To accompany the release of his book Lumière, published by Éditions Allary, Matthieu Ricard is offering a series of blogs on photography. An invitation to share wonder, celebrate the beauty of the world, and continue the quest for light that has guided him throughout his sixty-year journey.
When I made the images for A Motionless Journey: The Himalayas Seen from a Hermitage, I remained seated in the same place for an entire year, as though I were waiting for the light. Yet I was waiting for nothing, and I had no plan to make a book: I was simply living in my hermitage to undertake a retreat. While continuing my spiritual practice, from dawn to dusk, I contemplated the Himalayan range unfolding before my eyes. At times, an unexpected light would set the scene ablaze for a few moments, and I would take a few photographs. These “magical moments,” captured from the terrace of my hermitage or a few hundred metres away, are the fruit of this “waiting without waiting,” of nature’s harmony blending with the bliss of meditation.
But it is not always a “motionless journey,” and sometimes I travel far in search of certain images. As a teenager, I saw an iconic photograph by Ansel Adams: a lake edged with rocks in the foreground, with great depth of field, and snow-covered mountains in the background standing out against a luminous sky. After discovering a photograph of the Tsophou Lakes in Bhutan, and wishing to find a scene similar to the one Adams had photographed, I walked for four days in the mountains with two Bhutanese friends to reach those lakes. We arrived at our destination one afternoon, while the surface of the lakes was ruffled by the wind. I told my friends that I was going to sleep there. We were at an altitude of 4,400 metres and had left our tents two hours’ walk below, at the Jomo Lhari base camp. They were hardly enthusiastic, but hesitated to abandon me to my miserable fate. Luckily, a family of nomads camping a few hundred metres away kindly offered us shelter in their tent for the night. I knew what would happen at daybreak: at six in the morning, the lake would be like a mirror, and the lofty summit of Jitchou Draké, rising to 6,900 metres, would be perfectly doubled on its surface. With delight, I welcomed into my camera an image in homage to Ansel Adams—one well worth four days of walking!
Above 5,000 metres, breathing becomes short and you must not go too fast! But personally, I love being at high altitude, where the crisp, rarefied air fills the lungs with bursts of freshness. The sky is a deep blue, and the purest light shines with an intensity found nowhere else. Every summit sparkling under the midday sun, or bathed in the rays of dawn and the last glow of twilight, is an inexhaustible source of bliss—and a treasure for the photographer.
You can find this entire photographic project in Lumière, published by Éditions Allary.
Matthieu Ricard donates all of his income—royalties from his books, photographs, and lectures—to development projects run by the Karuna-Shechen association, which works to reduce poverty and empower the most vulnerable women, men, and children. In this way, every reader becomes a direct contributor to solidarity through their purchase.