We last saw Irène in a Parisian bar for the launch of one of her first issues. She called herself an ‘erotic fanzine’ but she moved too fast and couldn’t stand up straight. If there’s mystery for every thing and the mystery of everything is poetry, then Irène was lacking in both poetry and mystery. She had porn chic with an artsy aesthetic, but she was too young and feverish to flesh out that most beautiful of troubles.
Since then, the three young, London-based French girls behind this project seem to have taken more time and care with their selection. The identities of the dozen contributors for this slightly smaller than A4 format, whose third issue was limited to 200 copies, remain essentially confidential.
We know that to touch the object of one’s fantasies is to lose all desire for it, and that the talent of an erotic piece is to strike a balance, to entice while pushing back. Irène has a talent for this little game, perhaps because the images share a feeling of torpor. We’ll see what the next issue brings, can they find anything like these white petals resting on two blond breasts which alone made the last issue worth the price of admission.
Antoine Soubrier
