Since 1983, I have been chasing the fleeting elegance of lenticular clouds over mountains.
The first time was at Volcán Osorno, where a perfect cone of vapor rose above the summit, wrapping it in layers so smooth it seemed sculpted by the sky itself.
In that moment, I understood why lenticular clouds are often mistaken for UFOs — their otherworldly forms seem too precise, too luminous, to belong to Earth.
Over the decades, I have followed these visions through the Andes, most often in the wilds of Patagonia. Torres del Paine, known as one of the best places in the world to witness lenticular formations, became a recurring stage.
Here, the winds carve clouds into radiant crowns, bridges, and floating discs that hover like silent visitors from another realm.
Patience became part of the art. Some journeys yielded vast panoramas, others offered delicate crowns above solitary peaks.
Often, I returned with nothing, because lenticular clouds appear only when mountain and wind find harmony.
Each photograph is more than a record of weather. It is an encounter with chance and wonder, a reminder that art is not always made by human hands. Sometimes, it is shaped by sky, stone, and air.
This timeline — from Villarica in 1983 to Torres del Paine across the 2000s — forms a visual archive of skies that look like they belong to dreams, or perhaps even to other worlds.
Explore the series at gcs.photo — fine art photography where water, memory, and time become poetic meditation.
