Hydroelectric Sublime

The Swiss Alps, renowned for their sweeping valleys, pristine lakes, and towering, snow-draped peaks, are a landscape where only a few slender crescents of rock pierce the endless white, as if gasping for air. Yet tucked away (somewhat surprisingly) in this rugged land is the Émosson region, located in the Swiss canton of the Valais, where a power plant hides within a cavern 600m below the ground, and three hydroelectric dams rise from the terrain like a deliberate scar – an immense structure of concrete and steel that channels the mountains' glacial waters into a lifeline for modern civilisation. The serene, glassy surface of the reservoir mirrors the jagged peaks above, reflecting both the majesty of the natural world and the quiet, enduring assertion of human will. It is a place where the engineered and the elemental coexist in an uneasy, yet utterly transfixing harmony, reminding us that our mastery over nature is as formidable as it is fleeting.

In Hydroelectric Sublime – a new book published by Lars Müller Publishers – photographers Beatrice Gorelli and Keiichi Kitayama take us on a three-year journey through this Alpine region, uncovering the complex relationship between humans and the environment. Their project, which was sparked from a serendipitous exploration in Valais, not only documents a grand feat of modern engineering but also delves into the deep, often paradoxical, connections that bind us to the landscapes we reshape and rely upon. Below, Gorelli and Kitayama share their insights, inspirations, challenges and revelations that shaped Hydroelectric Sublime.

What inspired you to start this project, why tell this story?

Beatrice Gorelli: It happened very organically. We began taking photos of the small village of Finhaut in the summer of 2021. We continued capturing images for a year, eventually reaching the dam at the peak. The idea to create a book came to us at the end of 2022. During that time, the news was focused on the power crisis that Germany and Europe were facing due to the Russo-Ukrainian War. It was winter, and there was a widespread fear of sudden blackouts or heating shortages.

When first encountering the Émosson region and its hydroelectric engineering, what were your immediate thoughts? 

Keiichi Kitayama: It was my first “face-to-face” encounter with a dam. Seeing this huge structure up close, I had a genuine and pure reaction. The sheer size and architecture of the dam left me feeling both moved and overwhelmed. It made a lasting impression on me.

Can you discuss any specific architectural or design elements of the Émosson dam complex that particularly stood out to you?

Gorelli: Through our exploration, we discovered numerous water collecting points, small rivers and glaciers that we didn’t realise were connected to the vast Émosson dam network. The most fascinating aspect was that, with each trip, this network expanded. When you are up there, these connections remain hidden in the rocks, not immediately visible. As author Nicolas Nova beautifully describes in the book, “[…]the Émosson complex is in this respect an exemplary manifestation of these large technical systems which illustrate the way in which engineering has domesticated nature.”

Kitayama: As you journey through the Alps and witness the changing landscape, a massive, unchanging grey structure emerges. The smooth concrete surface of the arch dam highlights its graceful lines, making it stand out beautifully. I often wonder what truly makes this scene harmonious. Is it because the dam’s appearance remains unchanged even after half a century, in contrast to the ever-changing mountains? Or is it the towering 3000-metre peaks, casting their impressive shadow over the smaller 180-metre-high dam? This contrast begs the question: where does the real beauty and balance of this landscape come from? I believe that the true beauty of architecture lies in how well it fits into and complements the natural environment around it.

Local residents live and depend on the dams for power. Can you tell me more about the relationship between the manmade and nature, and how this is emphasised through your project?

Kitayama: Our experiences consistently revealed a dualistic relationship. The connection between humanity and nature is deep yet complex. It evokes pride in our achievements but also raises concerns about our impact. This relationship is one-sided; humans benefit greatly, which can seem exploitatory.

From the dam’s edge, we witness the juxtaposition of human creation against the backdrop of natural splendour. As Takako Itoh, one of our writers, describes it, “The Emosson is precisely where we encounter a sharp confrontation between our archetypal concept of ‘nature’ (The Alps) and the unmistakable ‘artefact’ (concrete structures).”

