Iceland, by Eugenio Montejo, describes a sensation or even a way of being alive. It is a way to be and no to be; it is feeling in the midst of being rooted or uprooted, a desire to be while being and not being at once.
Iceland is a meeting point, a place to kick the table, to break schemes (or put them back together) Iceland is a need born from four hands, which can, like everything, end up with a hundred of them, or simply end.
Iceland is and it is not. It is a Caravan that passed. It is an intimate, yet shared, space.
Iceland is a meeting point, a place to kick the table, to break schemes (or put them back together) Iceland is a need born from four hands, which can, like everything, end up with a hundred of them, or simply end.
Iceland is and it is not. It is a Caravan that passed. It is an intimate, yet shared, space.