Darkness. Snow. Ice. Cold. Here are the words resounding in me every morning when I wake up, words that make me think about these frozen lands that fascinate me so much. They are part of the undefeatable pillars shaping the minimal winter landscapes year after year in northern Finland. Yet, sometimes an intruder splits up (find synonym) this perfect balance, an immaterial force able to transform this haven of peace into a glacial hell … for the greater delight of the photographer in me.
The scene happens once again during lunch time. My colleagues are preparing — once again, and I thank them … once again ;) — the endless sausages constituting our main source of energy for this cold day. Temperature fluctuates between -20/-25˚C but the vaunted intruder makes the climatic conditions infinitely harsher. It is no matter for him if I am covered up as he is vilely penetrating through the five layers supposed to protect me from cold. My face is petrified. Same are my extremities. I can not feel my nose anymore, my fingers and toes hurt. So what is the reason pushing me to be willing to stay outdoors, immobile, in such conditions?
Seconds seem like minutes. Minutes like hours. I have to leap like a mad insect, sweep my arms around as a mill in order to put some hot blood into my fingers. I persevere. The lights of the Arctic winter are gorgeous, as usual. The simple tints illuminating the horizon are reflecting on the snow, transforming it to a gold and ice carpet. The wind, this delicious intruder, gently sculpts white coat covering the lake on which I am standing, transforming the thick layer of snow into delicate icy dunes. A white desert, in a miniature version. An extremely rare fact in these icy days, from which I must take advantage of.