Le jour de son 24eme anniversaire l’armistice en Europe était signée, il était un très jeune officier de la Légion d’Honneur.
A la fin de sa vie, il n’aimait plus beaucoup les anniversaires, mais aujourd’hui on aurait pu lui faire plaisir en lui rappelant que c’était encore une fois la Sainte Jeanne d’Arc.
A mon père…
Sometimes the title of a book is what interests us, we tell ourselves we will read the book, we start...
not always at the beginning but we drop it.
We keep the book in a good place for months, for years and we feel a little guilty because the book has not been read.
Maybe it need not be read: the title is enough to set our thinking, to express our desire and somewhere in ourselves we do the rest.
De celle qui opprime
Ou de celle qui embellit
C'est peut-être un choix
A chaque fois
On retient ou on est libre.
The one who oppresses
Or the one who gives beauty
It may be a choice
To find the balance
How much one controls
Or one lets breathe
Both my parents died this summer. My mother, unconscious in the last days of her life, seemed to draw from her own source but she also seemed anxious. To my eye, her hands shaped a question mark.
My father, also unconscious, held the hand we gave him with surprising force. There was a strong sense of communication, of receiving and passing on.
Is there a set of qualities that can be described very powerfully with the name of one planet?
Could I make ten self-portraits, one to reflect each of the planets?
More than ten years ago, I had a dream in which my family was robbing a bank, looking for a treasure in underground passages; it felt half-heroic, half-dishonest. A man stood up and died. Then a young woman and I had to hide in a flat and as we were trying to enter unnoticed a small crowd was looking at a yellow sports car. As I was describing this dream in the following days, I was asked what that yellow sports car could represent. More than one idea came to mind. After this dream whenever I saw a yellow sports car I was reminded of the dream and thought of a more showy, more visible part of me, and why not?
In May 2015, I had to collect my passport from South Kensington and saw this car in a showroom window. As I was trying to photograph it without my reflection the woman on the photograph said goodbye to the man and turned; she must have seen me and this was her reaction.
It is only when I was working on printing it that my friend Peter commented on the number plate. The name of the showroom is
H.R. Owen but of course it could be heroin or heroine.