Paysages d'une vie

Et rongeant mes entrailles

Secouée par la fièvre

blond comme le corbeau

des yeux sans fin

Un grand éclat de rire

Le monde entier l’embrasse

Le soleil se mirait en riant sur son front

Et les ciels s’effilochaient entre les sourires

Et écorchant mon coeur

Sur sa joue lumineuse

Agonie délicieuse

Des yeux...

Trop de clarté peut-être

Mais que tout mon être réclame.



One step forward...

I'm still surprised to realize how scared I am to put my work out to be approved (or not) by the art world. The fear of criticism and rejection which had me paralized all these years is still very much there and clutching at my throat. It would be so easy to step back and close the door, locking my entrails away safely, only to expose them partly and briefly to an audience with no voice and no real interest.
How to accept not to be loved? Art is so inherent to the deepest and most intimate part of the one who creates it, it might as well be their own flesh and blood. Rejection then becomes similar to someone saying they dislike you as a human being and dismiss all that you may feel or think as an individual, that you are not worthy of their time and interest. Am I brave enough for it? Am I ready? Do I feel confident and secure enough with who I am and what I do to survive this ultimate test of love, stand out in a crowd of rivals more talented and charming than me, take my clothes off and face the cold detached stare of the all powerful judges of what is "good art"?...

The Poetic Quality of the Solar System

I think about...

The loneliness of a planet

Spinning around a lonely star

Gravitated by lonely moons

In the silence of outer Space...

The beauty of a moon

Caught in a planet's orbit

Dancing around it forever

But never to reach it....

Being an icicle

In one of Saturn's rings

So delicate, so small

Beautiful

Oblivious to Infinity...

'Ils seraient ceux qui dorment l’un près de l’autre et se retrouvent ensemble au matin, quand on devine que devant les montagnes bleues commence une journée de bonheur.' 

Henri Pourrat, Gaspard des Montagnes

Impression sur fond de lumière

Quitte ces vêtements de soleil érodé
Plus un bruit dans le bois

Que quelques pierres qui pleurent

Que quelques enfants morts

Qui rient entre les ronces

Des copeaux de coeur sous les ongles

Des mouches qui grésillent

Contre la fenêtre entrouverte

Et mille éclats de soir

Plantés en moi je vis

La chaise furieuse brûle

Plus un cri dans le parc

Que le ciel vomissant sur moi

Mes immenses fenêtres.

Au pays

C'est un beau pays

La rage y est molle

Arrondie comme son horizon

S'immole

Les soirs d'été

Les collines s'embrasent

Bleues de silence et de temps

Long comme les yeux

Des gens

Qui ne disent bonjour

Les sapins pour berceau 

Et l'histoire se déroule 

Comme un chat au soleil

Contre un paquet de neige

au Printemps.

Lamb to Slaughter

It's time I finally accept to surrender myself to the sharks of the art world, and allow them to rip through my flesh as they will in the hope that one may spare me and give me a chance to share my "baby" with other similar-minded people... I have decided to put my "I was here" project in the line of fire, a very personal and emotionally charged piece of work for me, but one which I hope is more accessible and more likely to be accepted as a first bait by the galleries I have selected.
Most of the images are ready but I intend to take a lot more photographs when I go to France again at the end of the month, with the intention to expand on some ideas this project has raised. More close-ups, more detail shots and the possible use of my Holga camera for wider shots. All fingers crossed...