Yesterday when I was little

One cannot talk too long about the beginning of life without drawing on one's own beginning. With time, it becomes easier to look at it than to explain it. This is why I chose to tell this story between images and poetry. I dedicate it to my daughter, as a diary of her beginning. Time may change my memory and hers, how we feel about our own stories, loves and parents. One day, when the questions come, this book may be a crack in the darkness of her history. This project and the book are also a response to language and all the things we cannot name. It shows how words fail to connect magic and reality, to soothe us in the turmoil of love and loss, to describe the untouchable feeling of communion with our first and last love, our family. A feeling of communion so painful and explosive, charged with life and despair in its presence and absence. As they say, life is an absurd wound. I photograph the moments of peace, after the calamities of love, after some innocence is shed and when the nights are tender again… when we are forever changed.