Luxury entrepreneur Binith Shah with LUX Senior Contirbuting Editor Maria Sukkar

Luxury entrepreneur Binith Shah had a vision: to create the most luxurious duvets in the world, using environmentally-friendly methods, for use by the most discerning clients. LUX Senior Contributing Editor Maria Sukkar speaks with Shah about the nature of luxury, how to create a best-in-class product optimised for private jets, premium residences and yachts, and what makes a happy Eider duck. 

Maria Sukkar:  The word UMŌ evokes warmth, comfort, and softness, while also carrying a poetic quality that heightens sensory experiences – much like the French use parfum to describe an ice cream flavour. What led you to choose UMŌ Paris as the name for your brand?

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Binith Shah: I’ve always been enamoured with the French culture and my heart and background are in bespoke fashion, couture, and luxury. I also love Japan: how everything that the Japanese do is precise, thoughtful, and simple. Umō is the Japanese word for down, so I just combined the essence of both and decided that UMŌ Paris would be the brand.

‘I learned the importance of prioritising the craftsmen, because without them, there is no business’ – Binith Shah

MS: Do you think exposure to diverse cultures and communities drives discovery?

BS: I was born in Kenya, raised in Seattle, met my wife in New York, lived in Florence for 12 years in between a year and London, then shifted to LA the last 12 years!  My father was also a curious entrepreneur whose passion led into dealing in oriental rugs, which evolved into one of the largest carpet showrooms in Seattle.  It fascinated me that he would travel to Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, Nepal and return with stories of the craftsmen and artisans who would spend months or even a year to create just one rug for his showroom.  Community is a huge part of how I think about business.

MS:  It’s similar for me – I’m originally Lebanese with family scattered across the world, including my mother and brother in Beirut and my sister in Dubai. What led you into the creative industries?

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BS:  My journey really began when I met my wife, Elizabeth, when she was a top designer for Armani, Sonia Rykiel and Ungaro. I moved to New York to join her, and we went on to create a very high-end luxury shoe and handbag business. Our philosophy was to differentiate ourselves from other brands with bespoke offerings, so we developed a 3D foot scanner, which would take hundreds of intricate measurements of our clients’ feet, customise a last, and manufacture a pair of shoes in a matter of weeks, versus a minimum of six months.

We launched Rickard Shah in the September issue of American Vogue and immediately received significant A-list celebrity customers who were keen to invest in footwear tailored to their individual style and needs.  As a result, we were very fortunate to have one of the largest luxury conglomerates among our primary investors.  We were highly successful, with long waitlists, eventually disrupted by the financial crisis of 2008. Our bijou atelier was forced to close, and I learned the importance of prioritising the craftsmen, because without them, there is no business.

Each luxury duvet features UMŌ Paris’ signature embroidery of the Eider duck wing

MS: As an entrepreneur how did you move into sustainable luxury?

BS: It happened while we were in London during the financial crisis, with a Knightsbridge flagship boutique and our young daughter.  We felt the current method of tanning leather accessories was not as environmentally friendly as it could be and sought solutions. We conceived of a sustainable solution, which led us to create a company in Florence called Green Dot, which produced the very first biodegradable and sustainable TPU. TPU is a soft resin, which is the key component of sneaker soles or flip-flops. Logistically, it made sense for our family to relocate to the US, where our resin was manufactured.

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We successfully exited Green Dot following three-years’ of founding the start-up. Through that venture, this confirmed we could deliver a sustainable luxury product, which became a stepping-stone to into various new chapters and ultimately led me to where we are now.

MS:  How did you develop a concept for sustainable luxury duvets?

BS:  A sabbatical afforded me the opportunity to consider deeply what I had learned and what was important to me. This was creating a bespoke product that was both ultra-luxurious and sustainable, serving a niche need that had not been addressed. I read about the hypoallergenic and thermal properties of Eider down and could not understand why no one was working with this magical material in an elevated manner.

‘With UMŌ Paris it is about the craftsmen and the caretakers of a beautiful Eider duck sanctuary’ – Binith Shah

My preliminary research indicated there were cottage industries in Iceland, Norway, and Canada creating niche duvet brands. I tested everything. I am passionate about supporting craftsmen, artisans, sustainability and collaborating with incredible people. This time, I wanted to create something focused, where I would have full control over the mission and the message. Everything about the story spoke to a sustainable luxury venture.

