Patagonia, between ice and flat light.
Some landscapes teach you how to look. Southern Patagonia is one of them: it forces you to accept the white of the sky, the silver grey of the water, the horizon that never ends. On this trip I went as far as the last kilometre of Route 3 — Tierra del Fuego, El Calafate, the Nimez lagoon — and came back with a series that refuses easy drama.
There are no rosy sunrises here: there is a turquoise iceberg floating alone in front of the peaks, pink flamingos drawing a choreography reflected on the still water, a penguin walking towards the camera as if unaware of being photographed. The palette, stripped down — icy blues, dry ochres, whites — carries the work.
