Exilles, January, 1997 – two metres of snow have just fallen. The World Cup Ski Race is near. There is a fortress to illuminate. The valley is narrow, the fortress is clinging to its rocks. It is enormous, impressive, and it needs light. There are no computers, no maps, and no programmes. It is my eye that has to decide. There are thirty days left to set up lamps and cables. There are thirty cold nights. The snow is deep. There are volumes to light. There is so much ice, drowsiness, and fatigue. There are orders shouted into the radio. The fortress lights up. It comes out of the blackness of the night. It is an immense stage setting, like a Tibetan monastery.