The light that stays. Hiiumaa through the lens of Priidu Saart
On presence, light and the living world – a conversation with Priidu Saart, photographer and filmmaker
Some places ask you to slow down before you have even decided to.
Priidu Saart is an Estonian photographer and filmmaker whose work is shaped by the natural world in all its seasons. Rooted in the landscapes of the Estonian islands, his images return again and again to the same underlying question: what does full presence in a place actually reveal? His connection to Hiiumaa runs deep, from winter coastlines to the particular quality of light that lingers long after the sun has gone.
Here, he reflects on what the island offers those willing to be still within it, why Springrise is a season that takes years to fully understand, and the one photograph that stays with him above all others.
Your work is rooted in Estonian nature and the seasons that shape it. When you first photographed Hiiumaa, what did the island show you that you had not seen anywhere else?
What makes Hiiumaa most special to me are its coastline and the vast openness of the sea. That openness creates space for new thoughts, ideas and realisations.
On the beaches of the Kõpu peninsula, you can walk for kilometres. The shores vary; some are sandy beaches, others are covered with millions of stones.
And then there is the solitude. You can walk long distances without meeting another person. Just you and nature.
If you spend enough time here, you may begin to feel yourself merging with nature. It is a beautiful feeling.
Watching the sea and the waves can also be a powerful experience. In every kind of weather, the sea has a different texture and colour. Every day is unique.
The play of light and colours on the water is something worth stopping for a long time. In the rush of everyday life, we may not have time for it, but here, it feels like meditation.
On calm days, the sea becomes completely still, like a mirror, and it feels as if life itself has paused for a moment.
After the long, dark winter, the return of light brings new energy to me as a creator. There is more light, yet it remains low and soft.
Eha Retreat follows five seasons, including Springrise, Estonia's unique transitional passage between winter and spring. As a photographer who works closely with natural light and seasonal change, how does this time of year shift what you see and what you reach for with your camera?
Springrise is a season that reveals itself very slowly. As a nature photographer and filmmaker, it actually took me years to fully grasp its essence.
But once you learn to see Springrise beauty, it is impossible not to love it.
After the long, dark winter, the return of light brings new energy to me as a creator. There is more light, yet it remains low and soft.
The melting of ice is beautiful, the sound of flowing streams returns. The forest floor fills with water as the snow melts.
Water and reflections on its smooth surface always draw me to pick up my camera.
The arrival of the first migratory birds brings me immense joy every year. I especially look forward to the common cranes; their calls echo far across the forests.
Each day brings subtle changes in nature. You have to be fully present to notice them.
Eha Retreat is built within a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve, where the landscape, the light and the silence are all part of the experience. When you photograph a place like this, how do you hold the line between documenting and disturbing, between capturing a moment and letting it simply be?
I deeply respect nature and the peace it holds. I mostly move alone, which creates a perfect opportunity to be a quiet observer. The camera is simply a tool for conveying these observations.
When I am near wildlife, I try to disturb them as little as possible. If I manage to encounter a wild animal without it being aware of my presence, it is a very special moment, one that gives me goosebumps.
Drone visuals are also an important part of my work. By the sea, the sound of a small drone quickly fades into the wind and waves. But on calm mornings, you have to be very mindful when flying to avoid creating unnecessary noise.
Often, though, the most moving and heartwarming moments are the ones when I do not even have a camera with me. It is just me, nature, and that view. That moment, which belongs only to me.
Photography asks you to be fully present in a place, to notice what most people walk past. What does that kind of attention reveal about Hiiumaa that words alone cannot?
The purity, monochrome tones and emptiness of winter are like a perfect canvas for renewal and new beginnings. Loving this emptiness and lack of colour requires your attention.
Spring awakening and blooming bring new vitality. Each day, more flowers and plants emerge. If you are not present, this time of year can slip by in the blink of an eye.
Summer abundance and light are an endless source of inspiration.
Autumn fog and grey days offer time to be with your own thoughts.
This kind of full presence requires taking the time for it. And that time, spent in wild nature, always reveals new layers within yourself, helping you move forward and realise more of your full potential.
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If you had to choose one single photograph from your time on Hiiumaa, just one, which would it be, and what makes it the one?
Of course, this is not an easy choice, but I will go with the first memory that came to mind.
It was at the end of winter, when I was walking along a snowy coastline with my camera. The sea was free of ice, and the sun already had that early spring brightness.
Suddenly, a white rock next to me started to move.
I flinched and was very confused for a second. Until I realised that I had gotten very close to a grey seal pup.
Young seals have white fur and can be almost invisible among the stones on a snowy beach. You can sometimes see seal pups resting on Hiiumaa's shores, especially during the late winter and Springrise period.
It was a very unexpected and surprising encounter. I took a few shots and left it resting where it was.
“Looks like there are self-moving stones in Hiiumaa,” I joked to myself.
