There is something very personal in climbing a mountain.
You see it from the base, and it intimidates you, its greatness makes you feel small.
Then you start walking, and the peak disappears in a sea of dark, wavy horizons until you make it above the forests, and you see the peak again. Only this time it doesn’t hide anymore, and after a while here you are, on the top of it. And nothing compares to that feeling: that you are a part of it, the few feet added to its mighty height. From up there, the world hides in a sea of transparent, wavy layers, and for a moment, there’s nothing to it but the mountain and your soul, whose voice like the sound of tide you hear now so much clearer.
Such moments, I try to make last in my photographs, are rare and so precious. More often than not, photography fails to pass them on to a third part. It’s maybe because one must climb a mountain themselves, to really feel the sea inside.
You can follow the series on the Journal.