On my proposal, people have written words opposite images chosen from the thousands that I propose on my website, those that “jumped out at them” and gave birth to words, which illuminate them and dig them, or sculpt them, in return.
Life, cruel, cracks its despair...Eric Sionneau
(series « Whiteboards »)
The fire truck
is eating spaghetti
And he grows hair of all colorsBenoist Magnat
(series « Children’s drawings of the city »)
Guiding melancholy
Rivoli, Rivoletto, the stream precedes the deluge, tick, tick, tick, tick, which are lost in oblivion like tears in the rain. It is necessary to put gutters to the clouds, to guide the melody, Long live the dance, down with the cadence!Jean-Philippe Poirée-Ville
(series « Louvre-Rivoli »)
The goldfish, darts, languid, in complete freedom, into the confines of the abyss where it finally takes its full extent. The jar no longer belongs where the limits of its growth are no longer confined by the glass walls, solitarySabina Appadu
(series « Dancing Tube »)
Atlas carries the world on his back. A world of earth, wheat, water, ether... In this dance of life, what do we wear? The blue, the red, the ochre, the sap... In me, printed. Identity or whirlwind of colors ready to fly awaySabina Appadu
(series « As the crow flies »)
Corset...of plaster, veil or worm, corset. Do you cling to me? Are you hugging my rib cage? My compressed air? No matter how pretty you are, corset, you are still a corset. What are you hugging? Isn’t it time to move and let the life in each of your atoms finally breathe its dance?Sabina Appadu
(series « Soft Fossil »)
Let’s dance, let’s dance... What a joy to find you! My hands in yours, our branches intertwined. Conversing with joy and friendshipSabina Appadu
(series « Inner Night »)
wink of night
window open to a wounded soul
night light of sorrow
I will be silentValerie Ganne
(series « Window troubled by night »)
Two versions of you
One anchor, solid, and mobile at the same time, happy imbalance, two versions, intangible and harmonious, unfathomable, obvious, radiant, eternal.Ingrid Janssen
(series « Paul the tree » and « Mechanical snail »)
I love the morning, because I wake up very early. I played the game of chance, wandering through the photos in the “Surface of a Morning” series, and the nascent worlds of day and night opened up.Sylvie Alphandéry
(series « Surface of a morning »)
Whose eyes are those black, cold, identical eyes?
They seem to want to pierce us, to scrutinize us, to guess us!
They are always there, recent stigmata of a somewhat singular and insane period!
Do they carry within them the message of an obscure omen? The advent of a future which wants to be...Estel Palada
(series « Social distancing »)
I see birds, fallen angels, strange beings appearing or disappearing. The movement transforms the surfaces into feathers, gives them wings. So that they fly away, or fly for a moment? The time of an opening of diaphragm? A little something disturbing and beautiful at the same time, emanates from this moment of a second.Marie Désert
(series « The Kiss of Defense »)
I’m moving forward
Or I move back
I let myself be contained
Bounce back
Hold
Drowsy
The arrow
Is my comfort
My setting
Bed where I sleepMathilde Lagues
(series « Surface of a morning »)
This way
It’s over there
Laying on the light
Golden
Frail and foolish
I float and I fly
No need to know
Why
My naked destiny
That’s itMathilde Lagues
(series « A loose ant »)
Halo
Who’s there
Maybe I am
Maybe notI’m glowing
I’m burning
Or I’m leaving
QuicklyThe fuzzy heart
The soft heart
The blackened heart
The withered heartIt’s over
Out of me
I’m out of me
I fleeMathilde Lagues
(series « Little man »)
Exit from the cave
Sometimes
Come back to it
Moaning in it
Cuddle up to it
Every timeThe world
Is fascinating
So attractive
Always violentFlying
It’s blue
Turn
Dancing
It’s fireThe world
Is scary
White
Always so bigI go out
Or is it you
Who comesMathilde Lagues
(series « As the bird flies »)
Magical moment beyond the woodland, blue-orange glow.
Is it sunset or sunrise, this light beyond the deserted grasslands?
