Zenithal

If the view were zenithal, distant, the landscape would be very different. Three men: two standing, one lying in a strange position, pointing west. There is a constituent immobility to the whole of the picture. The one lying down, we’d presume from up here, is the one who feels most comfortable with the current state of affairs. The two men who are vertical, on the other hand, transmit a certain tension, a degree of discomfort that needs for its resolution not a kinetic escape, but rather something more elusive, some sort of electricity, of static to surround them.

Of course, as soon as we move away a little, the detail loses definition. And in particular it loses interest, drama. Taking this distance, the three figures on the mountainside are no more important than that goat or that heap of tents, thousands of metres behind them, where six Spaniards, one Frenchwoman, and five other Sherpas are camped. From this height, the organic is relegated to the background to make way for the panorama. It is not yet a planetary dimension, we have not gone far enough to ponder the sphericity of the Earth, its bluish patina, the cosmic immensity… Not yet. It’s more like the height of a helicopter, of an audacious condor, of a water bomber plane that rises with its cargo already unleashed upon the flames of the forest. From this height, neither exaggerated nor close, the perspective rearranges priorities. The important thing from here seems to be the snow. And to a lesser extent the rock. Impossible to see the sky from up here, looking down. Some of the flora really strive to be part of the picture. As for the fauna, they are just stains, annoyances that spoil the general composition, the continuity of the white. The three immobile figures are part of that fauna. Pieces of a food chain with no role assigned.

Now one of them moves. From here it is difficult to say for certain, but it would appear that one of them has moved. He disrupts the diorama. They are adorable when they move, from this height. With their little arms, their tiny wool caps. There he goes, yes, he’s moving. He lifts his eyes to the sky and looks.