MS: Where did you see the sweet spot for you, as an entrepreneur?

BS: The way I have always worked is to think ‘Where is the need? Where is the pain?’  If you have neither, you cannot achieve it, someone bigger will do it better.  When I incorporated UMŌ Paris, I partnered with a private aviation specialist, Jay McGrath. I knew that ultra-affluent clients expect an unparalleled experience and they need optimum sleep in their aircraft cabin.

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With limited storage space and a pressurised cabin, size and weight are the pain points. These duvets can be stowed on your G650 without requiring extra equipment for vacuum packing. Further, for every kilo saved in weight, there is a saving of around 15,000 tons of carbon over a jet’s lifetime. We launched our Aviator collection with one of the largest jet charter companies, and immediately accessed a network of demand from 270 jets.

We also created our hand-crafted Fjord and Maison lines for premium residences and yachts. A luxury lifestyle brand is about creating a meaningful experience, it is not like queuing for a bag on Rodeo Drive.  Once experiencing our duvets, our clients describe a cloud-like sensation and a quality of sleep they’ve never had before.  They share that experience with their family and friends, and the brand is growing by word-of-mouth.

‘Located in Iceland’s Fljótin Skagafjörður on the edge of the Arctic Circle on the Tröllaskagi Peninsula, this protected land has been in the stewardship of one family for 80 years, over three generations’ – Binith Shah

MS: It is a great model, how do you frame that experience?

BS:  We start the journey with the narrative. Then it is shared authentically through influential advocates. You could be at a dinner, and someone mentions their discovery of this amazing product out there, which is not only in an extremely limited supply, but also champions sustainability through artisans and community.

MS:  What is it about Iceland in particular that resonated with you?

BS:  I had to identify the most premium Eider down. With UMŌ Paris it is about the craftsmen and the caretakers of a beautiful Eider duck sanctuary.  In Iceland, the eider ducks have been protected by the Icelandic Government for well over a century.  Sanctuary owners have experience and proven business models, monitoring and reporting duck numbers to the government.

I researched the Icelandic sanctuary owners and selected a sanctuary that was in synch with my ethos. Located in Iceland’s Fljótin Skagafjörður on the edge of the Arctic Circle on the Tröllaskagi Peninsula, this protected land has been in the stewardship of one family for 80 years, over three generations.  The young owner invited me on a site visit, loved our story, understood the potential markets, and immediately partnered.

UMŌ Paris duvets are filled with the premium and sustainable Eider down from Iceland

MS: Where did you come up with the idea of UMŌ Paris as a responsible luxury brand?

BS:  Through our network, Elizabeth and I found a fifth generation, 150-year-old certified B Corp atelier in Chablis, France. Upon presenting our business model to the owner, we were aligned in our mission to create a rare sustainable luxury duvet.

MS:  How did UMŌ Paris show rarity and authenticity from the get-go?

BS:  The meticulous and labour-intensive process results in an annual total yield of only an estimated 8,900 pounds/4,000 kilograms worldwide. At current values, this makes Eider down around 6 times rarer than rough mined diamonds! We use 6-8% of the global supply and our production is limited to 350-500 duvets annually. Unlike our competitors, we only use Pure Arctic Eiderdown, the lighter, finer down. Our duvet requires 65 hours to make, from gathering the down to transporting it and producing the finished duvet. Our product is born wild, never farmed.

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MS:  Given the precision and care involved, can you truly say this process is cruelty-free?

BS:  Absolutely. We collect the nest at the right time, when the eggs laid are nearly hatched and don’t need the incubation of the nest. The skilled caretakers gently pick up the Eider duck, gather the nest, handpick-out the down, and then put the duck back on the nest for the final days before the eggs hatch.  The method in which most goose and duck down are normally processed involves the birds being live-plucked up to 17 times, then finally slaughtered for food.

That’s the process for the world’s premier brands’ luxury down jackets and that method consumes around 270 million kilos of down a year versus only 4,000 kilos of Eider down. Our process is completely cruelty-free, gentle and kind.  The fledglings leave their nests, immediately return to the sea for approximately 11 months, until they return to the sanctuary to moult their down into the nests and lay their eggs. The ducks’ number is monitored by the sanctuary caretakers.