Gorelli: We found this connection to be deeply meaningful. During one of our walks near the dam, we noticed a chalky substance seeping from the concrete. Our French guide referred to it as the “Milk of the concrete” (“Lait du ciment”; in French). I felt this term was quite fitting, as it opened up a metaphorical perspective linking water to the nurturing concept of mother’s milk in human culture. This discovery inspired our project, adding a metaphorical depth to our photographs and guiding us in exploring a rich meta language.

Who lives there, and who works on the dams?

Kitayama: Aside from Ibex and other wildlife, no one lives in the immediate vicinity of the dam, but the nearby villages have been significantly impacted by its presence. The substantial investment into resources, labour and goods during construction has shaped the economy and demographics of the surrounding area. Living deep in the mountains demands a strong focus on survival. Harsh winters often result in unpredictable road closures due to heavy snow, making daily grocery trips impractical. As a result, residents must stockpile food and firewood for winter heating. Despite these challenges, villagers lead simple lives in picturesque mountain homes with well-tended gardens.

Gorelli: There’s a pendulum in the Dam – a sensor made of a thin stainless steel cable that passes through the dam and detects the slightest of movements in the concrete. It gives the impression that the dam is breathing, and the workers are actively listening. All the workers we spoke with show profound dedication, caring for these structures that hold the weight of the water against their back. Their commitment reflects a symbiotic relationship; they carry a strong sense of responsibility and are fully aware of the potential risks involved in maintaining the dam.

How do you strive to represent your subjects through your imagery, what stories did you want to highlight?

Gorelli: Through our photography, we strive to evoke awe and contemplation, highlighting the profound connections and responsibilities associated with the dam. By portraying this relationship in a romanticised manner, we seek to stimulate reflection on our impact on nature, particularly in light of environmental challenges.

Kitayama: Through our imagery, we aimed to capture the contrast of industrial and natural landscapes, reflecting our diverse backgrounds. My upbringing in Japan’s industrial environment and Beatrice’s experiences in the scenic regions of South Italy and Switzerland influenced our choices in lighting, shapes and subjects. We wanted to highlight the interplay between human infrastructure and natural beauty, provoking contemplation on how these elements coexist and interact in our modern world.

What are the locals’ thoughts on the dams, do they see them as a positive or negative development?

Gorelli: Where there is now water, there were once pasture fields, so opinions vary among families based on their backgrounds. Some view dams negatively due to concerns about altering the scenic beauty of the Alps and disrupting ecosystems. However, hydroelectric power is also seen as a vital source of electricity in modern society.

Kitayama: Locals view dams through varied lenses. While some appreciate their role in boosting tourism and local economy through infrastructure development, others highlight the need for a nuanced understanding, avoiding oversimplified positive or negative judgments.

What insights did you gain about the sustainability and future challenges of the hydroelectric structures, especially in the context of the impending climate crisis?

Kitayama: We’ve learned that many large dams were built in the 1960s and 1970s, and now we must maintain them to continue using them. There’s a debate about whether we should build more large dams today because of their impact on the environment. Instead, there’s a global trend towards smaller hydroelectric generators that are better for the environment. In the future, we need to invest in energy methods that protect our planet.

Gorelli: Reflecting on our project has made us curious about how future generations will view these massive structures. The melting of glaciers, which provide water for these dams, is speeding up due to global warming. They could disappear within the next 100 years. Future generations, who will feel the effects of climate change more than us, might see these dams as symbols of humanity’s achievements, or as abandoned relics that are no longer useful.

How do you hope your audience responds to this body of work? What emotion or message do you hope to convey?

Kitayama: When I started this project, my main goal was to capture and share the awe I felt when I first saw that huge dam through photography. Meeting people proud of hydroelectric power also inspired me. I want to convey the deep experiences we had. Hiking with heavy gear in freezing temperatures made us realise how fragile humans are in nature’s presence. But seeing the mountains at dawn and feeling the warmth of the sun made us feel alive.

Gorelli: We’ve struggled with conflicting thoughts: Is it okay for a dam’s fast water release to harm plants and animals in the stream? “Sadly, yes”. But do we want to risk a blackout by not having dams? “No, how would I charge my computer?” We live in a time full of contradictions, where everything seems necessary yet inhuman. This century may be our last chance to get water from glaciers, and my goal was to remember it in the most poetic way.

Hydroelectric Sublime is available to purchase through Lars Müller Publishers here.