It’s hot, but not so hot. The heat doesn’t overwhelm you. The climate does. I remember the first time I came to Arles for the festival. It was the middle of August and 33°C. But the air wasn’t stifling. It was, on the contrary, charged with electricity. I remember the tears streaming down my face at the Nan Goldin installation at the Église des Frères Prêcheurs. I remember photographs by Larry Clark, Diane Arbus, Pierre Molinier and Antoine d’Agata. I remember black and whites by Willy Ronis, and the playfulness of Duane Michals. I was intoxicated by so much beauty, so many masterpieces.
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