it was nothing special, as I’ve crossed rivers of similar difficulty many times before. It was about 50 cm deep with a gentle current on the right and about 30 cm deep with a relatively strong current on the left. I chose the deeper but calmer right-hand side. Everything went fine, though the depth was a bit scary.
Later that day, on my way back, I decided to take the other side. I drove slowly, and halfway across the river, the front of the car suddenly dropped sharply. Water rushed vigorously over the hood and splashed onto the windshield. By the way, the car didn’t have a snorkel, so engine drowning was a real concern.
What a terrifying moment!
Luckily, the front went up again immediately, but the car started making some strange noises. Terrified and in expectation of a total disaster at any moment, I kept driving calmly. The car seemed to „agree“ and I was able to continue driving.
What the hell was that? A huge hole in the river? How much must I have sunk for the water to spill over this huge car? Was it the current? I kept thinking about it for days and just had to go back and take a closer look. When I returned to the spot, I put on my rubber boots and literally walked every inch of the crossing. Nothing. No holes. A relatively easy river crossing. I crossed the river several more times later—completely uneventful.
To this day, I still have no idea what really happened. Luckily, the car was fine. There were no signs of any damage afterward.
Can someone with more river crossing experience explain what happened?
.jpg){kind=link}