There is an image of me as a child that often comes to mind: me, sitting at a desk, reading those first notions of geology that the teacher made me learn almost by heart. Plate tectonics, the creation of continents, the formation of volcanoes… with a little effort I could remember the exact words. I was only ten years old but I was already passionate about that subject: I was fascinated by the idea of something that could come to the surface from the center of the earth, bring devastation and fear but also new forms and bizarre landscapes. The first volcano I saw was Etna: since then the love for that scenario has remained with me and has manifested itself strongly in Lanzarote. I remember the first transfer from the airport to the village of Famara like it was yesterday: expanses of lava and black ash, the profile of dozens of volcanoes, no trees. A completely different landscape from what we are used to in Italy. A few minutes and I was already in love with the island. Here I perceive a strange energy, which throws off my usual rhythms: I like to believe that the cause is the innumerable craters, which open a direct line between the earth’s surface and that layer in which the planet’s crust becomes magma. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been back in the last ten years, maybe twenty: I’m enchanted by these expanses of nothingness, by coasts with improbable shapes, by places so inhospitable to humans but so attractive to me that I feel the need to photograph them. I am struck by the thought that this landscape, as I see it and photograph it now, suddenly could change not due to human intervention but due to the explosion of a volcano. The thing is scary and full of fascination at the same time. Another wonderful thing about Lanzarote is the light: it changes continuously, in just a few minutes, and the change of light changes the landscape. So it seems to always look at a different island. This makes it impossible to get tired of Lanzarote.
