I started this series two years ago after a very intense human experience. After a kind of break slowly infiltrates in me…
I used the photography as proof that all this had existedl, that my dumbness was not less violent there and fascinated.
Time passed and I continued to punctuate my life, or the lives which touch me with images, always to mitigate the fear of the space, the disintegration and the forgetting.
All my images arise from incidents. All are scars or desires, messages for those who do not hear any more, theirs, double-game, ceaselessly, deaf words each time.
I look for the wide open eyes but in the black, gropingly thus, for hands put on the ground, the allied skin in an awkward position, the body as only language.
I used the photography as proof that all this had existedl, that my dumbness was not less violent there and fascinated.
Time passed and I continued to punctuate my life, or the lives which touch me with images, always to mitigate the fear of the space, the disintegration and the forgetting.
All my images arise from incidents. All are scars or desires, messages for those who do not hear any more, theirs, double-game, ceaselessly, deaf words each time.
I look for the wide open eyes but in the black, gropingly thus, for hands put on the ground, the allied skin in an awkward position, the body as only language.
The certainty of the first day, anchored and fertile, the certainty, erased in the second day..