Nature warms up and dances under the intoxication of my crazy flight.
I will go to huddle in the hollow of the darkness, then I will leave towards the summer lightElise Ripault Duhart
(series « As the bird flies »)
Little drops
Sown on the destiny
Urban ThumbIf you doubt
You have to turn
Spiral
To blazeFollow the path
Of your anger
It traces
Make way
You dance
Dancing
And passMathilde Lagues
(series « Louvre-Rivoli »)
They jump
Take off
Laughing
Fly awayWho will win
Be the first
MarvelingThe sky is the limit
I am thereMathilde Lagues
(series « Design of love »)
Fleet
The fanUnfolds
Your entrailsOrne
My wallOpen me
Shine on me
Turn me
Lose meLead me
Where I amMathilde Lagues
(series « Dancing tube »)
I don’t know
If a crumb of wakefulness
Has pricked my sleepOr is it the temptation
Of a deep sleep
Perfect illusionWho is lying?
Where is the reason?
Glimmer of hope
Color of the evening
Light to believe
Erase
Space
Return of the darkI do not see
NotYou are not there anymore
Mathilde Lagues
(series « Window troubled by the night »)
Who are you
Red in this blackIs it a tongue that you pull
A nebulous smile
Random
Become
IrreverentYour eyes
Squinting
My memory
Your pupilsYou don’t care
You invite me
To singMathilde Lagues
(series « Dancing Tube »)
It snows
And I riseHasty
I see you there
Discreet
Stealthy
I stand straight
You know I amMathilde Lagues
(series « I.M.L. »)
Turn
My headBlue
Blow the wind
Blue and blue
Intertwined
Of blue
Blows on me
In front of
Wraps me
Inside
Take me away
OftenIn the hollow of you
I see
All that is not
I’m coldMathilde Lagues
(series « Children’s drawings on the city »)
Thank you
For your look
So sweetTender transparency
Intense swirls
You think
And I danceYou do not ask
Your question
You dare
Your directionFauve trance
And I danceMathilde Lagues
(series « Soft Fossil »)
Very small
And yet thereIt is far the bottom
Isn’t it
Dazzles the round
That I seeThe smoke smells
It makes
Takes me back
And yetThere
Wings of what
Wings of you
Mathilde Lagues
(series « Mechanical snail »)
Very small
And yet thereIt is far the bottom
Isn’t it
Dazzles the round
That I seeThe smoke smells
It makes
Takes me back
And yetThere
Wings of what
Wings of you
Mathilde Lagues
(series « Social distancing »)
Punch
Inside
I’m in pain
you knowClench them tight
Your teeth
You have to
CrossIn all this white the gray bends
Ashamed and blurred it is not worthyOr is it a trace
Of hope that passesMathilde Lagues
(series « Whiteboards »)
The truth likes to hide. Barely touched, it fades away and disappears. Everyone then struck by the illusion is forever impregnated by its presence. However, in nothing is desire enough. The truth likes to hide itself. The search hardly begun continues. Never has reason seemed so contrary to its essence. Irrational is the quest, unfortunate will be its destiny. For lack of reaching the truth, men die of its volatility. When they think they are getting it back, a pout of disgust adorns their face. It is that it is cruel and infamous this truth. Very few can hold their gaze. Humanity is blindfolded. It will be necessary otherwise to slip under the tormented features of Oedipus. It is very happy that the truth likes to hide itself. Otherwise, humanity would have been decimated. Far from the eyes, close to the heart. Far from the eyes, close to happiness.
Guillaume Foyer
(series « The scars of the earth »)
In the moon you will see...
The movement of the mist
The swirl of the fog
The abyss that takes you away
The trace of the clouds
The silhouette of a woman facing the immense
The mountains of destiny
The earth and the clouds
The vibrations of the depths
Creatures taking shape...
Life and death
The threads are mixed
Magical landscapes
The eye of the night
The shadow and the light
The fight, the fall, the battle
The hope
In the moon you will see...
All that you wantRosina Nigro
(series « Manufacture of the moon »)
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.