in the first place it is for myself that I write and photograph, compulsively. and it’s also compulsively that I wish to share the result
subjectivity
foreword, February 2023
every time I ask myself, “what’s this.” an impression, a vibration, an emotion I can clearly feel, coming or so it appears from the heart of the matter, the heart of the spot the moment I break in. however, along with the day to day, no single place ever presents itself this way: it simply lies before you, as an objet. could it be the persistence of the combined ethereal traces of our every thought, every intention and every gesture permeating each area until this day, besides a probable process of materialization? a long question.
what is this receptiveness, really? my imagination playing tricks? a personality disorder? just an intuitive nose? a compulsive gesture, an openness one shows toward others when one identifies with them, or when one reacts to the presence of pheromones? could it simply be the result of expectation? as I go along and give myself over to the will of my footsteps, roam one by one each of those places, I absorb the whole life that animates them, the peculiarities that each of them offers. I question them; capture their discourses as best as I can, which I tighten and reframe. I translate them, interpret them; hazard a few guesses—field photography and psychogeography. I write every image at the first person, and as I create them in return indeed I open myself up to them. I come to dwell those places. I recognize them as the same sensation that welcomes me when I get back home, the moment I put my hand on the door knob. A return toward the whole, a return toward the self.
can the photo and the word make all this perceptible? I remember seeing, when I was in primary school, the picture of a boy walking beneath a ray of the sun, a ray that was just for him, and which was the source of inspiration for all his gestures; the revelation I had that day was not so much what the drawing represented but the fact that someone found a way of representing it. today it’s when I look at this photograph by Jerry Shore that I feel the full vibration of this fascinating place as if I stood there: today it is not the extraordinary of things that speak to me. my choice had slowly turned away from idealism. I am more inclined to listen to the matter, to hear its voice speaking common words. does its rough surface really whispers its immateriality? my glance automatically looks for its everyday face, hoping to attest to my impressions. are the word and the image able to transcend those misleading appearances the same way I sense them? or is it nothing but a clever process of sublimation, the materiality of life being too dense and too heavy to bear? ultimately, is it relevant to answer every one of these questions? The answer could very well be another question, and the initial question the spark that has moved me from the start.