Yard Time

In the first days of coronavirus lockdown, in March 2020, locked up in my home, plunged into the abyss of dark thoughts, I watch from the balcony of my Parisian flat my neighbours walk around the courtyard and leave or enter the building. Between envy and empathy, I wait for them and examine the reasons for their only admitted free hour, trying to guess their stories and thus tie once again the links with humanity. But in my hands, my Rolleiflex turns into a kind of surveillance camera that records everything coldly, follows, spies, and only returns to me the image of wandering solitudes.