@Lallement

Wanderings in the Médoc

The floodgate of feelings is constantly overflowing. I sit on her bed, in her sleeping arms. We are alone and she cries, thinking about her mistakes.

Feet in the water in the heart of the Prés salés

I don't know if Forrest Gump and Bubba experienced this fine rain in Vietnam. This small rain, fine and light like a cloud which explodes slowly. This fine and light rain that settles delicately on the clothes, on the hair, not daring to get wet except in contact with the hand, with the wrinkling of clothes. Anyway, my 80s trench coat is soaked, my shoes drowned in flooded sand paths. Walking in the wind, I protect my Rolleiflex like a pregnant woman protects her belly. We are on a Sunday morning in February in the heart of the Prés salés between Lège and Arès, in France, trying to translate an idea of ​​an image that I have in mind.

After looking, turning and returning, I find myself not knowing where to start, having finally found a place conducive to my creativity. This place is out of time. No one around and I imagine myself in the past centuries. One, two, three, four back. A painter in search, a cursed poet adrift, a local child deceiving boredom. The sky is overcast, the weather is gloomy. It's a perfect mise en abyme of the feeling that I decided to exploit. Touching my hypersensitivity, I squeeze the shutter button.

Rolleiflex​ T f3,5 75mm Tessar - Kodak 400TX - Red filter Ilford Ilfosol 3 - HD film scans

Array d'Aüssaü refuge

You don’t have to cross the globe to experience an adventure. Sometimes you just have to leave your home. So imagine when we drive four hours to find ourselves in the heart of the Pyrenean mountains ... In a time of global respiratory problems, it was necessary to go and breathe the fresh mountain air. After several lockdowns and its share of restrictions, walking through the door of your home instantly transforms us into a John Muir treading the Sierra Nevada and, like a Jack London, I was about to immortalize on film my trek, or «my walk», in the snow-capped heights of this rocky line about 70 million years old. 15kg on my back, my Rolleiflex slung over the shoulder creating an uncomfortable imbalance. A tent and the survival kit in order to be independent. Two trekking poles and 7 films should I hope to bring me satisfaction, ecstasy, serenity and happiness in pain. Like a retired monk, I leave to fade into nature, empty my mind and get closer to the essential. The organic self being one with the elements. Well, without wanting to spoil the story. If you hope to clear your mind when you go on a photo hike, forget it.

I thought of framing a 25 km walk in two days and one night. And the next night, then the next day ... So here we are, left at 5am from Tarbes where I had made a stop at my aunt Kiki, known throughout the region for her famous croque-monsieur with Kiri cheese with Spanish sparkling wine, I arrived in the light of day crossing the fog on the parking lot of Bious-Artigues, after having crossed a couple of rowdy young foxes and a Patou lying in the middle of the road. The time to equip myself and I started walking on the path along the lake which was revealed modestly under a dress of mist.

I’m not Jack London, I’m not John Muick, I’m my father’s son. The one who introduced me to this path through which I have already been accompanied and who, several times, took me past this house, this refuge «Array d’Aüssaü» which borders the lake. Finally, the second version of the refuge. The first is in the lake. Well, find out, eh, I’m not a search engine. I’m an adventurer who writes his own personal caption, not a tour guide! Damn, where was I? ...