Expanses 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: Greytones 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 gone.