Yeşil Bazen Pembe — Kuzey Işıkları'na Yolculuk
The book's second trailer clip.
Selected writings and videos — travel notes, time-lapses, vlogs. The videos play right here; each writing links to its original post on Instagram.
The book's second trailer clip.
In ancient Greek and Roman records, the northern lights were described as a divine show that changed the colour of the sky. Last week the curtain came down as far as the Normandy coast — history's wheel passed over the same spot again.
Every season in Lofoten carries a different character. This year the curtain stayed especially long and slow; it spread across the shore like a white wave and didn't disperse for hours.
For many years Hamnøy was linked to Reine only by ferry; now a bridge joins the two islands. The angle from the bridge became the spot I used for the most personal frames of the last seven years.
The same bridge, another night. Once you get used to a spot for the Lofoten lights, you find the same frame in different weather on every return. Repetition, too, is a kind of collecting.
The name — Chasing Pink — was the reflection of a single night in 2018. After the pandemic years, the same colour returned over Tromsø: green again, pink again, again a silence words can't describe.
In the James Webb telescope's first Jupiter images, the ultraviolet auroral bands at the planet's poles were clearly seen. Earth is not alone — every magnetic planet raises its own curtain.
The Boston–Reykjavík route passes to the north; to see the aurora from the cabin on a night flight, choose the right-hand window when you book. Above the clouds, it stretches like a saturated green band.
When the pandemic closed the borders, the exchange rate did it a second time, financially. Chasing the aurora became impossible for most people that year; we watched it in the light of our screens.
Early September, the moment the northern nights start to grow long and dark again. The first observation reports come in from Tromsø and Vesterålen; the season is officially open.
Towards the end of April the northern nights shorten and the blue hours grow. This year the last curtain fell on 18 April; the northern sky quietly turned to summer.
Russeluft, the interior of Alta. Dark, wide, bare. The green seen on this road stretches in a single line; the curtain doesn't scatter, it flows.
A compilation of a seven-year journey is on the shelves. The order link is in the profile and the Instagram shop — the printed book goes directly through Evrim Ağacı Agora.
When solar activity is intense the sky surrenders to a single colour. If you happen on a night when green saturates, you remember nothing else.
A low-intensity night, close to full moon. The aurora burns faintly but lasts; the light falling on the snow stays steady, like a night lamp.
The aurora doesn't always peak at midnight. Sometimes it bursts half an hour before dawn; at that hour no one witnesses it but a few photographers still on their feet.
The second frame of the same morning. Sometimes there are moments a single frame can't hold; the gallery is born then, the choice of frame comes later.
A corona is the moment the aurora gathers right above you. The whole sky seems to turn around a single point; a photo frame can't convey it.
The pink curtain is born at low altitude in high-energy solar storms — so it's rare. It appeared again over Tromsø after a long absence.
When a solar storm arrives, Earth's magnetic shield steers the charged particles towards the poles; the colours we see in the sky are the visual proof of that steering.
A single night has more than one face — the solar wind's direction shifts, the curtain scatters and gathers again. Swipe to see the transitions.
For those who can't get the paper edition: a digital version is on sale through Google Play Books, Kobo and D&R. The same content, in a design optimised for the small screen.
A year we couldn't go north has ended. A farewell to the year with a frame from the archive — we'll set out again.
The longest night of the northern hemisphere. In Tromsø the sun drops below the horizon before this date and stays out of sight for weeks; all-day blue twilight, then the long night.
A pre-pandemic Sunday night, in Reine. In the hours when the streets are empty and only a few of the houses are lit, the sky opened.
The aurora is always a night light, but in Lofoten the sunsets are a show of their own. The pink-gold light that falls to the east of Reine is like a prelude welcoming the night.