Dario J Laganà is an Italian professional photographer and walking artist based in Berlin. His practice is rooted in walking as an artistic method where body, route, and landscape are inseparable. 
In the past, he has undertaken endurance walks in multiple locations; 360 km in the Australian rainforest, 560 km across the Shetland Islands, and 1000 km through Norway, the latter resulting in the short film Like a Fern Between Rocks.
For next year, Dario has planned a sustained act of walking: a 3000 km nomadic journey around Iceland, entirely on foot, with a custom-built, solar-powered trolley. 

I cross the land. And it’s as simple as Frédéric Gros’ says in A Philosophy of Walking: “we never take more than one step at a time”. Even in the literature on walking, there always comes a point when the author has to admit that if you get to the core of it, the answer is just that simple. Without revealing the trick of the magician, the answer comes from a direct, embodied experience.

I’m very happy to connect to the global community around walk · listen · create.
I’m an Italian professional photographer based in Berlin, and I recently realised that what I do belongs to the realm of walking art; I put my body at the centre of the action, rooting myself in the landscape, gathering materials to build a comprehensive artistic archive that will flow into a collection of artworks and exhibitions.

In 2026, I will enter an intensive phase: a sustained act of walking, prepared through months of artistic development. This will take the form of a 3000 kilometre nomadic journey around Iceland, entirely on foot, with a custom-built, solar-powered trolley, which I experimented with during previous journeys. My planned itinerary involves walking the ringroad along the coast, but I intend to take some long detours and go on some hikes.

The trolley is a practical solution and a conceptual companion. Over the last few years, I have been improving it, moving from a very simple structure with two wheels and two walking sticks attached to my backpack, to a more elaborate construction to help me with uphill climbs.
Having built the trolley myself, I first encountered several stability issues (the centre of gravity was too high) and electrical problems (the system failed to regenerate power over time), so I still consider it a work in progress. The new iteration (now at version 3) will feature two skateboard off-road wheels at the front with shock absorbers, a completely redesigned electronics system with new solar panels. I am now engineering the trolley to withstand rough terrain while remaining easy to manoeuvre at walking pace.
As both tool and symbol, it reflects the project’s philosophy: to move slowly, sustainably, and attentively through demanding landscapes, allowing the environment to dictate the rhythm of the journey.

From March to November 2026, the project will unfold in three phases: research and further development of my trolley,  the journey itself from around June to August, which will be followed by post-production of and reflection on the work and collected materials.

Even though I began walking twenty years ago on the Orkney Islands, most of my travels until recently were just an unspoken backdrop to my photography. Initially, it was a romanticised approach involving rookie mistakes, such as wearing the wrong shoes and cloaking myself in the wrong attitude. Simply put, I was not fully aware of how to handle walking as a practice; for me, photography was more important. 

However, over the last few years, like Rebecca Solnit in Wanderlust, I have become aware of ‘the legs as instruments of philosophy’ and my practice has evolved through walks of increasing duration: 360 kilometres in the Australian rainforest, 560 across the Shetland Islands, and 1000 through Norway. That last journey resulted in my short film Like a Fern Between Rocks.

In 2025, I took a break to reflect on the deeper frameworks of my practice. Stepping back from the field renewed my mind and spirit, and I returned with a sharper sense of purpose.
I spent time reading and now I’m preparing for this next ambitious step. Part of me is absolutely delighted with the prospect of undertaking this long walk. But another part, the one that knows what it will require, is also scared, even though I am mentally aware that, almost magically, things will fall into place once I take my first step on Icelandic soil. Everything is always in flux, as I’m fully aware of what Andri Snær Magnason observes in On Time and Water:  “there is no such a thing as a permanent landscape; nature has no constant. Change is its essence”.

Given the scale of this project, I am seeking as many collaborations as possible with sponsors, festivals, and curators, in Iceland and beyond. I also imagine that my experience could serve as material for other people’s work. With this, my most ambitious undertaking yet, I’m also very much looking to establish connections and collaborations with other walking artists.

If this journey resonates with your research, practice, or teaching, or if you know academics, institutions, or research groups, people working in environmental humanities, that might be interested, please get in touch. I would be very grateful for any connections that could help raise awareness of my project, or contribute to research, PhDs, or publications.
Specifically, I’d love to reach out to you if you’re involved in exploring the impact of solitude, extended periods of being on one’s own, and the effect this might have on the physical body.

Here’s to walking together. Perhaps we will meet, in Iceland or elsewhere.