At dawn, the Dent Blanche reveals itself, a masterly silhouette cut into the emerging light. A perfect pyramid of gneiss rising to an altitude of 4,357 metres, it reigns over the Val d'Hérens, fierce and inaccessible. Before 1791, it was known as Mont Cerne or Mont Noir. I've been looking forward to this moment for months, years perhaps, this furtive encounter between sun and mountain, this instant when darkness gives way to a celestial blaze.

The sun's rays pierce the clouds like divine spears, illuminating the ridges and plunging the valleys into a dramatic Light. At its feet, almost invisible, the Bertol hut clings to its rocky spur. How many dreams, hopes and fears have inhabited these walls at the dawn of an ascent?

I captured this moment when the clouds part like a theatrical curtain to reveal the sublime spectacle of the high mountains. The light dances and caresses the heights. This photograph tells the story of waiting, of patience, of communion with the elements. It testifies to this ceaseless quest for the perfect light, this obstinate search the moment when the mountain reveals its soul.

In this portrait, the Dent Blanche Blanche is no longer just a mountain - it becomes an allegory. Between its vertiginous ridges and the rays that seem to crown it, the eternal dialogue between earth and sky, between matter and spirit, between our finitude and our aspirations to the infinite is played out.