In Hyperborea, Evgenia Arbugaeva brings us face-to-face with a world that feels both distant and achingly familiar.
Her photographs are not mere windows into the Siberian Arctic; they are portals into a place where time moves differently, where survival and beauty are intertwined in the rawest form.
Growing up in Tiksi, a remote town perched on the edge of the Laptev Sea, Arbugaeva's work is steeped in an intimate understanding of this stark landscape—yet it is a landscape that continues to evolve and resist easy definitions.
At the heart of this collection is an almost mythic sense of place. Hyperborea—the title itself evokes the ancient idea of a utopian northern land, untouched by time and civilization—suggests both a physical and existential frontier. The photographs present us with what feels like a still, quiet world, yet underneath the calmness lies a pulse of life that is not only fragile but also fiercely enduring. The visual language Arbugaeva uses tells a story of endurance and fragility in equal measure. Her images are not romanticized; they capture a place that, while stunning in its otherworldly beauty, is also inhospitable, unpredictable, and relentlessly challenging.
What strikes immediately about Arbugaeva’s work is the intensity of the color. The Arctic is often imagined in shades of white and grey, but here, Arbugaeva’s lens reveals a palette that is electric with vitality. Sky-blue glaciers, fire-orange skies at dusk, and the green glow of the aurora borealis illuminate scenes of otherwise stark, snow-covered tundra. The land may be cold, but the emotions her photographs evoke are far from frozen. There is a warmth, a glow—sometimes eerie, sometimes reassuring—that suffuses each frame.
Take, for example, a photograph of a solitary figure standing in the vast snow, their shadow long against the stretching horizon. It’s a moment that, at first glance, might seem devoid of any clear narrative. Yet there is a sense of weight to the figure’s stance, as though they are a part of the land, anchored to its extremes, yet in dialogue with something much greater. The shadows, the light, the expanse of the frozen earth—they all come together to create a visual symphony where every detail matters. There is no superfluous element. Each photograph is carefully composed, yet speaks to a much larger force that is beyond human control.
Her images also ask us to consider the relationship between humanity and nature in its most raw form. In a place as remote as Tiksi, where the environment is a constant presence and often a threat, the line between human life and the natural world blurs. People and the land are inseparable in Arbugaeva’s work, a relationship that is at once beautiful and harsh. Her subjects, often portrayed in the midst of nature's grandest displays—snowstorms, frozen lakes, or under the vast Arctic sky—exist as a part of the landscape, not above it.
There is also an undercurrent of tension in Arbugaeva’s work, a quiet acknowledgment of the fragility of this world. These remote communities, once isolated from the world’s gaze, are now facing existential threats, from climate change to industrial expansion. In one photograph, an abandoned building stands against a backdrop of frozen water, the structure seemingly reclaimed by the land, an ironic symbol of both human ingenuity and the impermanence of our creations. Such images are haunting not just for their beauty, but for their quiet commentary on a vanishing world.
