Hautes Coutures is the work of a collector.
A collector of images. Patchworks of images found
here and there over the years.
In short, a photographic rhapsody.
Every picture tells a story.
To tell it, lengths of rope or chain, lightning, ladders, bridges
or handrails are interwoven. These strands hold together
the pieces of a photographic cloth, weave links,
keeping Man from wandering.
A strand now links Him to his own Universe or Fate.
Pins are threaded. Moon-pins, a lamp-pin. Pins that can suggest.
Jewels are stapled, as mysterious as temples,
as disconcerting as puzzles.
On the pieces of that cloth, a world where everything is a link,
apprentice seamstresses pull and the strands rise,
Hautes Coutures is a vertical world, ripe with lights.
Now, what’s under that cloth?
I’ll leave it to the spectator’s imagination.
THE ARTIST'S WORD
I’ve always dreamed of landscapes.
However, although their photographic representation
has been very well achieved by a number of artists,
it eventually hits a limit.
A landscape goes well beyond its strict representation.
It is an invitation.
I think it’s an invitation to dream, to reach poetry
where each detail holds its own meaning,
each element its usefulness, every scene tells a story.
Who’s the person who’s never dreamed
of lying on fluffy clouds or frolicking among the stars?
Those are a child’s simple emotions somehow
reduced within the constraint of traditional photography.
I’ve yearned to bring those yet again to the fore in absolute simplicity.
When my children came into my playground,
it became obvious I had to put them in the frame.
Their apparent naivity, added to their spontaneity,
allow to make believe in reality for a brief magic instant.
By almost systematically and deliberately putting
into those compositions an observer, who is still a child,
that impression is enhanced.
This series is a delicate mixture of pathos and surrealism
as expressed, at least in part, by André Breton:
’Surrealism rests upon believing in the higher reality of certain
forms of associations, up to then neglected, in the almighty
power of dreams, in thought’s free play.’
Translation: Gérard Magnaldo 2006