On April 1, 2016, the Ring Road in Iceland had not yet opened, but I was already driving east. I planned to drive around the island for 12 days, visiting ice lagoons, exploring glaciers, traversing snowfields, and searching for Viking relics in the mysterious moss-covered tundra. In my ignorance, I nearly fell into deadly swamps and sank into unfathomable snow pits. Even so, I was rewarded with the intimacy of Icelandic horses, which lined up like children for me to photograph. Staying on a farm, the owner hoped I would stay; they owned 1,000 hectares of land and glaciers. That night, a rare aurora appeared, and I was stunned and moved. The aurora belonged here, while I belonged to a dream.
Before crossing the snowfield, I passed through an approximately 1,000-meter stretch of volcanic ash and stones, with dark, loose hills on one side, capped with white snow, and a mountain gorge on the other. The single-lane road paved with volcanic debris seemed very precarious. I could neither move forward nor retreat, so I resolved to push on, desperately stabilizing the car as I slowly advanced. My body felt weak, my clothes soaked, and at the foot of this small mountain, I began to gasp for breath. Looking at the mountain before me, I started to feel fear; it was an unprecedented sense of oppression. In that moment of loneliness and despair, the mountain gradually bore down on me. After staring for a moment, a cold wind blew from the pitch-black mountain, and suddenly I felt a kinship with it. It was majestic, embracing, and amid its starkness radiated infinite warmth; the long-lost warmth within me returned.
In a farm in southeastern Iceland, a family of four lives: a couple and their daughter, who is in her first year of university. They manage a 1,000-acre farm with grasslands, glaciers, 200 sheep, a few horses, and many ducks, cats, and dogs. From their window, they can see the farm and their cozy home. The daughter tells me that she wants to marry someone who loves this farm. With such a small population in Iceland, where 90% live in the capital, who would want to live here? It must be a call of love—someone who marries this girl and is willing to spend a lifetime on a farm far from the city.
What is love? No one can define it precisely because everyone experiences love differently, with varying degrees of being loved and different environments and histories. However, one thing is certain: everyone’s love for their parents and ancestors is the same. It is a selfless love, a devoted love, a pure and instinctual love. Sibling love should be the same.
Beyond this kind of love, there are countless forms of love—between spouses, children, friends, and lovers—but none can compare to the love of parents and ancestors. The complexity of other loves can be overwhelming, leading me to a point where I struggled to understand love. I began a long contemplation: Who should I love? How should I love? What is the purpose of love? How long does love last? What are the reasons for not loving? Can love cause harm?
Love is an intense focus on, attachment to, care for, and nurturing of another person. True love should be selfless and not seek reward. If love becomes an exchange or a conditional relationship, its essence is distorted. Love must have a counterpart, the one who is loved; there cannot be love without a target. When the loved one understands the meaning of love, it becomes a mutual understanding, a gratitude that, while not a prerequisite, is a signal for lasting love. This kind of love is worth it. I believe love cannot be demanded; the notion that the amount of love given will be reciprocated is not true love, but rather an emotional exchange or transaction. In the long journey of love, its weight cannot be measured, nor can it be evaluated as a simple exchange of love and lack thereof. Love transcends physicality, becoming a spiritual force characterized by the desire to give everything to the beloved.
Love is thus persistent and fearless. It is an opportunity, something that can be encountered but not sought; it is fate, everything happens according to destiny; it is a fragrance, a scent that permeates the heart and lungs; it is a gaze, a connection that seems divinely crafted. In the vast sea of humanity, with stars filling the sky, each person is but a speck of dust—what are the chances of meeting? The answer is known without thought. Thus, people often say, “fate,” but what is fate? No one can articulate it. It simply exists when it should.
This is how love happens: who to love and how to love becomes clear. As for the purpose of love, perhaps no one can explain it clearly. How long love lasts and the reasons for not loving depend on the interplay between those who love and those who are loved. I do not believe love leads to harm unless it comes with conditions. When love becomes a matter of exchange, the principle of fairness is violated, which may lead to harm; otherwise, love itself should not cause suffering.
In this small house on the farm in southeastern Iceland, I recall many past events and dream of the future. Such a scene may only exist in my dreams. If a person lives only in reality, all pursuits of perfection will merely become fantasies. Dreams make me happy because they allow me to realize people and events that cannot be achieved in reality. I often remind myself that I cannot step out of the dream unless there is someone in reality who can lead me out of it.
Yesterday, I saw snowflakes drifting gracefully in the sunlight; today, I saw mountain flowers blooming fiercely under the moonlight.
I have come to understand who I am. Only by being willing to let go can one find happiness. I keep my promise and step back decisively, placing the career I have loved for 25 years into my memories from now on.
