After quite a long time of an intense relationship with the image, I probably see more clearly today why and how this idyll has started and how the spell has lasted and kept me captive for so long, leaving me devoid of any willingness to break off such a freely agreed addiction.
So far I can remember, I had discovered the truths of etymology and the evidently logical reasons to create a word for a young science or a new practice.
The true meaning of the word photography was an eye-opener that left me in a state of deep reverie : photography as the art of writing with light.
Indeed, is there a better ink than light, is there a stranger paradox than the transfer of a limpid and dazzling wave into a dark flow, furtively magically dropped onto paper and printed deeply in silver, platinum salts ?
The reverie went on and I became a photographer.
My approach is intimately linked to a contemplative posture and a staunch pursuit of silence.
It seems essential to me that photography should first evoke the passing of time, not only for the sake of reporting a strictly cold chronological history but, above all, to represent the length and flow of time: the eye
