This is one of the new photos I will show this year; why did I choose it, and not another one, I do not know exactly, it is always difficult to decide. There was something in the landscape that I liked, the lines, the dots made by the trees, the variety of greens, it reminded me of an impressionist painting. I also have been hiking there very often when I go to France, yet it is the first time I have an image that captures the essence of the place, so it could be another explanation. What do you think?
Asking a question defines a topic to concentrate on, is it a good way to control the thoughts of others?
_ It is fall again, the geese are back. You always hear them before you see them, it is the reason they are the delight of the apprentice hunters. Luckily for these here, they are flying over conservation land so they are safe, at least for now. As they trumpet their approach, you search the sky to locate them, and here they are. They make you dream. You never grow tired of watching them fly in their V formation, sometimes a perfect V, most often a rather loose one, you must admit. For you, they symbolize freedom. They remind you of a novel your teacher read to the class when you were in fifth grade, if the day had been good. A novel from Sweden, or Finland, or one of these far away places, with two main characters, a goose and a young boy. Why was he flying on the back of the goose, or was it a swan, you do not remember? Nor do you remember where they were going, or what exactly was happening to them, yet you vividly remember that it was a riveting story, whose plot you were carrying home with delight. Flying over countries, meeting good and bad people, seeing new things everyday, struggling against the winds, the rain, the unexpected, what an odyssey it was. More recently, you saw a movie about some other geese, no words spoken, just their cries and their mimicries. It was as if you had entered another world without borders, without limits, except the distance you can fly in a given day. It made you realize that indeed there are parallel worlds, not in another dimension, but right here, in all the creatures that surround you. Do they even notice that you are here? Do they care? These geese have their own agenda, going places to mate and feed. You are mere disturbances along their way. A city here, a factory there, sometimes they get caught in a situation they cannot cope with, because it is too foreign, but basically they fly over. Other predators and events are much more important than you. It is refreshing and humbling at the same time, is it not? So when your gaze follows them for a long time, are you sure it is merely to identify them?
From the book "52 Weeks" on sale now as an ebook on iTunes, Amazon.fr or Amazon.co.uk
_This is one my first woodcut, if not the first, made in 1985 and influenced by Alechinsky for the border and Kirchner for the woman.
Expressionism is what draw me to relief printing techniques I think, even though I was born in a town known for its colorful woodcuts (Epinal, the city of Images)
_As we get a ticket for illegal parking, could we pay a fee in advance and be allowed to park illegally?
_ You would have swear it was insane to boat early on a lake, especially if you are not this kind of serious fisherman that knows it is indeed the best time of the day to catch some bass or other fishy creature, when they are still asleep but already hungry. As a matter of fact, you intended to wake up around mid-morning, yet the summer light had been annoying, pushing under your closed lids, illuminating the inside of the tent, acting as if you had no right to some dark and warm intimacy, making your sleeping life miserable, and, last but not least, bringing this irritating and sudden desire to go to the toilets. You had finally and reluctantly got up, then ended up shivering along the shore, hooked by the mist lingering on the water, the remnant of a mysterious and past ceremony, or the annunciation of an upcoming revelation. Your imagination had started to create multiple scenarios whose reality you were unable to verify, so you had rushed back to the tent, grabbed some clothes -already you were feeling warmer and better-, and came back with your full kayak gear. Now in the middle of the lake, in the middle of the action, you do not feel the need to imagine anymore; the never-ending undulation of the light gliding along your boat is enough to stun your senses. Are you in a kind of fairy tale, will you see elves and magicians? As the light changes, as the sun appears behind the tree line, colors evolve, reflections sparkle, subtle transformations take place. A green gets greener, or catches a ray of yellow, a blue becomes darker, or evolves toward translucent, a flower that you had not notice before becomes suddenly an unforgettable sight in her quiet simplicity. Can you really tell what happened behind your back each time you moved your head in a new direction, or do you have to reorganize your memory as you move forward and look around? Everything has changed again, and again, and again, but everything is still the same, the lake, the mist, the rising sun, the kayak, you. Could it summarize your life, life in general, the beauty and mystery of it? It is quite early on a lake, but you are not far from a profound revelation.