Man has always sought to be exposed to the sublime because it is only in what we do not master that we manage to be in real contact with our limits. To know how to read the landscape is, above all, to begin a pilgrimage that connects us with the mutable. We all know that nature is ungovernable and often voracious; perhaps that is why within that which overwhelms us, there is an impulse that makes us look even further.

Is it possible to contemplate a tragedy that shows the very heartbeat of the earth? Eduardo Nave is neither a volcanologist nor an explorer, but he could well be because when the volcano woke up, he went to the island of La Palma to capture not only the eighty-five days it was active but also its four seasons. And he did so to discover, as did the early explorers and Hokusai himself, what a volcano is.

After all, being a photographer is also about finding the right perspective, the place from which the viewer can invent the true image, which always nests in the margins. A work like this, which is made at the foot of the event, needs to weave together something more complex that involves both the landscape and those who inhabit it. In the manner of ukiyo-e, which are Japanese prints that refer to the ephemeral, fleeting and transitory world, we are shown how intuition evidences the different layers of meaning that the pictures hold.

The vibrant reds of the volcano's eruption remain, but in the photographs, the sound cannot be appreciated; it must be imagined: the incessant roar of an endless storm, the raging sea, that furious and constant rumbling, the telluric force that emerges directly from the interior of the Earth to remind us that we live on the tip of the iceberg, that we tread on a fragile ground made up of layers that are unknown to us.
A geological event like this is the certainty, and perhaps the confirmation, that beyond the news, there is a line that connects us to the place where we live. A line that invites us to ask ourselves if the time has not come to establish a dialogue that awakens a global interest linked to the sound that the interior of the Earth holds.

Volcanoes created the atmosphere we need to breathe and also the conditions for an island like La Palma to be possible. Perhaps, although this is an assumption, it is only when an island is reborn that the volcano's heat is definitively extinguished. Although it is not that it is extinguished, but that it hides because volcanoes live crouched, waiting. Once again, it reminds us that nothing is safe, not even the ground we walk on. The Swedish poet Tomas Tranströmer says it in a verse: "Beauty persists, like a tattoo". So does the volcano, and so does its shadow.