some people ask me sometimes how i fell into photography, and why i chose to make a life out of it. usually, i only reply to the how, it’s the easiest one to answer. my dad. he taught me. then he said that he’d better have broken his leg than teaching me. and that was it.
i used to want to be an astrophysicist. or just a physicist. or a horse vet. or a doctor to go to africa for humanitarian organizations. that kind of stuff among other things that were a lot less mature. then one day, about a year before i finished highschool, i decided that i wanted to be a photographer. it was all for the wrong reasons, of course, but when you’re sixteen, the worse reasons always seem like the best.

i still dream about her. less often than back then, but regularly enough. and just like in those days, i always remember my dreams with her. i used to dream about the present, things as they were then, now it’s all mixed, now when i arrive there, i’m back.
and i’m back, and everything is about to be finished. there’s nothing to do about it, no complains, no turning back, we do what we have to do, the last rituals before the end of the last day, not knowing how or even if the sun will rise after that. it’s just the same departure that i live again and again, only our age and situations change. i’m back and i notice that nothing will ever be the same, the sun begins to blend with the top a small hill and our shadows grow until the horizon as we walk on the paths that have subtly taken another shape and that i’m not quite certain to recognize anymore.

now i know that i’d made a good choice back then. not the right choice, there isn’t always a right choice, and there never was one in this case. i don’t regret it, i look where i’m standing now and i see where i want to go for now, it all seems clear enough, and i wouldn’t want to be anything else. one morning when i woke up, i was interested in photography, and when i came home after a freezing day of february, maybe march, i wanted to be a photographer, as to…no, as not to…
but after i left, and after i left my photo school, i knew that i would never attain my original goal. it doesn’t really matter anymore.

i’m back and we’re in her car. i’m back and we’ll never have any place to go anymore. she stares at the wheel and i stare at the emptiness outside. the night is falling early, as usual, it’s a sunny cold day of winter, it always will be. she looks at me, and i’m immensely sad for her, i take her in my arms and she holds me strongly as if she’s afraid of collapsing, i feel her crying on my shoulder. i’m back and i’m older, it’s a strange thing to be older, it’s a strange thing not to be sixteen anymore. i hear her mutter, i hope that you don’t mind, now. i smile, i’m fine with it, you have nothing to worry about. and she cries ever louder, and holds me even stronger.

one day, we had a talk, a serious talk, she talked to me as if i was an adult already and not another teenager lost and confused by feelings and an idea of the world as it should be. in just a few minutes, she made me escape the life that i would have embraced only because i wanted to be like her. at first, i’d thought that it was because she thought i wasn’t good enough and didn’t want to hurt me by saying so. now i’m not that sure. she was probably only very honest with me. that and she knew considerably more about life than i did.
when i wake up and remember my dream where she’s in, i realize what she pushed me out years ago. i don’t think that she has any idea about where it really led me, or how grateful i am. i don’t know if i’ll ever track her down to let her know. i don’t know if i’ll ever be back for real, and i don’t know if it would feel like being sixteen again.

i decided to be a photographer for all the wrong reasons, but when you’re sixteen, the worse reasons always seem like the best. then again, the reasons that look rationnally wrong can bring out some good sometimes.

and i remember that it’s her birthday soon, but i’m not sure that she would understand why i still care about that…

