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As we slow our rhythm for each other

we find our state altered 

Models are scarce, I use my own body

As I reach out toward an extranged world

I show myself fully

As a flower would bloom in spring

I speak of the state of the neutral, but also the lack of contact

The social distancing of our bodies and the taking over of nature

Corresponding video on video page

France, 2020, Alpha 7sII

Flowers in winter

The light grows from the velvet. 

The cold bound us


So we sat, watching the day move across the walls. 

The fire slowly burning up the prism. 

As the plants search for the light. 

Two painters striped in the palette

Of the living room. 


France, 2017, Nikon Fm2

France, 2017, Nikon Fm2


It was mostly about the hair. 

Burning up silent afternoons in those stone walls.

The images are of shared loneliness

Morning coffee in that cup, the one with the perfect rim

The place you sit, watching the birds you feed

The stacks of things, crackling, balanced. 

The warmth of the dressing gown.

That look when you get lost. In. Thought. 


France, 2017, Nikon Fm2

Lost in the Light

Desperate to feed

following the day

turn around the rooms

tapestry of squares



France, 2017, Nikon F80

Mostly Silence


Write down the kilometres

To the point furthest to reach the waves.

Here our eyes are the colour of the water

And yours, I have always known they were mine.


The Feast 

Knowing the ground like skin. Feeling the cold like blood.

The mist like the ash in our hearth

One feeding the other

but mostly one devouring us

The (home)Land.  

France, 2017, Nikon Fm2

Perspectives on solitude

If solitude were a sound, it would be that crackling of the one bumblebee every evening in that flower. 

The one near the garden table, that catches the light around nine. 

If solitude were to be swallowed, it would be green and in a bowl. A few sips would suffice. 

There would be bursts of yellow, they too catching the rays. 

But mostly, It would be a view.  A view that persists. A view from above, head hanging. A view from underneath, neck snapped back, in thought. 

If solitude were an angle, it would be sharp and blurred in with each day resembling the other. 

France, 2019, Nikon Fm2

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