‘Eider down is 100% hypoallergenic with no feathers or quills present.  It is ultra-light and maintains your body temperature while you’re sleeping’ – Binith Shah

Mother Nature plays a very key role in this natural product. Weather conditions, sea levels and other natural phenomena all contribute to the annual yield – and underscores the need for preservation. That is all part of the impressive story. We also donate 10% of profits back to the conservationists to continue preservation and education.

MS: What is UMŌ Paris’ point of difference, compared with other niche brands using eider down?

BS:  Our differentiator is that we only use Pure Arctic Eiderdown, partner with a Certified B-Corporation atelier, and design with intent. Competitors fill their duvets with components that are 90% eiderdown, 10% goose down.  However, they still charge for 100% Eiderdown, so Eiderdown is often used as a marketing play.  Our sustainable process also assures quality because eider down is 100% hypoallergenic with no feathers or quills present.  It is ultra-light and maintains your body temperature while you’re sleeping.  This is achieved also because of thoughtful design.

Normal duvets are subdivided into square baffles, to hold in place the loose down and eventually it slips down into these pockets. Eider down has miniscule hooks so it cannot slip, allowing it to be cohesive and not separate. We designed a series of square baffles across the top end of the duvet slip, then add long vertical channels to allow air to circulate through the length. This open technique maximises airflow, which maintains body temperature.

MS:  Where are you on your sustainability journey?

BS:  In fact, we’re now in the process of applying for B Corp certification, both to demonstrate transparency that we are using sustainable methods of gathering and to highlight that we are partnered with the B Corp manufacturer in Chablis.  There are no guidelines, but we are taking the right steps to acknowledge the sustainability aspect of what we’ve created – which is collaborating to make a positive impact on the community, animals, and the planet.

UMŌ Paris’ founder Binith Shah holds his ultra-luxury duvet stuffing

MS:  Can you share your vision for enhancing impacts?

BS:  We are exploring how we can learn from other industries. For example, when we lived for 12 years in Italy, when it is the season for olive oil harvest, the farmers use a communal press called a frantoia. They tap-in their appointment times, these multi-generational farmers sit chatting during the pressing, families compare oil, colour and qualities. Producers may keep or opt to sell-on their product direct from the press.  That’s what we want to do in Iceland. We want to create a communal hub to process the down quicker and pay the sanctuary owners faster. Normally, companies place orders and the sanctuaries are paid 45-90 days later. For us, as soon as our down is ready, we place our bulk order, and we pay for it up-front. Our goal is to take a thought leadership role, where our goal is to secure our allotment and build goodwill, while encouraging the promotion of the sanctuaries and Iceland.

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MS:  Lastly, what do you think about transformational travel, where people can experience their impact throughout the hospitality journey from arrival to venue to departure, subliminally absorbing the values as they sleep under an UMŌ Paris duvet?

BS: There is a shift in luxury travel, where experiences are paramount. Fortunately, our brand is niche and is aligned with the heightened sense of awareness surrounding more transformational travel. The sanctuary is not and will never be a ‘destination’, however, knowing the journey of a product is more and more important to clients. We’re inspired by the adventurers who truly value responsible travel and a novel experience through the fjords in the Arctic rather than sailing their superyacht through the Med in June! We are proud to be part of this important conversation, and that the ultra-affluent are excited to learn more and join us in this journey.

umo-paris.com

@umo-paris

‘Big Bang Fountain’ (2014) by Olafur Eliasson

The Icelandic artist Olafur Eliasson famously brought the sun to Tate Modern. He is now returning for a major retrospective this summer. He talks art, cuisine, and slumber with Christopher Kanal

Olafur Eliasson

“I am incredibly happy about the whole thing,” Olafur Eliasson explains of the major retrospective of his work at Tate Modern in London that opens in July 2019. With ‘Olafur Eliasson: In real life’, the revered Danish- Icelandic artist returns to Tate 16 years after his ground-breaking The Weather Project famously filled the gallery’s Turbine Hall with the illusion of a sunset that was as eerie as it was sublime. Hazy memories of basking in the dazzling surreal sunlight mask the fact that The Weather Project has been one of the most critically acclaimed art installations so far this century and was experienced by over two million people.

