The Disappearance of Fireflies (Reflections on the Act of Photography).
Threshold| N° d'inventaire | 26772 |
| Format | 16.5 x 21 |
| Détails | 202 p., some black and white illustrations, paperback. |
| Publication | Paris, 2016 |
| Etat | Nine |
| ISBN | 9782021311839 |
"Fiction & Co" Collection.
Nothing is more serious than the photographic act. For a writer, engaging in it is to sign a "departure of pride" each time. It also means abandoning simulacra and strategies at every turn, escaping the constraints of persuasion, the obligatory subtlety of sequences. I would even add: know-how, if I were not sure of the contrary, sure that this is a decoy that is added to the debate every day in a different form. Any gain in freedom (and each photographic snapshot gains some) goes hand in hand with an increase in know-how. That is what makes style. And it is the vertigo experienced in their shared race, in the leap they make over the abyss, which of course defines this art.
Hence the importance given throughout this book – through deliberately diverse approaches such as essay, interview, fiction, diary, or even a series of photos commented on like so many thoughtful diagrams – to the photographic capture itself, a moment of lost sensation which literally says this: every photo is an intelligence exhausted by a light.
Fireflies are slowly disappearing, confined to a few occasional pockets of nature. But while these charming creatures of light become rare, we photophores are taking over. The making of photographs leaves nothing in the shadows, especially not the moment of pure madness that shelters the shutter release.
Faced with the gravity of such certainties, the writer in me is returned to solitude, to anguish, to the darkness of his duration. But also to beauty, circulating between them and him, which was well worth the journey.
Each photo repeats Proust's phrase: "We said: after, death, after, illness, after, ugliness, after, insult."
We'll see.
"Fiction & Co" Collection.
Nothing is more serious than the photographic act. For a writer, engaging in it is to sign a "departure of pride" each time. It also means abandoning simulacra and strategies at every turn, escaping the constraints of persuasion, the obligatory subtlety of sequences. I would even add: know-how, if I were not sure of the contrary, sure that this is a decoy that is added to the debate every day in a different form. Any gain in freedom (and each photographic snapshot gains some) goes hand in hand with an increase in know-how. That is what makes style. And it is the vertigo experienced in their shared race, in the leap they make over the abyss, which of course defines this art.
Hence the importance given throughout this book – through deliberately diverse approaches such as essay, interview, fiction, diary, or even a series of photos commented on like so many thoughtful diagrams – to the photographic capture itself, a moment of lost sensation which literally says this: every photo is an intelligence exhausted by a light.
Fireflies are slowly disappearing, confined to a few occasional pockets of nature. But while these charming creatures of light become rare, we photophores are taking over. The making of photographs leaves nothing in the shadows, especially not the moment of pure madness that shelters the shutter release.
Faced with the gravity of such certainties, the writer in me is returned to solitude, to anguish, to the darkness of his duration. But also to beauty, circulating between them and him, which was well worth the journey.
Each photo repeats Proust's phrase: "We said: after, death, after, illness, after, ugliness, after, insult."
We'll see.