Elizabeth Prouvost’s photographs make the bodies vibrate: they stream with shadows and recall scenes where women untie their hair. However, it is not the men of the lowlands but the Gods who order “You must look, look”.
Elizabeth Prouvost does not pretend to reveal the mystery of the body even if she knows how to unbridle it, to push the limits and, at the same time, those of our eyes but in an allusive way so that the imagination can give itself to its interpretations.
The photographer reconfigures morphologies: the woman seems open to joy as to pain, to torture as to ecstasy. To exist in a strangely divine or infernal light, nocturnal and volcanic.
Georges Bataille himself can go to bed and the Bible has to be revisited. For neither the eroticism of the author of the accursed part as the anonymous of the Song of Songs are as disturbing as the photos of the creator. The eye must get used to such takes (at least so to speak) since everything seems to give way.