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“We were lucky to warm up with the iceberg project,” Eliasson says with a gentle laugh. In December 2018 Eliasson staged a feat that could have come straight out of an Icelandic saga, but which had a very contemporary and urgent environmental message. The Scandinavian artist hauled centuries-old icebergs from Greenland to the banks of the river Thames to demonstrate the effects of climate change. Twenty-four icebergs, originally from the Nuup Kangerlua fjord in south-western Greenland, and weighing up to six tonnes each, were placed in a circle outside Tate Modern and another six were put on display in the City of London as part of Ice Watch, a collaboration with award-winning Greenlandic geologist Minik Rosing. People gawped at, touched and even tasted the ice. “I’ve been studying behavioural psychology, and looking into the consequences of experience,” says the artist. “What does it mean to experience something? Does it change you or not change you?” When Ice Watch London debuted, Eliasson and Rosing pointed out the sobering statistic that 10,000 blocks of ice such as these are falling from the ice sheet every single second.

‘Beauty’ (1993) at the Moderna Museet, Stockholm, 2015

‘Ice Watch’ (2018) by Eliasson and Minik Rosing, outside Tate Modern, London

Of course, Eliasson is not just celebrated for The Weather Project and icebergs. His varied works span not just temporary public art projects such as The New York City Waterfalls (2008) and large civic projects, such as the design of the façade of the Harpa concert hall and conference centre in Reykjavík (2013), but also small art projects and social enterprise endeavours. For Glacial Currents (2018) Eliasson created a group of watercolours produced using ancient glacial ice fished from the sea off Greenland. The ice was placed atop thin washes of colour on paper. As the ice gradually melted it displaced the pigment to produce extraordinary shades.

The studio’s Little Sun project, meanwhile, provides clean, affordable solar energy and light through a simply designed LED solar-powered lamp. “It brought me back to being a student,” he says of envisaging the design. “This is of course the greatest thing that you are not in fact getting older but you are getting younger.” The Little Sun lamp, which was launched in 2012, produces up to five hours of bright light. Over half a million lamps have been distributed to off-grid communities in 10 African countries.

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The prolific 52-year-old artist is also an avowed foodie. So much so, that his Berlin studio has a professional kitchen run by his younger sister Victoria Eliasdottir. “This experimental kitchen is very much part of the life of the studio where dining together and sharing ideas has become enormously important for us,” he says. “The food in the studio is more family style where we put the pots on the table and we eat out of them,” he says, adding, “It’s not French service.” In late summer 2018, the siblings opened Studio Olafur Eliasson (SOE) Kitchen 101, a temporary restaurant/gallery by Reykjavík’s harbour and it became a hugely popular hangout. “Really great food always has a frictional element because it reminds you of all the not-so-great food you have eaten,” Eliasson says. “Good food is always on a trajectory and a journey. A great cook shapes a taste just as an artist shapes a sculpture. In that way great cooking is a very sensual, alchemic activity.”

Façade of Harpa Reykjavík Concert Hall and Conference Centre (2005–11)

Eliasson’s studio is in a former brewery and chocolate factory in Prenzlauer Berg in Berlin, an area that was once part of the city’s Soviet Sector during the days of the German Democratic Republic and a haunt of intellectuals, artists and East Germany’s gay community. Eliasson splits his time between Berlin and Copenhagen, where his art historian wife, Marianne Krogh Jensen lives with the two children they adopted from Ethiopia. The huge four-storey studio is home to a collective of around 80 artists, architects, engineers, developers and researchers. Each floor is a distinct hive of creative activity. Eliasson is certainly not the first artist to run a collective. Andy Warhol’s Factory in New York springs to mind, but Eliasson and his studio work very much as a collaborative team – he likes to call it ‘The Lab’. He is, however, no ringmaster: “I have always insisted on an open and transparent studio. There is no mystical, magical authenticity idea in keeping me as a kind of mythical figure.”

One of Eliasson’s most celebrated designs involved a collaboration with Copenhagen- based architectural firm Henning Larsen and Icelandic studio Batteríið Architects. Inspired by basalt crystals found in the geology of the dramatic Icelandic landscape, Eliasson’s glass façade design for the Harpa concert hall in Reykjavík scattered reflections of the surrounding harbour, the fluid sky above and the looming Mount Esja across the bay. By night Harpa is a glittering spectacle of light. The building is in a constant flux of visual metamorphosis, which constantly alters perceptions. No one minute is the same. “The object is not necessarily the most interesting part about art, says Eliasson. “It is what the object does to me when I look at it or engage in it that is actually interesting. You are somehow provoked into a more negotiating role because you think, ‘What am I looking at?’ Then you are also more likely to enquire, ‘Well, what does looking actually mean and why am I seeing things the way I see it?’”

