Sylvie Rebbot is one of our earliest collaborators. She joined us 7 years ago. Above all, she is the legendary director of photography for Geo, where she worked for more than 20 years. The compulsory confinement in which we are all immersed gave her the idea of a regular chronicle on her photographic memories. Here is the first chapter:
Almost two months of solitude. This morning however, I quickly went to the nearby village market. A line respectful of distances in front of the vegetable merchant except two old ladies trying to cheat to pass in front, quickly called to order by the merchants.
Today it is very sunny so I will take on a daily project for the house. I have turned on the tap in the garden closed since the beginning of winter and I am going to clean the deck which had turned green after the winter rain, a good physical project in the open air in the sun. There are flowers in the garden and the trees are covered with buds. It is spring.
This afternoon there will be a walk with Holly the dog, may be by the canal. Then if the texts are online a little brainstorming for the Eye of Photography, and maybe a note on photography more exactly about an image but which one, I thought of the books in the library, and then I looked around at the pictures on the walls.
Acapulco by Marc Riboud, a distant Christmas present from Marc, I call it napping with the hen, I feel the heat even in the shade under the palm tree.
I was very surprised in Acapulco, the beach is sublime but nobody bathes, the tourists are in the gardens of the hotels, in the swimming pools but nobody ventures into the sea in front of one of the luxurious hotels, in front of Americans probably sunbathing on deckchairs I dived, I was in my twenties, I was tall, slim and blonde and above all a very good swimmer. I went far to the middle of the bay, the water was delicious and there were a few small waves, then the idea of sharks brought me back to the beach. I ignored that very quickly very close, the edge was of very rough sand and the slope very steep, the waves so pleasant far from the beach projected me on the slope and rolled me on the sand; I went under, swallowing too much water then after a last effort, I came out of the water with my thighs flayed, my long hair over my eyes and the top of my swimsuit torn. A little ashamed I got my sandals then went to take a shower in the hotel gardens. We were camping with our Volkswagen van a little further on the beach under a palm tree exactly. – Sylvie Rebbot
