The female photographer tells the female writer:
Working deeply you unearth your subject. Isn't that what all writers hope for: going into the deepest part of human nature while searching through the dictionary, within the history and the shallow pool of one's childhood memories. Touching the bottom is the best you can do. The more you excel in your art, the more you penetrate the obscure world of passions and motivations. Your art rejects superficiality, speed. It remains profoundly moral. Where you penetrate, I multiply the play of surfaces, of illusions. The more I perfect my art, the more I master light. Don't forget, we are the eyes and those eyes are made for de-realizing the world.
It happens that we touch on the past by stroking our hands along ancient marble or gazing upon cities blacked by sudden lava, by the sudden trembling of hands. It happens that I dig into my subject in the middle of a sentence searching for a site where the humanity of women achieves the exhilarating speed of the present.
That which we haven't translated from the vaulting delerium of beauty, we must invent, the anxious crack of our eyes scrutinizing a grain of sand, the flying and savage dust of language.
I seldom play with the idea that the earth can be stirred like an identity, or that with our hands we can compare wounds, the silences and the proofs of love. I prefer to imagine eternity as a virtual room, a beautiful white page where I take as witness the body and its decor of shudders, curves and murmurs; I prefer to touch where I can start anew.
back to the laboratory