pr?ambule.
ce post vous est destin? tout particuli?rement si :
– cela fait quatre jours que vous ne savez plus o? donnez du zap(pareil photo).
– vous n’?tes chez vous que pour vider vos cartes m?moires, lire vos mails et les noter comme urgent ? r?pondre prioritairement, dormir, vous r?veiller (trop) t?t, prendre une douche et votre roulotte apr?s un caf? (trop) chaud ?clair,
– vous encha?nez votre job alimentaire avec des dimanches-12-heures-sur-le-pont, pour r?-ench?ner sur votre job le lundi, courir d?s le gilet pos? ? un concert et journ?e de 12 heures le lendemain.
– vous avez oubli? comment ?a fait de laver son linge p?p?re ? la laverie quand vous en avez besoin.

bref, si vous ?tes d?bord?s, et que cela vous rend intens?ment heureux et ?puis?,
– si en plus, vous ne vous souvenez du concert que la veille au soir,
– si vous commencez ? ressentir cette appr?hension euphorisante pr?-concert deux heures avant d’?tre devant la salle,
– si quand vous d?barquez essoufl?s, vous apprenez que la premi?re partie est annul?e,
– si la salle est minuscule et que quand vous arrivez, il y d?j? cinq photographes qui se marchent sur les pieds,
– si vous pr?parez votre matos calmement n?anmoins,
– si deux minutes avant le d?but du concert, vous vous rendez compte que votre appareil num?rique n’est plus l? o? vous l’aviez pos?,
– si la premi?re chanson commence et que vous avez retourn? votre sac en vain,
– si vous commencez ? shooter les larmes aux yeux parce que vous vous dites que vous ?tes pro quand m?me,
– si dans un ultime geste de desespoir vous changez d’objectif et retournez votre sac encore et ? nouveau dans le noir ? t?tons,
– si vous retrouvez la forme accueillante de poussinette, laquelle vous tendait les bras d?s le d?but,
– si l’adr?naline n’est pas redescendue et que vous shootez en d?pit du bon sens,
– si le photographe d’? c?t? se cale dans votre champ tout le temps,
– et si, surtout, vous oubliez de remettre la balance des blancs sur lumi?re du jour, pour les effets color?s…

chapitre 1
avant de tout jeter, essayez de passer en noir et blanc. on ne sait jamais, sur un malentendu…

A public service announcement followed me home the other day.
I paid it nevermind. Go Away.
Shits so thick you could stir it with a stick-free Teflon whitewashed presidency.
We’re sick of being jerked around.
Wear that on your sleeve.

It’s been a bad day…

BAd DAy – REM

today, i went further in robbery.

there’s one rule to follow if you want to be a photographer’s assistant, it’s to never, ever make a better picture than your photographer on the same shooting session (ie : same light, model etc…).
no matter how talented you are. no matter how dumb the assignement the photographer got. no matter what you see. no matter if the photographer is a friend. no matter how cute the model is. no matter if you’re just playing around with your camera. no matter if the photographer is more talented than you. no matter if you don’t do it on purpose.

you just don’t. that’s the basic rule.

but today, i broke it. i didn’t break it on purpose, it just happened.
in the end, i didn’t steal only someone’s attitude and look, i also stole someone’s light and setting, i also stole someone’s model, i stole the picture he should have made, i stole his idea before he became conscious of it, i stole what he intented to do.

i have mixed feelings about that. i feel a bit awkward and guilty : it’s not my assignement, i’m not paid, i’m not The Photographer. yet, he didn’t get angry at me at all, of course, even though he was dead envious, and he was the one asking me to take my camera to make “backstage pictures” and he was only joking when he forbid me to bring it tuesday, and what the hell anyway ? i’m damn proud of my image, i’m damn proud that he should be jealous of me about it.

so i feel like a goddamn skilled thief, who not only stole the diamant from the safe, but also escaped, got suspected too late, and finally got away with it.
yeah, well, depending on which side you are, i’m not someone to trust when it comes to making pictures, my bad.

i’m a thief.

i steal other people’s looks & attitudes & i fix them to make them my own. there’s so much to it.
so much of what i’m not.
so much of what i can neither have, nor give.
so much universality, still.
so much of myself, too.

i’m a thief.
i use other people’s brilliance & talent & beauty to have my pictures radiate with something that was never mine in the first place.
i steal their moments of abandonment to the world, the short unconsciousness of their beings, their poses & smiles, their glances, their thoughts sometimes, even.
i draw the line between them and themselves.
i borrow a part of them for the time of a snapshot, the things that weren’t meant to be seen & noticed, the things that should have vanished.
i capture intimacies & identities & secrecies.
i steal everything. & fix it.
forever.

i’m just a life kleptomaniac who doesn’t want to be cured.
yeah, i’m just a thief.

what a failure.

bon, pour la manif, ce soir.
on fait comme d’hab.
chacun chez soi.