Portrait of the Jungfrau in the bernese alps. Mountains can sometimes seem like apparitions. That day, facing the Jungfrau, everything seemed unreal. The wind was blowing hard, tearing the snow from the ridges, sculpting the air into moving volutes. And suddenly, as if from another world, the famous pyramid came into view. Fleeting, blurred, almost spectral.

The Jungfrau is one of the best-known faces in the Alps. Yet what I saw that day was nothing like a postcard. Under the effect of the wind, the rock itself seemed to dissolve. Strange shapes appeared and disappeared in clouds of ripped snow. The Sphinx observatory, perched on the flank, was nothing more than a pale line, as if scribbled in the sky.

I spent long minutes contemplating this scene. The mountain oscillated between presence and obliteration. It was this contrast, this duality, that moved me. What I'm looking for in this photograph is not the sharpness of a line, nor the accuracy of a relief. It's the emotion of the moment. The power of a breath. The thrill of the unspeakable. In this composition, the interplay of forms is almost abstract. Snow seems to dance, rock melts into light. The mountain becomes a mirage. A ghost of altitude. A vision that imprints itself on the memory more than on the eye.

The Jungfrau here is not monumental, but a mystery. It eludes us as much as it attracts us. And in the blurred light of the wind, it reminds us that Alpine giants sometimes prefer to be guessed at rather than dominate.