Sumi-e and Ice-Cold Beer

“In leaving something unsaid, the beholder is given a chance to complete the idea.”

— Kakuzō Okakura, The Book of Tea —

You may or may not agree with me on whether or not landscape photography is a proper form of art. I, for my part, certainly think so for a number of reasons that go way beyond the scope of this little intro. While, arguably, it may not allow quite as much creative freedom as painting, the creative intent is (or should be) very similar: to translate a physical environment into something that conveys an emotional experience. In my view, the goal should not be to merely “document reality” (whatever that may be) but rather to evoke emotion, reflect mood, tell a story, etc.

As hopefully evidenced by some of my work here, I often have a preference for photos with a “painterly look.” By that I mean soft, low-contrast light, muted colors, and/or long-exposure effects that create silky water or streaky clouds. I like images that prioritize mood and atmosphere over slavish realism without going overboard in post-processing.

The high-key images in this gallery are unique in that they, although technically color photos, appear almost perfectly monochromatic. In a way, they are the exact tonal opposite of the images in the “Dark Face of Mordor” gallery — shot in pretty much the same remote area, but on a winter expedition in February 2025.

Black lava sand peeking through a wind-swept layer of pristine white snow creates the illusion of a chalk drawing or a Japanese sumi-e, a black-ink painting. The very idea of a sumi-e is to capture the essence of a subject with a few deliberate brush strokes. Simplicity, mindfulness and the beauty of omission play into that idea, lending itself perfectly to what I usually try to achieve through my photography.

The white “canvas” and the black “brush strokes” were already there right in front of my eyes, ready to be captured. The hard part was to try and make sense of what was there, find compositional rhythm, isolate individual scenes and visually arrange lines and curves through physical movement and lens choice. With weather fronts moving through, visibility kept changing, constantly concealing or revealing parts of the landscape.

Post-processing, on the other hand, was a breeze thanks to extremely soft light and overcast skies. After exposing the images to the far right of the histogram, all it took was some curve adjustments and rough masks to gently increase or decrease local contrast.

I appreciate that beauty always lies in the eye of the beholder, and the images here may not be everybody’s cup of tea. That is perfectly ok. These are, in a way, some of my more extreme examples of minimalism. I hold them very close to my heart, partly because I enjoy their simplicity and partly because it was a lot of fun taking them in the company I was in.

It was an epic trip in many ways, and I will never forget how our super jeep broke through the ice one afternoon, treating us to a 9-hour rescue operation involving a chainsaw and two massive vehicles that had to be called over all the way from Reykjavík. When they arrived, the leader of the rescue team threw us a bag full of ice-cold beers with a broad Viking smile and said: “You guys look like you could use a drink!” You gotta love the Icelandic people!

Since you have made it all the way to here, I’m going to let you in on a little secret: One of the images in this gallery is definitely in the top five of my personal faves of all time. Care to guess which one…?