Elle a passé tant d'heures sous les sunlights...

Stiffness of photography as a path between worlds, a still pendulum swinging between the curves of life and its fiction; photography, not in contrast to movement or to sequence, but to sound and to speech, which are never more than continuity that unnecessarily floods our frozen monument with the desire for unambiguity and resolution. That feeling when you don't know if all this around you really concerns you, and not your double, who was chosen by some director as your perfect doppelganger in life's vicissitude, whose meaning even the screenwriter who wrote it cannot understand. That feeling that at one moment it is you and only you, and someone else, uninvolved, between whom the photograph is the intermediary, towards which the slow pace of the film is directed; these are crowned by lengthy sequences as a more reliable fulfillment of the tendency, expressed through explicit metafictional games with the interchangeability of actors and characters, etc. This is because only in that moment of stiffness can a person be everything they are not and be nothing they are, and in the silence of blissful momentary forgetfulness of their self, they can look forward to their actor, whom they will forever play again. (06.09.2022)