Where the Ice Speaks
Where the ice has room to speak, wind shapes moraine like memory. Time stretches. Everything moves slow yet too fast.
Wrapped in an old puffy jacket with a camera in hand, I kept returning to these places where the ice still speaks. With each expedition, a photographic record began to take shape. Slowly, the veil lifted. These weren’t just ethereal landscapes, but archives of time. Etched into the contours of ice and stone are stories of cyclical power: creation and decomposition, pressure and release. Every valley remembers a glacier, long after it’s gone.
Embedded inside the rippled till, blue seracs, debris covered ice, and fractured stone are voices. Some millions of years old, others mere days. Each voice carries a story of creation and decomposition written by water, gravity, cold, heat, and motion. Intangible forces invisible to the human eye, still deeply felt.
In the beginning my intention wasn’t to make a statement. But as one sits with the ice it will start to speak back to you. You begin to decipher its language of fractures and echoes. The air stills, then breaks with a booming crack. The ground shifts, pops, trickles, imperceptibly and constantly, beneath melting ice. Eventually what once bore the weight of millions of tons of ice becomes bare bedrock. As you walk across the stone you realize you’re part of the story too. Not just an observer, but a participant.
“Where the Ice Speaks” is a reminder: this planet is built on balance. We are woven into a slow violence and a fragile harmony. Glaciers have carved our mountains, fed our rivers, sustained ecosystems, and shaped the geologic tapestry we move through every day.
These photographs ask us to look to the past to consider the future. They ask us to feel the fragility and the thin thread of equilibrium that ties us to Earth’s original architects, still carving the planet inch by inch, drop by drop
