A day of rain, full moon behind a faint cloud, farther away in the trees, insects sing the night. I hear the rain mirrored on a rock; wilted flowers. Green tea, the smell of incense, the breeze ruffles through. A garden for a lonely delight.
At the origin of the images, at the onset of the journey where the images bring us or maybe where the images were born, there is an encounter and there is an uneasiness.... The image is a rendering, thus a writing: reflecting upon the photographed object. To image (imagine), going through the things and their environment, entering, leaving, in order to recover the matter; a flickering, wavering light.
The image represents fragments of memories, rags of reminiscence. It tries to escape the empty theater of reality the buffoon versus the citizen to flee the banality of the commonplace. A few dried flowers, a seemingly smooth surroundings, then behind an image, a torment appears, an anxiety that also is a fascination as yet unknown.