I was on a trip in Iceland. It had been five days with my friends, driving around in RVs, our little homes crammed with people we hadn’t seen in a year but filled with love. Homemade dinners, everyone swapping motorhomes to taste some of each. Pitstops at inspiring places when the mood struck. Sunsets and sunrises that made us all squeal with joy and then immediately stop, and quiet ourselves, and reflect.

It was our last evening. We had been taking pictures for hours in the lava fields. Night was coming for us despite our resistance. We had one more campground to find. One more sleep until we all left the next morning. I called a stop to the shooting so that we could pack up, but I didn’t listen to my own command. As I stood in the lava field, watching everyone slowly pack up, I didn’t want to go. I had an overwhelming, all-encompassing feeling that I should not be leaving – that I belonged there. I stood for what felt like seconds but was certainly longer, staring out at the bleak yet beautiful dropping sun, almost hidden entirely through the misty clouds.

I had been gone for three weeks. I would be returning home the next day. A trip back home is sometimes a welcome thing. I love being home. But on a trip like this one, something changes in you. You see the world more profoundly, and when you do, it is hard to leave. So I stood there, while everyone else did all the work of packing up, and I let it wash over me. It was that feeling of understanding, like your entire person has expanded because of a deeper connection with everything around you. I felt as though I was being spoken to through the bottoms of my bare feet resting easy on the soft moss.

It was cold, but I hardly remember shivering. It started raining, but I don’t remember the drops. It was getting dark, but I only remember the light.

I called out to Jen. I told her to quickly, and discreetly (before anyone else could see that I was shooting even longer despite telling others to stop) put on a dress and meet me over in the field. In about one minute I had her jumping on bouncy rocks, flicking her hair about, swooshing her dress…and then she was running back to the camper to get warm.

I stood there wondering, before she came over to pose for me, what would I create? If I could do away with what was cliche or what anyone expected of me, what would I create. And that was when it was obvious, like the image was burned there in my mind already. I would create what I felt. I would create what cannot be, yet is my truth. I would photograph her floating, being lifted by the light that didn’t exist but in my mind. I would create an image indicative of my experience there in that lava field, utterly surreal in that surreal place, completely elevated by that experience.