A long-form photo essay shot over two mornings in the Engadin valley. The brief was simple: one car, two photographer, and whatever the light decided to give us.
We arrived at St. Moritz at 7:30 AM. The valley was still asleep. Then the scenery changed, a roar echoed through the village. The 917s flat 12 not only started up, it roared into live. A cold mechanical announcement to the world that is not comparable with anything else, a pure petrol filled symphony. With snow crunching under its spikes it moved into the venue.
What followed was seven minutes of perfect light — that impossibly warm, low-angle gold that the Engadin is famous for. We shot fast. We shot instinctively. And then it was over, replaced by the flat grey of a November morning.
The result is this series: twelve frames that capture something you can't plan for. The intersection of engineering and landscape, of human obsession and natural indifference.
