Drawn to the Far North for years, I felt a deep urge: to return.
But I didn’t want to simply bring back souvenir images.
This time, I wanted to experience a true, tangible loss of bearings—to lose myself completely.
To achieve this, it was necessary to plan a journey under conditions extreme enough to provoke a kind of hallucination.
I organized a short expedition—only 36 hours. A round trip into a deserted zone, hundreds of kilometers from any human presence, within the Arctic Circle.
At the heart of the journey: a sleepless night, alone, in a surreal landscape, constrained by the narrow beam of my headlamp, like the monocular gaze of a Cyclops.
Departure from Paris at dawn.
A first flight to Finland’s capital.
A second to the extreme northeast of the country.
Nightfall.
A hundred kilometers of frozen tracks by 4x4.
A three-hour snowshoe trek to a place where no one had ever spent the night.
A sleepless night in the heart of a forest literally frozen by -30°C temperatures, wind, and frequent snowstorms.
A real danger, a real solitude—temporary, yet absolute—for the sake of pure creation.