“It’s like a holiday home. We put down our bags. We’re not going to stay, but it’s bright. There’s light everywhere. The bay below is within walking distance; every day from one end to the other, in every direction, we plunge. Here they say that the peninsula is more of a point. The tip of something. A living territory, in movement, in perpetual mutation.
Witness, I embrace it, draw it, the trajectory writes my story. Here, with each tide, the sea and the wind sculpt the scenery. Nothing is ever the same, nothing is ever completely different. In an attempt to capture this permanent evolution, I employ processes that facilitate moving images. I pose cameras with sensitive film and I let them run. Sometimes, something happens: traces, imprints. Sometimes nothing. The result doesn’t really matter. What’s important is the possibility of an apparition, a mark of the passage of time.
So begins the writing of a new and random territorial topography, made with new paths to explore, tracks to follow, crossings. Unique and fleeting images. A journal, a sort of travel guide to the end of the garden, the end of the path, the end… there where the sky becomes liquid.
These photographic moments summon up other images, photographs which were hiding in the depths of a painful memory. These images from another time have finally found their place. You feel that you’re getting somewhere… a little bit lighter… a start. I don’t know. Yesterday, I was able to open the box of family photos.”
