Since Donald Trump reiterated his desire to annex Greenland, this vast Arctic territory has occupied international debates in a way rarely seen before. “We need Greenland from the standpoint of national security,” the former U.S. president has stated repeatedly in recent days, reopening the long-standing question of a possible American acquisition of a Danish autonomous territory with a unique status — and prompting a global reflection on what it truly means to inhabit these extreme latitudes.
Today, as Greenland firmly rejects any idea of external absorption — “We are not for sale,” local authorities and demonstrators repeat, chanting “Trump, hands off Greenland!” at rallies in Nuuk and Copenhagen — the tension between political sovereignty and international visibility becomes an essential context for understanding the work of photographer Inuuteq Storch.
Storch did not choose Greenland as a subject out of geopolitical provocation. He was born there, in Sisimiut, and carries its streets, voices, and bodies within his gaze. “Photography is a direct extension of the eye,” he explains when speaking about his practice. “It’s about writing history from our own perspective.” A clear reminder that telling the story of one’s country does not pass through the eyes of an external observer, but through those of someone who belongs to it.
This same desire to tell a story from the inside runs through his series “Keepers of the Ocean,” published as a book by Diskobay in 2022 and shown in 2019 at MoMA PS1 in New York, and again in November 2025 at the Danish Cultural Institute in Paris. The series is composed primarily of photographs taken in his hometown, where extreme landscapes and familiar faces coexist without rupture. Storch recalls his first encounters with photography: “When I finally left home, I understood how important it is to be from Greenland, and to call yourself Greenlandic.”
The photographer’s images are meticulous. They do not seek the event, the icon, or spectacle. A boy lies at the edge of a muddy road, a glance lifts toward the sky, hands are clasped above a sofa. The viewer moves closer, resisting the urge to read these scenes too quickly, because they describe a relationship to the world in which nothing is gratuitous. Storch puts it simply: “When I photograph people, it’s the connection with them that inspires me. And the relationship between people and nature.”
In other images from the same series, silhouettes face endless snow, or children stand at the edge of icy water. These scenes depict everyday life without artificial lyricism — touched by discreet humor and a tenderness that cannot be explained, only felt. “I’m very good at showing everyday things,” Storch says. When these images are set against the current political echo, a deep asymmetry emerges. On one side, declarations of power driven by the logic of global strategy and security. On the other, an intimate and patient narrative that shows a community living, laughing, walking through snow, sensing light, and building a world from what it knows.
This opposition is not accidental. It reveals something fundamental: the tension between seeing a land as a geopolitical pawn and living it as a place of belonging and memory. On this point, Storch emphasizes the importance of Greenland’s visual history: “By returning to family and historical archives, I understood how Greenlandic photography can rewrite our own history instead of leaving it in foreign hands.” Storch also works in analogue photography, often using cameras inherited or given to him. He explains that this gives him the feeling of carrying “small pieces of my own history” with him.
As discourses around “national security” and power dynamics circulate between Washington, Copenhagen, and European NATO countries, the images of “Keepers of the Ocean” remain silent yet insistent. Inuuteq Storch proposes another narrative — not a manifesto, but an attentive gaze toward what is lived by the Greenlandic population. Taken several years ago, his images do not respond directly to current events, but they illuminate them in retrospect: Greenland is not a territory to be bought, annexed, or negotiated. It is told as an independent community — complex, alive, and proud.
The book Keepers of the Oceanis published by Diskobay. The exhibition is touring and is expected to find another venue in the near future. Prints are also available for sale.
