Los Glaciares
Patagonia Los Glaciares – Perito Moreno - Los Glaciares National Park
The southern Patagonia ice field, the third largest in the world flows into Lago Argentina at its termini. Encroaching, constantly building a dam across the narrows of the lake, the tongue of Perito Moreno Glacier blocks the water’s flow, allowing the lake to rise up in the south, until the pressure of the trapped water builds. And builds. And builds. Then, the dam breaks, allowing a pent-up force of energy, a glacial torrent, a Jökulhlaup, to burst, and flood the northern reaches. But the ice continues to flow, until it rebuilds the dam. It blocks the lake, again and again, the water rising up until the next time it breaks.
A river of ice runs from the Patagonia frozen interior to the lakes. The beauty of ice is you can see the river in it. Ice is plastic. It is brittle. But it is water. It flows. It cascades. It falls. It creates eddies. It pools. It erodes. Watch a river and you can see the bubble lines created by the rocks moving downstream. In a glacier the bubble lines are streaks of ground mountain sides brought together by converging tributaries and forming medial and lateral moraines. The velocity of a river is greatest in the middle. The velocity of a glacier, evidenced by the bend in the cracks, the protrusion of the tongue is greatest in the middle.
Is a photograph nothing more than capturing the art of composition? Does art simply reflect the color choice of the painter? Is there an emotional or poetic statement the artist is trying to invoke? Here the artist is the ice, telling a story of its journey. It talks as well. Cracking, the slap of ice on water. Look closely and you can see the leading edge, the ice sentinels that look ready to scream as they are set to fall into the lake. The palette is the shades of blue and white. You can see the hues changed where the ice is compacted and compressed. The atmosphere of dark clouds and then sunlight even changes the glacier’s mood. Its history is recorded in the stratified layers that form bands from when the snows first fell and were mixed with the dust of time. The brush strokes bend and are deformed, evidence of the constant force of gravity pulling it along until it melts away.
This was about seeing, not just the photogenic landscape or panorama. Instead it was the power and energy of a river of ice. Rather here it is pounding, pummeling ice falls. A twisted, turning, swirling river in slow motion. In geological time it is but an instant. Still it is rushing, cascading, burbling, pooling never quite still. Cutting down the mountain side, finally reaching the bottom. Then it becomes water, a stream, a lake, a river and flows away.
Read MoreThe southern Patagonia ice field, the third largest in the world flows into Lago Argentina at its termini. Encroaching, constantly building a dam across the narrows of the lake, the tongue of Perito Moreno Glacier blocks the water’s flow, allowing the lake to rise up in the south, until the pressure of the trapped water builds. And builds. And builds. Then, the dam breaks, allowing a pent-up force of energy, a glacial torrent, a Jökulhlaup, to burst, and flood the northern reaches. But the ice continues to flow, until it rebuilds the dam. It blocks the lake, again and again, the water rising up until the next time it breaks.
A river of ice runs from the Patagonia frozen interior to the lakes. The beauty of ice is you can see the river in it. Ice is plastic. It is brittle. But it is water. It flows. It cascades. It falls. It creates eddies. It pools. It erodes. Watch a river and you can see the bubble lines created by the rocks moving downstream. In a glacier the bubble lines are streaks of ground mountain sides brought together by converging tributaries and forming medial and lateral moraines. The velocity of a river is greatest in the middle. The velocity of a glacier, evidenced by the bend in the cracks, the protrusion of the tongue is greatest in the middle.
Is a photograph nothing more than capturing the art of composition? Does art simply reflect the color choice of the painter? Is there an emotional or poetic statement the artist is trying to invoke? Here the artist is the ice, telling a story of its journey. It talks as well. Cracking, the slap of ice on water. Look closely and you can see the leading edge, the ice sentinels that look ready to scream as they are set to fall into the lake. The palette is the shades of blue and white. You can see the hues changed where the ice is compacted and compressed. The atmosphere of dark clouds and then sunlight even changes the glacier’s mood. Its history is recorded in the stratified layers that form bands from when the snows first fell and were mixed with the dust of time. The brush strokes bend and are deformed, evidence of the constant force of gravity pulling it along until it melts away.
This was about seeing, not just the photogenic landscape or panorama. Instead it was the power and energy of a river of ice. Rather here it is pounding, pummeling ice falls. A twisted, turning, swirling river in slow motion. In geological time it is but an instant. Still it is rushing, cascading, burbling, pooling never quite still. Cutting down the mountain side, finally reaching the bottom. Then it becomes water, a stream, a lake, a river and flows away.
