We recognize—or think we recognize—everything in these photographs: situations, landscapes, people, who could be neighbors, friends, even family members.
Nothing spectacular, but a gentle strangeness, attention paid to tiny details, moments suspended in time, variations in light when it becomes magical and surrounds everything with a familiar halo of unreality.
Both realistic and mysterious, inexplicable and yet close, this universe is constructed pictorially—before devoting himself to photography, this artist was a painter—around colors that with the greatest prudence avoid describing, all the better to make themselves felt.
The eye, never feeling attacked, plunges into an atmosphere devoid of roughness, there in complete serenity to move about from detail to detail, to a pose, a moment of abandon, an acceptance, the fullness of a landscape, the fluidity of the sky when it meets the sea, the supple elegance of an interior that has become a still life.
Close to us, close to our homes, should we decide to look at them, here is a succession of moments of light that exalt the beauty of the world while declining emotions.