A mountain bewitches me, a high summit fascinates me. Obsessive rumor at the top of the Alps. What is this cry? This furious roar, this dull roar. The Weisshorn is calling me. I contemplate it and understand. That it fights the winds as one is born into the world, with rage and fervor. I understand that the time has come to paint his portrait. Just as the black and white of a photograph offer eternity to those who wish to capture it.

Carried by the tenacious shadow of Bishorn, the Weisshorn rises. Lord of the Imperial Crown of Zinal, it defies the sky to push it aside. Its northern ridge sweeps our gaze to its bold tip. Clad in armour of ice, it stands firm. Invincible pyramid, guardian of the Valais. Alongside it, its Grand Gendarme also breaks free of its own limits to fight the winds and defend the Alps. Watching him like this brings back vivid memories of my trip to summit on the Weisshorn.

This work inspires me as much as it moves me. The dynamics of its lines, the power of its contrasts and the softness of its grays. Ultimate emotion and ultimate fear. For here, the Weisshorn falls prey to the frenzy of the sky. Nature unleashes its fury, the violence of the winds battering its flanks. Frightful gusts that never cease. In the face of such virulence, the snow that covers the Weisshorn gradually flies away to serene lands and gentler skies. Just as stardust aspires to the essential, the soul of the Weisshorn seems to breathe its strength and purity into the world.