My name is Marta Anna Løvberg. I am a Polish camera-based artist who has been living and working in Norway since 2008 and has called the Arctic home since 2020.

Photography has always been my medium. It is quiet, precise, and full of contradiction. A photograph holds what is gone. It saves a moment, but makes it impossible for the moment to return. Photographs seem to show the world clearly, but they shape, select, and sometimes hide it. I am drawn to this tension. It mirrors the dualities I live with.

I start with thought, not image. Sometimes a word or gesture stays with me, and I begin to ask questions. I research and bring overlooked perspectives to the forefront. The idea grows quietly while I do other things. Most of the work happens before I take a picture.

I take a few pictures, sometimes only one. My editing is sparse. My work is minimalist, often high-key, and utilises negative space intentionally. Stillness and space are my language. What I leave out matters as much as what I show. I use both analogue and digital methods, choosing the one that best fits the idea.

The Arctic is an underlying theme in my work. This place faces constant pressure from geopolitical, environmental, and social factors. It also holds quiet and resilience. My experience echoes that. As a Polish woman and immigrant in Norway, I have felt the weight of being overlooked. I have had to prove my worth in places where I do not fully belong. Like the Arctic, I hold both pressure and space. I photograph what resists spectacle: the overlooked detail, the quiet gesture, the still presence.

Two lifelong projects anchor my practice. “Through the Norwegian Air” is about breath, space, and presence. It examines what happens when visual noise is removed and there is room to breathe. The series utilises the Norwegian landscape as a setting of stillness and vastness, where the air becomes a subject. This project stands in opposition to a culture dominated by spectacle.

“The Dictionary of Arctic Homes and Shelters” is different. It examines how people define home and shelter in the Arctic today, influenced by climate change, geopolitics, and shifting traditions. It moves between documentary and the intimate, combining scientific and geographic views with abstract images, sound, and text.

My photographs do not explain. They hold space. Viewers sometimes tell me they feel they could step into them, as if there is room for them, too. That matters to me. My work is not about finding answers, but about creating space for questions, for presence, for what we notice and what we let remain unseen.