10 - September 1, 2019
of clouds and fields of snow, wooden crosses
and fir groves. And mountains, mountains,
mountains. The name on the book cover was
Ansel Adams; the coated paper was smooth
beneath my fingers. I was fascinated by a
sentence I still roughly recall: Grey tones
in photography are like piano keys in music:
they are the same to everyone, but only few
can make them ring.
Our paths kept crossing until I could no
longer ignore his call. I stepped in Adams’
footsteps for the first time in America
eight years ago. The trip started out as an
homage to the master and his beloved
landscapes. However, longing to go back
again and again, searching for something,
not really knowing what it was, and moving
forward from where Adams had left off, my
own personal journey began.
What do canyons and the desert do to a
person whose eyes are used to the forest? I
had entered the endless cathedral of nature.
I was inspired on my journey by Arvo Pärt, a
very important composer to me. How his music
might look – in trees, sand, and rock –
crystallised in my mind. The tightened
silence between his sounds also brought
silence in my works.
My “Ansel” is the 500 million-year-old
landscape. It was here before the arrival of
man. It will remain after the last of us is
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