In the valleys, from the high summits that surround Zermatt, the gigantic movement of the glacier is frozen, like anirreversible snapshot. Here, the seasons pass one after the other, but have no power over a history that has fallen topieces. The rare human silhouettes and colour are incorporated into this immobile flux like annexes to the autarkicoxygen of Zermatt as a place. The imprint of plants appears to be mineral and gigantic, the summits and perspectivesare turned upside down, the immobility of stone and ice resembles a fossilized tumult, a flow of ages. The almost totaleffacing of intention in these photographs lets other things appear-as if by imposition-in the glacial mist or the pastelintoxicated by altitude: a form of nature in which texture and matter take on the aspect of puzzles, fractals, theinterweaving of crystals and of gypsum.These ups and downs of mute logic and unthought-of mirror-games have laid down their principles for the compositionof a book, reinforcing this choice by using over-aged rolls of film whose texture, matured by the coldness of wintrymountains, has worked alone, with its specifically intimate process. Since the image has been captured in this form ofwithdrawal, its pictorial force comes across as a natural element: a contemplated, integral secret.