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What are our life mission? What were our ancestors missions? We, human, are nothing, really, we are not important at all. But we have feelings, fears, and dreams. What is my mother mission?, What are my grand parents mission? Is there some dreams of them remaining inside me? Will they remain when they will be gone? Will my dreams remains when I will be gone? Are the dreams stronger than the absurdity of life? Man stands face to face with the irrational. He feels within him his longing for happiness and for reason. The absurd is born of this confrontation between the human need and the unreasonable silence of the world.   “Mother used to say that however miserable one is, there’s always something to be thankful for. And each morning, when the sky brightened and light began to flood my cell, I agreed with her.”  
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 Lost feeling in a too warm city. Going up to avoid the overwhelming streets of Barcelona. Bodies are getting sticky, impatient, waiting for the air to cool down, craving for something better to arrive… But is there more to expect from this? Maybe finding an other soul to share your anxiety? Two people getting close to each other, but staying in their own solitude. Painting spots on their body like the indelible traces of their own life.    "Waiting for the air to cool down, craving for something better to arrive…"  "Painting spots on their bodies like the indelible traces of their own life..."    Slowing down the march of time…    Opening herself to those hidden treasure of just being...
An Island, two friends travelling together, and a camera, longing for telling stories...  I believe that those stories, are not coming out of nowhere. They are influenced by dreams, childhood, nature, but also literature. Taking this picture, I was humming this traditional French song, my mum use to sing to me as a child: "À la claire fontaine M'en allant promener J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle Que je m'y suis baigné Il y a longtemps que je t'aime jamais je ne t'oublierai..."  I sens such romanticism all around in that Sardinia beach. A great grey sky, pink rocks, clear waters and a dark hair girl with a wet dress... Later one, I found the exact words to put on this image. It is from a Flaubert Book : Mémoire d'un fou (Memoirs of a madman in English). "Every morning I would go and watch her bathe. From a distance I would contemplate her in the water, envying the peaceful, gentle waves which splashed upon her sides and covered her panting breast with foam. I saw the outline of her limbs beneath the wet clothes that covered her, I saw her heart beat, her breast heave. Distractedly I watched her foot sink upon the sand. My gaze remained fixed on her footprints, and I would almost have wept to see the waves slowly wipe them away."  More about this story : La Baigneuse.
Elfs, fairies, and other magic creatures often enchant our childhood. I believe that nature, is all magic if we take care of observing with patience.... A poem by Ernest Thompson Seton and a lovely field Inspired me for this Polaroid Story...  "Do you seek the road to Fairyland |