In this collection of photographs, two visually distinct worlds are separated by a translucid surface; here a thick curtain cut from some common material, there a windowpane covered by cursive letters. To one side, reality, too obvious and fairly dull, where the photographer sets up his tripod; to the other, the same landscape brought to life by a soft chromatic murmur, by simultaneously muffled and sonorous iridescence.
Parisian moments. At the hour of vespers when commerce is silenced, the silhouettes of passers-by hurry through a pedestrian street; other city-dwellers, welcoming a salutary leisure, linger at a café table savoring sips of beer, dilapidate shards of conversation, fragments of their scattered lives, and at times – more rarely – play cards with college classmates.
And too bad, or all the better, if the pub that we see here already is gone. Or, rather: the former décor no longer exists. Parisian cafés, one could say, following on the words of Baudelaire in his Tableaux parisiens, “change faster, alas, than the heart of a mortal”.