In 2020 lockdown I got invited to Gamvik, a remote fishing village on the Norwegian coast of Barents Sea in Finnmark county, to take a portrait of the northernmost settlement of mainland Europe for the local museum. I was to become a resident photographer, for 200 people of multiple nationalities, in a place that strives not to disappear.

Places like Gamvik are walking a tightrope, risking the loss of life support, as global economy makes their traditional models irrelevant. Unable to compete with industrial fishing or aquaculture, struggling with population decline, Gamvik instead takes a turn to community- based economics, with well-being, sustainability of fishing and nature conservation as priorities for the future. These are small and yet complex networks on the frontier, where people see more clearly how dependent they are on the nature and on each other.

Year later I was offered to look after the lighthouse and eventually decided to stay. It’s a peculiar experience for a photographer to look after a symbolic relic associated with light, in a place that experiences both permanent brightness and permanent darkness throughout the year. Nothing casts shadows except for the tower. Nothing obscures the view except for the clouds. There are no points of reference and the time is still.

Working in a small community brought me a tangible sense of belonging I haven’t felt before, growing up to an already globalised world. There's something primordial in human co-existence with wildlife, care for the environment and respect for the elements. As I got involved to works with local indigenous people to help them protect the landscape they see as holy, I began to perceive these ties as a sacred capital with inherent value, that once destroyed cannot be replaced.

Peak of eternal light is an ongoing series I see as diary of works in the north, bound by the sense of belonging to a community on the frontier, and solace coming from the sublime of surrounding wilderness.