Welcome in the Twilight Zone

The fog was so dense that the lift seemed to be travelling through nothing rather than toward somewhere. Depth, distance, and direction became uncertain. Only the chairs, suspended and slowly moving, provided any sense of continuity.

The skier in the frame wasn’t performing for anyone. They were simply sitting, waiting to arrive at the top, wrapped in that quiet concentration that comes with navigating a landscape you can no longer fully see. The gesture of the hand near the face could be a wave, an adjustment of goggles, or simply a moment of stillness. I didn’t need to know which.

Technically, the image is defined by absence rather than clarity. The fog softens everything—edges, shadows, contrast. I exposed to retain just enough detail in the skier and the metal of the lift, letting the rest fall toward white. The background is not blown out; it simply does not exist in the conventional sense. The atmosphere consumes distance before the camera reaches it.

The composition relies on the diagonal of the cable, a line that gives orientation where the landscape cannot. The empty chair to the right adds balance and a slight tension: presence and absence in the same suspended moment. The faint silhouettes of trees barely register, as if the world is only half-remembered beneath the fog.