In 2010 I was lucky to witness the eruption of the Eyjafjallajökull volcano in Iceland. Planes to and from Europe were grounded, but fortunately—after much frustration, a long, restless night and a day's delay—I was able to get on one of the last Icelandic Air flights to leave JFK. When I arrived many of the towns east of Reykjavik were buried under ash. Iceland, more than any country I have traveled in, appears primeval as if you were standing in a place where the Creation began. Waterfalls, giant cliffs and crags, fjords, rivers with hundreds of tributaries, beaches of black volcanic ash, giant cliffs, glaciers, and pony-sized horses are all part of a surreal “Game of Thrones” landscape. I spent several days on the eastern end of the country, photographing the ash-covered houses, cars and landscapes. And I also went up in a small plane to photograph the apocalyptic scenes of smoldering clouds as they belched fire and ash for hundreds of miles.