Priming

Ölkelda, on the Snæfellsnes Peninsula in Iceland, is a rural place known for a natural sparkling mineral spring rich in iron. The water emerges quietly from the ground, cold and still, marked only by a simple tap. No spectacle. No invitation. Just presence.

Before we drink it, someone tells us they dislike it. They say the taste reminds them of blood.

That sentence arrives before the experience. And it reaches everyone.

When we finally taste the water, the judgment is already formed. Not on the tongue, but in the mind. The reaction is almost unanimous. The flavor is not explored; it is confirmed. The experience follows the expectation.

I fill my bottle anyway. Not out of conviction, but out of suspension.

Two hours pass. The group disperses. The voice is gone. Thirst grows. Context changes. There is no longer a story about the water - only the body asking for it.

I drink the entire bottle in one breath.

At that moment, something becomes unmistakably clear: Ölkelda’s water is the best water I have ever tasted. Not “good” in a technical sense. Good in a fundamental one. Necessary. Complete.

The water had not changed. The filter had.

Behavioral economics calls this phenomenon priming: an initial piece of information, seemingly harmless, that shapes perception before direct experience takes place. Reality remains the same, but our readiness to meet it does not.

This photograph is not about water. It is about the moment when judgment precedes experience. And about how rarely we allow ourselves to taste something without already knowing what we are supposed to feel.