I smiled a little here at these prefabricated stories, these facial expressions and postures borrowed from magazines ... but with a certain tenderness for these heroes of a day crossed here and there at random in parks, cafes and streets. They are everywhere, sometime dressed as for a party, often accompanied by a camera accomplice charged with immortalising the moment. I just slipped into the scene for a few seconds, stealthily, slyly, to steal a bit of a moment that wasn't meant for me.
These images, more than others, exist only through the targets of future “voyeurs”. They are images to "appear" ... what we are not, what we are not enough.?. There is, here, only the subject and its face to face with the idea of itself.
It's all about waiting, nothing more ... being what you think you can be. The distance that is created between the subject and the image is also an enigma. Contrary to these smooth and magnificent shots of stereotypes, of these “too much” images, I wanted to muddy the waters a bit, to detach myself from the inescapable horizon that will make all of these images end up drowned in the immense loneliness of social networks.
Anonymous, necessarily anonymous ... There lies the “truth” of this series. Photography can no longer be “what was there”. I needed a certain fixity, like that of the silent icons. I also had to isolate them as in a sacred space that says nothing about them. They are no longer characters, just attitudes, just simulacra. Simply put the images back in their world of images.
I had to dig deeper into myself to find the evidence of the photograph. Roland Barthes, “Camera Lucida”. 1980. Le Seuil edition.
The birth of the reader must be paid for by the death of the author. Roland. Barthes (in the death of the author / Le bruissement de la langue, Le Seuil edition. 1984).
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