For three months, I photographed the same street corner in Reykjavík at the same hour each morning. The light never repeated itself. It was always different — sometimes blue, sometimes grey, once a pale gold that lasted eleven minutes and then disappeared.

Cold cities are not sad. They are honest. The winter light strips away the flattery of summer and shows the buildings as they are: concrete, glass, steel, standing in air that has weight.

These photographs are not about architecture. They are about the space between buildings — the cold, luminous air that makes northern cities feel like rooms without roofs.