This photograph reveals a striking spectacle: the crevasses of the Bionnassay glacier, sculpted by the millennia-old forces of the high mountains. I captured this moment from the heights of the Mont Blanc massif, as a bright light highlighted the snow ridges and revealed the deep fractures in the ice. The image, in black and white, accentuates the almost graphic aspect of the blocks, as if nature had carved into the material to extract forms of incredible purity. The power emanating from these cracked walls is such that one has the impression of contemplating a cathedral of ice, silent and grandiose.

In the almost immaculate white of the scene, the rock can be seen in places, offering a subtle contrast of textures. Large seracs dominate the landscape, cut into countless fragments, witness to a perpetually threatened equilibrium. At first glance, one might think of a frozen architecture. Yet there's nothing more moving than a glacier: the ice flows slowly, metre by metre, and its fractures change with the seasons. Snow bridges eventually collapse, new crevasses appear, and the glacier's design is constantly reinvented.

I'm always amazed by the strange poetry of these wild spaces. Here, the snow hugs the shape of the seracs, filling in certain crevices, while in other places, the ice reveals its bare, dark, striated face. You can almost make out the lines of the strata, witness to successive accumulations of snow transformed into hard ice. An entire geological story is written before our eyes: each layer recounts a winter, a storm, a summer melt. To look at these crevasses is to read into the mountain's past and to feel, deep down, the upheavals it is undergoing.

Black and white, which I'm particularly fond of to convey the power of the high mountains, lends an almost abstract character to the landscape here. Volumes are highlighted by light, and we move from the purest glints of snow to the deepest shadows in the crevices. There's something hypnotic about this interplay of light and shadow, like a silent score where each block, each stop, brings its own note. This chromatic sobriety encourages us to observe the details, and we can better perceive the finesse of the snow blades suspended above the void.

The Bionnassay glacier has always fascinated me with its rugged character, steep couloirs and imposing seracs. As I approached this area, I felt a mixture of excitement and caution: the beauty of the place is matched by the dangers it conceals. Every step must be measured, every snow bridge assessed, and the slightest mistake could be fatal. Yet it is precisely this tension that makes the encounter with the glacier so overwhelming. We enter a realm where man is but a fleeting visitor, invited to contemplate the icy majesty and remember his own fragility.

In creating this work, I wanted to render the raw strength of this setting while suggesting the exquisite delicacy of its contours. Between deep rips and tapering edges, we perceive the complexity of a universe that oscillates between apparent solidity and perpetual movement. Through this contrast, the glacier reminds us that the mountain is not just an immutable mass: it's a living being, in constant renewal, whose equilibrium can break at any moment.

I like to think that this photograph inspires both admiration and humility. It testifies to the ephemeral beauty of a nature in mutation, inviting us to preserve and respect it. Like a cathedral erected by the forces of the earth, the Bionnassay glacier reminds us that at the summits the world, all is light, shadow and silence. And in this silence, the mountain whispers its truth to those who take the time to listen.