In the remote south of Tierra del Fuego, a blade of light cuts across Mount Olivia’s flank, turning it into an apparition.
The mountain, sculpted and still, emerges from darkness like an ancient face: folds, edges, scars.
Clouds brush past it without truly touching, as if afraid to interrupt a silent ritual.
The light is raking, selective, revealing: it doesn’t illuminate everything — only what it touches, and what it touches, it transforms.
The rest sinks into mystery.
The atmosphere is dramatic: dark clouds, somber tones, stark contrasts.
The mountain doesn’t dominate: it emerges from the dark.
This is not a landscape.
It’s a sacred moment: a fleeting instant in which the Earth seems to open, revealing its heart of stone and light.
And in that suspended glow, Mount Olivia is no longer a giant: it’s a silent oracle, revealing and concealing, appearing only to those who know how to see.
Born in Milan on November 28, 1977, I’ve been living in Bormio for many years, where I work as a ski instructor and draw endless inspiration from the surrounding mountains and nature.
Photography, to me, is not just about representation, it’s about interpretation.
Many of my..
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