MAY 2025 · ESCAPE
Reykjavik
Reykjavik, Iceland
We were there in February, which is the wrong time of year for anyone who values sunlight. It turned out to be the right time for the city as a subject.

The residential streets between the centre and the sea are corrugated metal in every colour that doesn't occur in British terraces — coral, turquoise, rust-red, a vivid blue above an oxidised lower section where the weather has got to work on it. The corrugation is structural and decorative at the same time. Houses sit close together on quiet streets with no one on them. A cat crossed in front of a Coca-Cola-painted shop front as I raised the camera.
The city is specific in its colours and specific in its weather, and February is when both are most themselves.
Reykjavik — May 2025

The graffiti runs through everything. A white gate opens onto an alley entirely covered in murals. A black industrial building carries turquoise window frames and a large green artwork that reads as both decoration and territorial claim. Around the corner, a monochrome mural of hands holding a violin on a plain white wall. The scale shifts: one frame fills your whole field of view, the next is the size of a notebook page.
It was snowing by the second evening. Under street lamps, a stone face mural looked out from a snow-covered wall.

Down at the industrial harbour the visual register changes completely. Cranes, containers, rust — the harbour that the city turned its back on when the arts district arrived. Snow-capped mountains sit behind the port equipment on every clear day. A child sat on a railing above the harbour square, watching the boats.

A bright red and green corrugated corner shop with beer signs in the window. The red building next to the white one on the quiet street. The rust-stained white house where the paint has given up along the bottom third of the wall. The city is specific in its colours and specific in its weather, and February is when both are most themselves.

















