There’s a kind of clarity Iceland forces on you. Its landscapes erase distraction not by offering peace, but by stripping away the options.
a strange and beautiful contradiction
a strange and beautiful contradiction
There’s a kind of clarity Iceland forces on you. Its landscapes erase distraction not by offering peace, but by stripping away the options.
If you’re lucky enough to live near a collection like the Met Museum, you go often. Again and again. It’s a place to train one’s act of seeing, to refocus attention like a muscle.
At the southeastern edge of Hong Kong Island, the land ends in a scatter of rock and spray. Just a research facility, an old lighthouse and granite breaking into the South China Sea.
Winter strips Mount Takao down to its essentials. Roots, stones, slick wooden stairs. The snow blurs the path just enough to make each step a choice.
An extravagantly boring village in rugged Cornwall. The land is a record of the conversation between earth and sea that has unfolded for millennia.
In Ichihara, there is an unusual public toilet with its own enclosed garden. The outhouse is constructed entirely of glass so the prospect of having the sun shine where it normally don’t might spark a frisson of excitement… or disquiet.
Pick a train line, make a playlist, bring a buddy and you’re set for a city-rail hike.