‘Waterfall’ (2016) at the Palace of Versailles

Eliasson was born in Copenhagen but returned often to Iceland after his parents separated when he was eight. His father was a cook on fishing boats as well as an artist, his mother a seamstress. Growing up in Scandinavia, the varying light, storm winds, bible-black winter nights, crystalline ice and vibrant norðurljós (northern lights) all infused Eliasson’s imagination. During the long summer holidays of his youth, Eliasson returned to Iceland to spend time with his parents and grandparents. The Icelandic landscape has been a lasting source of inspiration to him, particularly in its unique power to challenge how as an artist you interpret place and space through its beautiful yet unfamiliar and primal character. Eliasson tells me he likes to sit in his Reykjavík studio for inspiration because of the extraordinary quality of light in Iceland due to the island’s high latitude. As a boy he recalls that during the oil crisis of the 1970s, the Icelandic government used to switch the power off at 8pm to save energy, announcing the blackout by ringing the church bells. Eliasson fondly remembers the long, haunting twilights of dense colours and long shadows that were the only source of light.

‘Umschreibung’ (2004) at KPMG Deutsche Treuhand-Gesellschaft, Munich

At 15 Eliasson had his first solo show, of landscape drawings in Denmark. “My father was an artist who influenced me and both my mother and him were more focused on me feeling successful with what I did,” he reflects. “When I did crazy doodles, they would say, ‘This is a great drawing’ instead of ‘This is not a house’. My father would say, ‘Why don’t you just fill in the blanks and it may end up being a dog or cat?’ I realise now that this was not so bad because it gave me the confidence that something abstract actually had the potential of becoming meaningful. This is something I have carried throughout my life.” After studying at the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts, Eliasson moved to New York and worked for the Canadian minimalist artist Christian Eckart in Brooklyn. In the mid 1990s, he moved to Berlin, then a new cultural frontier following the fall of the Wall.

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During the financial crisis Eliasson had an idea that he could save the Icelandic economy by buying all the grey sheep running around the country. Grey sheep are less popular than black or white sheep with farmers as they are harder to spot in the autumn, when they are rounded up and brought down from high mountain pastures where the grey sheep are indistinguishable from the rocks and the ground. “As an idea, a grey sheep is indecisive, it is a making-your-mind-up-as-you-go kind of sheep,” he says, with a bit of mischief. Eliasson’s plan was to farm these sheep in the harsher northern fjords where they would graze on wild berries and grasses. “The southern sheep are generally grass-fed sheep fattened up like turkeys in Kentucky,” he points out. “The texture of the wilder sheep meat is a lot darker, like deer.” Eliasson reveals he envisaged making his own version of Icelandic blóðmör blood sausage but with a North African twist, adding dates, onions, raisins and truffle oil. “People thought I was insane,” he says. “I guess Icelanders are not so much into North African food considering the history of the Tyrkjaránið pirate raids by the Barbary corsairs on the Vestmannaeyjar [a small archipelago off the south coast of Iceland] in 1627. I realised that I had probably contributed to the financial crisis rather than saved it but I tell you this sausage was amazing!”

‘The Weather Project’ (2003) at Tate Modern, London.

Amongst the sketches, models and large collection of vintage light bulbs in Eliasson’s studio there is an archery target. For inspiration, the artist will often pick up a bow and shoot an arrow into it. A lucky bulls-eye indicates a ‘yes’. It reveals Eliasson’s particular approach to his work. “I love supporting the people around me who I believe in and trust,” he says. “I learn so much from them, so it is a nice exchange. It’s a great luxury to be working with chefs, scientists or politicians. As long as I don’t start to cook or make science. I get stressed when I boil an egg.”

Answering the call

“This is a kind of profession you end up in,” says 29-year-old Victoría Elíasdóttir, who Condé Nast Traveller hailed in 2016 as one of the ‘10 Young Chefs to Watch’. “I kind of did,” she adds but then adds, “No, I kind of didn’t.”

