In the limestone beneath the Sint-Pietersberg, south of Maastricht, generations carved a labyrinth of marl quarries. The walls became a living archive: inscriptions, notes, and drawings left by block breakers, tourists, soldiers, and priests. The infamous Mosasaurus was first discovered here; sieges were endured; treasures including Rembrandt’s Night Watch were stored; and legends accumulated. Around 1960, a cement company began excavating Slavante, the oldest part of the tunnel system. Jan Spee began photographing the corridors, meticulously mapping and organising the system, adding notes, descriptions, and thoughts to his images. At the end of 2013, he transferred his entire collection to the archives of the Historisch Centrum Limburg; his photographs alone occupy five linear metres of shelving, within a total archive of more than twenty-one metres.
The Mountain’s Breath (De Adem van de Berg), published in 2024 by The Eriskay Connection and compiled by Sven Gerhardt, draws on that archive. Jan Spee is the photographer; Gerhardt also serves as designer, with texts by Spee and Ton Breuls. Marlijn de Jager edited the text, and Siji Jabbar handled translation and editing. At 416 pages and 23.2 × 33.7 cm in softcover, the book reproduces a broad selection of Spee’s images alongside archival material about life in the quarries, providing context and cross-references. The structure mimics a visit inside the mountain, with Spee as a knowledgeable and articulate guide. Text appears in Dutch and English.
For collectors, the book’s significance lies in this editorial method. The book preserves Spee’s observations of a landscape threatened by industrial excavation. Gerhardt’s compilation turns that material into a coherent account rather than a nostalgic album, allowing a reader to follow observations, discoveries, and losses across pages. The parallel presentation of image and archive situates the photographs within the social and industrial history they document. Its substantial trim size and 416-page extent give the material room to breathe, while the design by Sven Gerhardt and the lithography by Marc Gijzen support the book’s documentary aims without theatrics.
The Mountain’s Breath is a careful act of preservation. It makes an underground world legible and shows how photography can serve historical understanding when it is organised, annotated, and edited with care.
