Boats, in any form, mark the relationship between human life and the sea. They embody both necessity and aspiration. During recent travels in Iceland, three places illustrated that connection with particular clarity: the modest fishing harbor of Bakkagerði, a cruise ship waiting quietly in Húsavík Bay, and the Sun Voyager sculpture in Reykjavik. Each expresses the enduring dialogue between human ambition and Iceland’s vast natural presence, shaping one another in subtle ways.

The Concept Behind the Lens

The ongoing series 21st Century Trolls examines where human structures meet Iceland’s raw geology. It explores how built objects—lighthouses, boats, churches, sculptures—stand as traces of our activity within the landscape. The term “trolls” refers to Icelandic folklore, where mythical beings turned to stone when touched by sunlight. In a modern sense, our constructions are today’s equivalents: human-made forms left to weather and endure within an environment that remains largely indifferent to their presence. These objects are not relics but testimonies to persistence and imagination, to the continuous impulse to build, reach, and leave a mark.

Bakkagerði: Where Mountains Meet the Sea

The small harbor of Bakkagerði, situated in Borgarfjörður Eystri, is surrounded by steep mountains and exposed to the open sea. Yet the atmosphere is quiet and peaceful.

Small vessels, occasionally drawn up on the volcanic soil, speak of past relaxing outings in tranquil atmosphere. However, their sometimes weathered hulls contrast with the dark basalt and grey sea, forming an image of quiet endurance against conditions that can be much harsher and wilder than on the lovely day when I was there.

The atmosphere of this place is consistent with this region’s character: subdued, often overcast, yet strangely luminous. In this subdued light, the ordinary details—paint peeling, ropes coiled, seaweed clinging to hulls—gain an unintentional dignity. The marina’s presence seems less about commerce than continuity.

Húsavík: The Stillness of Transit

Farther west, in northern Iceland, the bay of Húsavík opens toward the Greenland Sea. On calm summer mornings, the light on the water creates a silver sheen that mirrors the sky. It was under such conditions that a cruise ship anchored offshore, waiting to disembark passengers. The vessel, large but not imposing, stood quietly against the horizon. Its geometric lines and white surface reflected the shifting light, forming a contrast to the rugged cliffs that frame the bay.

Unlike the working harbors elsewhere along the coast, the scene here was defined by stillness. Small tenders moved between the ship and the dock, the only signs of movement on an otherwise tranquil expanse of water. Gulls circled in slow arcs overhead, their calls punctuating the subdued soundscape. The ship’s waiting state—motionless, almost contemplative—mirrored the balance between human order and natural calm that defines many Icelandic coastal scenes.

In such moments, the distinction between industrial design and landscape blurs. The ship, a product of engineering, becomes part of the environment’s composition rather than an intrusion upon it. Its temporary presence hints at the transience of travel: the arrival, the departure, and the quiet pause between the two.

The Sun Voyager: Dreams Forged in Steel

Reykjavik’s Sun Voyager (Sólfar), located not far from the small but lovely Höfði Lighthouse, represents the same impulse in sculptural form. Crafted by the artist Jón Gunnar Árnason and unveiled in 1990, it stands as a tribute to exploration, progress, and imagined journeys. Despite its ship-like form, it was never intended as a Viking vessel but as a symbol—a dreamboat pointing toward discovery. Constructed from polished stainless steel, the sculpture interacts dynamically with its surroundings, reflecting the changing light of Faxaflói Bay and the forms of passing clouds.

Photographing it is less a technical challenge than an exercise in observation. Every shift in weather alters its surface and mood. At sunrise, the metal glows with warm amber; at dusk, it turns cold and mirrorlike. Also, photographing the sculpture was a waiting game, a test of patience. It is rather difficult to get a shot of it without other tourists (aka as 21st Century Trolls) walking into the scene or posing for a selfie with the sculpture in the background.

The Sun Voyager is less a monument to the past than a projection toward a horizon that always recedes. It embodies a form of anticipation, not nostalgia. Árnason’s concept ties directly into the 21st Century Trolls motif: an artifact of human imagination placed within, and ultimately humbled by, its environment.

21st Century Trolls – The Traces We Leave Behind

Across Iceland, such constructions—boats, harbors, sculptures—demonstrate how human ambition engages with scale and impermanence. Each is provisional, yet each aspires toward something beyond its material existence. The fishing harbors endure harsh conditions; the cruise ship passes briefly through northern waters; the Sun Voyager remains fixed in Reykjavik, its form continually rewritten by light. All serve as evidence of the same tendency: to reach outward, to persist, and to leave traces that affirm our participation in the world.

In photographing these scenes, the intent is not to romanticize but to observe: to register form, light, and relationship. The images become less about the objects themselves and more about what they reveal—the meeting point of endurance and imagination, of built structure and elemental force.