Born in Denmark but raised in Iceland from infancy, Elíasdóttir grew up with food. After travelling around South America in 2007, she returned to Iceland and went to college. “Society said that being a chef was bad for your body, it’s not family friendly, you drink a lot and do drugs,” she says. “I tried graphic design and psychology. I started all these things but I always ended up talking about food, talking to my classmates and teachers about what I cooked yesterday, what I was going to cook tomorrow. In the end one of my classmates said ‘Why don’t you just give in?’”

‘Your Spiral View’ (2002), installation view at Fondation Beyeler, Basel

Elíasdóttir went to chef school in Reykjavík and initially found it tough: “My initial experience of being a chef was not very encouraging. On the other hand, I have always been drawn to things that kick up the adrenaline in a way.” After graduation she worked as head chef in a small summer hotel in southern Iceland, an idyllic place by a lake filled with wild trout and which grew its own tomatoes and cucumbers. There followed a stint at Chez Panisse in California under the eyes of culinary visionary Alice Waters before ending up in Berlin and helping run her big brother’s studio kitchen.

In 2015 she opened Dottír, a temporary restaurant in Berlin’s Mitte that occupied a building that had been a Stasi surveillance centre. It was a hit, with inventive dishes such as beet-infused salmon served raw and North Sea cod with Jerusalem artichoke cake, creamy sauce and trout roe. “Beetroot has been something that has been with me from as early as I can remember,” Elíasdóttir enthuses. “When I was child my mother used to serve it to me on a piece of rye bread with liver paté.” She also has a fondness for lakkrís (liquorice) and uses it when she can.

Elíasdóttir also caters for high-end corporate events. She recently created a seven-course vegetarian menu for Mercedes-Benz. “Everyone was a bit sceptical but afterwards I had comments from these big men, used to lobster and meat dishes, saying, ‘I don’t feel like I missed anything!’”

Avoiding the tired New Nordic cuisine label, the heart of her cooking is avowedly rooted in Scandinavian gastronomy. Think simple fresh seafood, herbs and regional, seasonal produce. “We have great farmers here in Iceland,” explains Elíasdóttir.

Sci-fi by design

Acclaimed French director Claire Denis’s new film, the sci-fi drama High Life, boasts a spaceship designed by Olafur Eliasson. Denis, best known for her widely praised films including the existential Foreign Legion drama Beau Travail (1999) and avant-garde vampire story Trouble Every Day (2001), has made her first English language film also her first foray into science-fiction.

High Life stars Juliette Binoche and focuses on a group of miscreant astronauts on a mission to reach a black hole in search of an alternate energy source. Eliasson’s involvement is his first work for a feature film but his second collaboration with Denis – together they made short film Contact in 2014 that explored themes of black holes and abstraction. Denis and Eliasson’s mutual fascination for these phenomena is evident in High Life, a story that Denis has been nurturing for 15 years. High Life opens in spring 2019.

‘Olafur Eliasson: In real life’ is at Tate Modern, London from 11 July 2019 to 5 January 2020. For more information visit: tate.org.uk and olafureliasson.net

This article was originally published in the Summer 19 Issue.

An image from Maryam Eisler’s new series ‘O is for Origin’

When Maryam Eisler, LUX Contributing Editor and author of The Sublime Feminine, visited Iceland the results were spectacular

At first glance, Iceland looks like what the Earth must have been at its very beginning, with the bleakness and sombre colours of the volcanic rock that seems to have pushed its way up to the surface only yesterday. This extraordinary terrain makes Iceland a genuine land of fire and ice, with active volcanoes and glaciers living side by side under the phosphorescent lights of the aurora borealis. The landscape creates a powerful visual poetry like no other place I’ve visited. It is no wonder that this land is rich in folklore, in which mythical creatures roam the land and sea. I even met one in my sleep, the hafmeyjan, or mermaid, who enraptures sailors with her siren songs and disappears into the waters’ depths with the men in her arms.

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Icelandic culture is dominated by women, as the progressive nature of its society and politics today shows. And if there was ever a way to highlight the central role of woman in creation, it is in the shifting shapes of this landscape, where female curves match perfectly the green, moss-covered outcrops that stretch far towards the distant murky horizon.

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In such a place, where people and landscape join in a jagged, unreal harmony, the photographer simply has to respond to the variety and scale of what nature presents them. If nothing else, our duty becomes the preservation of this quixotic land for the generations yet to behold its wonders.

View Maryam Eisler’s full portfolio of work: maryameisler.com

This article was originally published in the Summer 19 Issue.