In times when everyone and their dog seem to have declared photojournalism dead in terms of making a living, it may seem a bit senseless, not to say suicidal,  to devote most of one’s time to managing a collective of photojournalists trying to do just that. It involves posing oneself (and answering your wife) the question – “Is it worth it?” over and over again.

Then one day you are handed an object by one of the bunch. One of those who repeatedly says he’s quitting, because it’s easier to make a decent living herding sheep than being a photographer. (And he’s right.) You look at the object. It’s beautiful. Mysterious. You already know what’s inside. You have seen the images over the years of his hard work, when he was living in a car making them. But still you haven’t. Not like this. It’s like opening a treasure chest.

And so: You Are Here Now. In a different world. It is your world. The country you live in.  But it isn’t. Because this is Eivind’s world. The sheep he herded are here. So is the fox he had a staring contest with. The half eaten waffle and empty pack of mayonnaise. The critters and wind hardened characters in their habitat, surrounded by breathtaking scenery and lit by the headlights of a car.

I rarely , if ever, buy photo books. I love them, but I know myself, and there are so few of them that I will open more than once. But this one is different.  It’s not a photo book. It’s a strange and magical world contained between two covers. Even the ladybug that lives in my office figured it out, and has now parked itself on the spine of the book, as if wanting to pass into Eivind world. It would belong there.

So now, everytime I have to answer the question “Is it worth it?” I open this book and know the answer.

Thanks Eivind.