Are these twenty framed paintings in the tunnel of a train station under renovation “real paintings”? Or are they just the frames that make me see them as paintings worthy of my interest? Is there an artist’s intention or is it just my gaze, directed, that makes me receive emotion and meaning in front of these paintings? The question remains for me. At the end of the day, perhaps we should simply not ask ourselves this question, and fully receive all that the world offers.
Because of the mechanical nature of its technical function, photography is for me a matter of time rather than a visual matter : in its silver salts, or its pixels today, it is time which is captured, preserved, reinvented at every glance. Time of life, time of vision, time of poetry.