In the Taiga, we were confronted by dense swarms of fluttering butterflies and at that moment the meaning of one of my father’s repeated stories fell into place. Throughout his life he had always told us that while alone in the Taiga he had to eat the bark of birch trees and the flesh of butterflies to stave off starvation.
Bark and Butterflies were how he survived.
The final trophy of our trop was to capture and process the images which explain his survival.
Bark and Butterflies a matter of life and death.