Continents, fragments of our earth, bathe in the infinite expanse and depth of the seas. Continental drift retains an air of mystery and Africa, the Americas, Asia, Europe and Oceania are the names we have given to these swathes of land that are home to humanity, home since the dawn of time or at least since the earliest point in our common memory. Continents as foetuses, promises of improbable destinies…
The sphere, like the circle, has no beginning and no end. And yet – no doubt due to their egocentricity and an intense feeling of uniqueness – humans blindly cling to the belief that the whole earth, not to mention the universe, could not possibly have existed or have been organised for any other cause but them. Whilst staying on Easter Island, I came across an enormous, perfectly round boulder on the shoreline of Hanga Hoonu bay, still known as La Pérouse bay back then. I sat my first son Maxime on it and took a photograph. Back in the village, the Rapa Nuis told me that in their mythology, the stone was known as the centre of the earth.
It was a long journey and a long time ago now. It took me to numerous other shores scattered around the globe, and I was never able to take things at face value. When I look back today, I finally understand that it was guided by an invisible thread, a thread connected to inner worlds: portraits of people or self-portraits, depictions of lives, lives concentrated like relics in the minute and fragile space of mere images, captured over the course of time.
Jean Marc Tingaud, Paris
November, 2012
EVENT
Présentation at Artcurial on Thursday 17th September, from 6pm to 9pm of “Un Monde” by Jean-Marc Tingaud.
Librairie Artcurial
7, rond-point des Champs-Élysées
75008 Paris
https://www.artcurial.com/fr/
