More than a century ago, Flosi Björnsson and his eight siblings isolated themselves at the foot of Vatnajökull, Iceland’s largest glacier. None of them ever married or had children. They devoted their lives to the glacier long before anyone spoke of its melting.
Like a whale skeleton on the shore, their farm has remained sealed until now. Photographer Ragnar Axelsson returns to the place where he spent his childhood summers. As he opens the farm’s doors, Flosi’s voice resounds once again, invisibly calling other pilgrims who come to the glacier. Its cracking composes a requiem. A vast white sheet drapes the glacier’s skin, like a shroud over the body of a dying son.