Love is the host of all things. I believe in fate and destiny; I let everything unfold naturally. Love is mysterious and elusive, a lifelong pursuit; hatred has nothing to do with me. I have achieved this: do not forget too quickly the kindness others show you, and do not remember too clearly the kindness you show to others.
A speck of dust in the vast sky wanders freely in the Milky Way. I once thought loneliness meant being the only person left in the world, but later I realized that loneliness is me becoming a world unto myself.
I am who I am, a firework of different colors. Chasing a dream, I understand it to be the snowflakes drifting in the sunlight and the flowers blooming in the moonlight.
When the Morning Star appears again, I decide to enter another world from now on.
Photography is my way of life, a choice I’ve made, and I know this lifestyle is somewhat peculiar. It’s peculiar because photography is both an art and entertainment, a hobby and a profession, pure and commercial—a contradiction in itself. I’ve participated in exhibitions, reader meet-ups, and published photo books; I’ve done all that. Now, I’m left wondering whether I should venture into commercial photography, and that thought gives me a headache. I know nothing about commercial photography, and I’m reluctant to take money only to be pressured by others, feeling devoid of inspiration. However, if I don’t take this path, my work will be left to admire in solitude, neatly arranged in a cellar, waiting for centuries until someone discovers its value.
Publishers from Taiwan and Japan have scheduled meetings this month to discuss potential collaboration. I feel both excited and anxious because stepping into the market feels like a country mouse entering the city, trembling with fear. I am terrified and quaking, unsure of what each step means. I worry about losing the soul of my creativity and being swayed by money. Compared to my previous studio, my current space is much larger, with a professional studio and even a gallery. It seems that my subconscious is guiding me toward commercial photography, a reality I must confront in modern society. Che Guevara said, “Face reality, be true to your ideals.”
My dream is pure, but now I must confront reality. I am lost and indecisive, and my restless heart feels uneasy every day.
The journey from loving photography to understanding its intrinsic nature, and then to mastering how to photograph, is a challenging one. Liking photography does not equate to grasping its deeper essence. Over the past few years, I have made progress in selecting subjects and capturing decisive moments when pressing the shutter. The content of my photos has evolved from being hollow to more concrete, from surface-level to meaningful; each shoot brings some level of insight.
When choosing my works, I often find myself doubting my choices and reflecting on the purpose behind each shot. Why photography? Based on my current understanding, I believe photography expresses the inner self. Our eyes encounter countless landscapes and objects daily; how many can we truly remember? Those that linger in memory are typically noteworthy or unique events or individuals. What we think inside can also be articulated through photography. Observing the subject and identifying memorable phenomena are fundamental elements of photography. When I approach it this way, I find I can capture photos that have personality or depth. This is why I pursue photography—to express what I think uniquely. That is who I am.
Achieving such personalized thought is not easy; photography demands that the photographer make instant decisions about content and composition, while also addressing technical issues in a fleeting moment. This tests the photographer’s preparation and dedication; those who cut corners or take shortcuts cannot make effective decisions in an instant.
As I deepen my understanding of photography, I start to continually question myself—not completely, but at least in part. I feel I am still in the early stages of learning. Infusing ideas into images, expressing a thought, state, mood, or sense of time and space is crucial. My goal is for my work to be more than mere documentation; it should aspire to be art. The art of photography is distinct from other artistic expressions; it allows for the rational combination of light and color through equipment. Thus, photography should not lose its characteristics of capturing reality or documentation. Ultimately, I aim for my work to reflect careful consideration of light, shadow, color, and composition. While both documentation and artistic expression are important, the thoughts and subjects must never be hollow or bland.
When I decided to pursue professional photography, I realized I had to give up a lot of things. Many people talk about sacrifice, but for them, it’s just talk; the pursuit of material wealth is never-ending. Some might say that since I am already wealthy, I don’t need to work hard to make money, allowing me the leisure to focus on photography. However, that’s a different matter. The pursuit of photography isn’t determined by wealth; any camera can produce work, and a smartphone is the best example of this. Moreover, many people can at least afford a simple point-and-shoot camera.
Whether or not to pursue photography as a profession may involve the type of camera used, but this is not the main factor. I believe photography is a reflection of personality, expressing oneself and capturing the ever-changing nature of the world and objects. Even in the same scene, the changing light constantly influences the composition of a work; the photographer’s understanding of light, combined with their skills, creates a multitude of images. This is the essence of photography.
Thus, perspective is crucial. What does the photographer want to convey in their work? If an image or a period can express the photographer’s emotions, then that’s success and excellence. Photography is a solitary art; it is not suited for group creation, as various external factors can impact the photographer’s ability to capture fleeting light and shadow, as well as the viewpoint they wish to express. My mentor, Li Chuan, once told me that the soul of photography is “perspective.” I have always kept that in mind. Now that I am pursuing this as a profession, I feel the joy that this solitary art brings—it’s a solo celebration.
