Finnmark

A winter month in the Norwegian Arctic, north of the tree line. The light was a few hours each day. The wind was every hour. The skiing was good when it cleared.

Most of the touring was made in the gap between fronts — long approaches by skin and snowmobile, a half-day of weather, the ski back to the car, the next morning starting again at four. The peaks rise from the sea, and the storms hit them with the directness of an open ocean to the west and the open Barents to the north. The reason to be there in winter is not the summits. It is the light that briefly belongs to them when the storm passes.

This was the first sustained body of work — a month, alone and with partners, with only the camera the trip didn't strictly need. What survives the edit are the photographs that found a way to hold the scale of the place: a single skier, a long ridge, the sea behind, and almost no other reference for size.