Fittingly, the first time I saw icebergs had been in Iceland during winter. Immediately I was captivated by their still grace. A contemporary dancer behind a white veil, moving through the thick ether. Always moving without a sound, heavy gowns reflecting light in every direction. Always on the verge of, to the layman's eye, falling but seemingly magically recovering their pose. And the viewer realizes, behind the elaborate illusion this is the result of countless days of practice and patience.
The Icebergs of western Greenland, silent giants flowing out of the Ilulissat Icefjord are no different in principle, only in size. A choreography on a truly titanic scale with hundreds of thousands of little parts playing together – effortlessly – and in complete, divine silence.