Every winter, as the New York air chills and thoughts turn to warmth and resilience, a striking image resurfaces: Irving Penn’s 1947 portrait of Peter Freuchen and Dagmar Cohn. This photograph, capturing the towering Danish explorer and his petite wife, a Vogue illustrator, is more than just a study in contrasts. It’s a glimpse into an extraordinary life lived on the edge and a marriage of seeming opposites.
The sheer difference in proportions immediately grabs attention. Peter Freuchen, a man of six-foot-seven, is enveloped in a massive polar bear coat, a tangible symbol of his Arctic adventures. Dagmar, small and refined in her chic black suit, pearls, and a fashionable hat, stands in stark contrast. Their expressions are equally telling. Freuchen’s is intense, weathered, almost confrontational, while Dagmar’s is composed, demure, and seemingly detached. Penn’s composition further emphasizes this separation. Dagmar is perched on a rough piece of fabric, while Freuchen dominates the frame, appearing ready to step out of the photograph entirely. They don’t touch, existing almost in separate worlds within the same frame. This visual and emotional distance makes it a compelling portrait of a unique union, and a perennial favorite for those captivated by winter’s stark beauty and human resilience.
Alexandra Dennett from the Irving Penn Foundation explains that this portrait was part of a Vogue-commissioned series showcasing cultural figures. Penn’s signature style for these portraits was intentionally stark and revealing. He used harsh lighting, bare studio settings with exposed wires, and uncomfortable props like wooden corners or piles of fabric. Art historian Maria Morris Hambourg described these as “existential portraits,” designed to be unsettling for both the subject and the viewer. This austere approach aimed to strip away artifice and reveal something essential about the sitter. For someone like Peter Freuchen, a man defined by his toughness and raw experience, this process was undoubtedly fitting.
Born in Denmark in 1886, Peter Freuchen was drawn to the Arctic from a young age. Inspired by a play about polar exploration, he abandoned his formal education at twenty and journeyed to Greenland as a stoker on a steamship. This marked the beginning of three decades spent in the most unforgiving environments on Earth. Freuchen’s numerous memoirs and journals recount a life constantly flirting with death. He survived being buried in an avalanche for days, narrowly avoided being shot by a cook mistaking him for a bear, and endured a terrifying plunge through sea ice, relying on his sled dogs for rescue. In a particularly harrowing incident while rappelling down a glacier, he harpooned his own thigh and later became trapped in a snow cave.
It was within this snow cave that Freuchen’s legendary survival skills were truly tested. With the cave entrance sealed by ice formed from his own breath, he famously fashioned a chisel from frozen excrement to chip his way out. During this ordeal, he suffered severe frostbite, ultimately leading to the self-amputation of several toes. Later, he would lose his foot entirely, a testament to the extreme conditions he faced.
Dagmar was Peter Freuchen’s third wife, following an Inuit woman who died young and a Danish actress and publishing heiress. Beyond his explorations, Freuchen was also involved in the Danish resistance during World War II due to his Jewish heritage. His books were banned by the Nazi regime, and he was reportedly captured by the Germans but managed to escape with Dagmar to the United States. In America, Freuchen’s Arctic expertise led him to Hollywood, where he worked on films set in icy landscapes. In a surprising turn, this larger-than-life explorer also won the popular game show “The $64,000 Question,” showcasing his broad knowledge and adventurous spirit. Peter Freuchen passed away from a heart attack in 1957, leaving behind a legacy of incredible exploration and survival. Dagmar lived on for many years, carrying the memory of their unique partnership.
Penn’s studio notes from the portrait session highlight Freuchen’s unforgettable presence, a sentiment echoed by anyone who encounters his image. “Mr. Freuchen brought the polar bear coat he had purchased in Greenland, wrapped up in a gunny sack and slung over his shoulder,” the notes record. “Clad in this he looked like a combination of an arctic explorer and a character from the Old Testament.” This description perfectly encapsulates the enduring appeal of Peter Freuchen: a figure of mythic proportions, a survivor, and a man who embodied the raw, untamed spirit of the Arctic.
