“In the midst of life we are in death. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

I think the reason why, and the only reason why I take pictures is to capture a moment of beauty. It’s like getting a testimony, a proof, a trace – anything that will keep that moment alive because soon none of this will be. The people, the places, the things we did, the way we felt – all of that will pass and I want to keep tokens of that.

Basically for me taking a picture is an act of love. It’s attempting to take what I see and display it back into the world with an extra coat that screams “I LOVED THIS!”. If I take your picture it means I love you and you will probably never hear me say those words as I become more a woman of actions than a woman of words.

When I was a child my dad wasn’t very cuddly but he would always take pictures of us. My brothers and I have lots of pictures of us as kids. Same with my maternal grand-father. I don’t really remember him but I know he would always take pictures of us and also film us – therefore he loved us. To an extent that’s why I try to take lots of pictures of my nephew and niece because childhood memories disappear like snow in the morning sun. After the dream of fifteen years of childhood passes (who ever really remembers their childhood accurately? it’s such a mysterious time) then these pictures will stay and they will mean something, if not to the world (i’m not that delluded!) but at least to the people involved.

I’m not an outstanding photographer but I’m not trying to be. My pictures are ok, some even good – must admit that the technology has a lot to do with it: with a good camera and lense it’s easy to take nice pictures. I don’t have the ambition to create classic or universal pictures, I just want to remember.

This is why I struggle to understand photographers who only do commissioned work. I have a lot of photographers around me and I do not understand the appeal of photographing products, bags, bottles or even models. I find that exercise so soulless. The only people I ever want to photograph are my friends, my family, possibly even strangers but meaningfully; and the only places – places I love.

Funnily enough through the years I have done many portraits of my “professional” photographer friends but yet they never took a single picture of me. I wonder if that’s because I wasn’t pretty enough or lucrative enough or not loved enough.

Have spent the last 10 days struggling with back problems, so haven’t been out taking pictures at all, nor have I written very much here as sitting down hurts.

But I’ve watched my first russian movie (with subtitles) the classic Ирония судьбы, или С легким паром and this outstanding documentary on the french journalists’ aquaintances with power. (ok ok there might have been an episode of Mad Men or two as well)

Also added Paul Nizan to my amazon wish list.

On a happy note, after 3 trips to the chiropractor things seems to be getting better on the back side of things.

Being bed ridden always makes me appreciate my health more.

“Dieu se rit des hommes qui déplorent les effets dont ils chérissent les causes” – Bossuet

I love skype appointments. It’s like meeting for a coffee – but from 16 950 kilometers away !

(oh and I can stay in my pyjamas)

Been in bed for the last 2 days with a painful back, so I watch a documentary about Marina Abramovitch.

I have a memory of watching the news when the IRA had attempted to kill Margaret Thatcher in 1984 and my parents realizing with disbelief that we had been staying right next to that hotel on that same year while on holiday in Brighton. I was so so impressed. Wow. It was a very big deal to me. I was 5, almost 6 years old.

Today I am feeling disgusted by all the people who rejoice in her death. You should never rejoice at somebody’s death, no matter how much of an political adversary this person was. It makes me sick. What cowardice to stab a dead body, so petty. It’s like kicking somebody when they’re down on their knees, when they’re weak and that you risk nothing. Where’s the courage and humanity in that? What world do we live in that makes this ok?

Piece of iron hand carved by my paternal grand-father Louis Jouan.

He was a creative guy… Isn’t this a great font?