soundtrack : arab strap – automnal

?a monte comme ?a comme rien, jusqu’? ce que ce soit in?vitable ou presque, le fait accompli et ses effets pervers d?cupl?s, quand il ne me reste plus d’options juste serrer les dents en attendant de trouver la br?che dans laquelle m’engouffrer, et ce vide tant d?sir? dans lequel me plonger. ?a monte pour un rien, ou plut?t pour trop, trop ? la fois trop d’un coup, pourtant il y a une progression et ses ?tapes ? reconna?tre, ? apprendre ? surveiller pour ?viter de me retrouver accul?e perdue face ? tous les visages qui s’entrem?lent et se confondent devant mes yeux. irr?m?diablement mon esprit se vide, mes pens?es flottent, je ne sais pas, je ne sais plus ce que je pense, j’essaie de m’extraire et de m’int?grer ? la fois jusqu’? ce que la confusion passe, elle ne passe pas, pas encore, bient?t s?rement si j’arrive juste ? m’enfuir pour un temps, le temps que je me sente mieux, le temps que je n’ai plus l’impression d’?tre en roue libre dans un tunnel en pente, je d?raille, il faut juste que je retrouve ce rien de stabilit?, mais les issues de secours sont souvent bloqu?es, un agenda trop charg?, encore, encore des gens ? voir ? qui parler, pourtant l’envie est bien l? de voir et de parler, mais ? trop croire que je puisse vaincre mon mal par sa cause, je repousse l’?ch?ance de pouvoir m’en lib?rer, j’emballe la machine et ne trouve plus comment l’arr?ter.
je fixe des yeux sans les voir et r?ponds ? c?t?, mes mots ne touchent plus rien ils s’effritent avant m?me d’arriver et ? travers le brouillard dans lequel je suis immerg?e ce que je vois me semble flou jusqu’? la naus?e. je reconnais les signes et cette violente timidit?, regarder mes pieds et ce vertige qui me prend, le sol est bien trop loin je vais me fracasser si je m’?croule maintenant, il faut attendre encore et savoir qu’il va falloir prendre le temps, vider le trop plein d’une mani?re ou d’une autre, quand ?a d?borde finalement, j’angoisse et j’enrage de me retrouver ? nouveau ligot?e et baillonn?e, de ne plus pouvoir, de ne plus savoir que faire, plus de point de chute juste la fuite qui me reprend, c’est irrationnel et si maladroit, je me hais de m’?tre laiss?e porter jusqu’? ce point par la tentation et m?me l’envie d’un peu d’autre chose que moi, l’envie d’?tre un peu sociable, un peu aimable, un peu aim?e, un peu juste un peu ce n’est pas toujours trop, mais je ne sais pas doser, je n’ai pas trouv? la formule et je ne sais qu’avancer de mani?re empirique jusqu’au point de rupture, jusqu’? ce que chaque geste qui me touche me br?le, que chaque mot des autres r?sonne contre mes f?lures, que les miens me transpercent et ne blessent que moi et que je veuille ?tre muette et aveugle plut?t que de me sentir hurler et me d?battre en me demandant mais comment font les autres, peut-?tre qu’ils ne tombent pas, peut-?tre qu’ils ne l’ont pas ce besoin visc?ral de solitude, je n’en sais rien, je ne sais pas, je n’ai jamais eu de parachute.

soundtrack : muse – falling down

then again, life’s only getting really tricky when you start to take the mesure of the constant war between you and yourself.

– (…) ah tu veux parler du d?couvert que ton p?re a combl? pour toi il y a quinze jours ?
– ????????
– heu…tu n’?tais pas au courant ?
– ??????
– ton p?re ne te l’a pas dit ??
– ben…non…

mais ? tout prendre, j’aurai pr?f?r? qu’il me passe un coup de fil m?me pour m’engueuler, plut?t que ?a :

« tu diras ? ta fille que je ne vais pas pouvoir continuer longtemps ? la payer ? rien foutre. »

c’est vrai que c’est inadmissible comment je glande toute la journ?e en jouant au babyfoot et en fumant des joints alors que je pourrais avoir la d?cence de me trouver un job « s?rieux », quoi merde ? la fin, on fait des m?mes mais faudrait p’tet pas non plus qu’ils mettent un peu de temps ? r?aliser leurs r?ves et qu’on doivent en plus les soutenir jusqu’? ce qu’ils volent de leur propres ailes.

tonight, waiting for the band to come on stage, i have a talk for the first time with a photographer i’ve seen a couple of times before at other concerts.

him : – …so, you shoot with film, really ?
me : – yeah, well, i’ve got a small digital camera when i’m too broke, but otherwise, i prefer traditionnal. i don’t have the money to buy a new digital camera anyway…
– and your magazine allows it ? cuz me, i can’t. they don’t want to pay for the costs…
– oh, but mine doesn’t…
– so you pay it all ???
– well, yeah…but what i’m paid covers the expenses and i can make a small benefit, but yeah, every time i press the button, i’m aware how much it costs, so i can’t shoot a lot like you…
– and how many rolls you make ?
– huh, dunno, like a couple for two bands, so i have to learn to concentrate a lot and all to make good stuff…but man, i still make so many mistakes, it drives me crazy, like…i’m so disappointed when i have only ten good pictures in a roll..
– …
– what ? oh, huh, yeah, it isn’t much eh, like…huh, i still make so many stupid mistakes you wouldn’t believe it…still a lot to learn…i always screw up the good moments.
– huh..it’s not what i meant…like…me i’m thrilled when i’ve got ten good pictures outta the hundred i take…
– oh…huh…i meant…huh, ten pics worth looking at, you know…
– sure…that’s what i meant…

(…)

– and you shoot it all with your 50 mm lens ?
– huh…yeah…but only in small halls, otherwise i have another lousy lens for close-ups…
– …
– i used to be so ashamed of my poor equipment, i mean compared to others, you know…
– i meant…it really takes some balls to shoot just with a 50 mm…
– oh…huh…it’s just that i don’t have money to buy anything else…
– so how do you do when you can’t frame ? huh..i suppose you just have to find another way, eh ?
– well…yeah…i suppose i have…

now where does this bitter-sweet taste on my tongue comes from ?