Photographer · Author · France

Photographer by passion

Photography has been a part of my life since early childhood. I would seize every opportunity to borrow my father’s film cameras—first his old Voigtländer, then his Canon AE-1. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, yet I already felt a compelling need to look through a frame, to isolate a face, a quality of light, or a fragment of the world. Over the years, that curiosity grew into an all-consuming passion. I have taken countless photographs, but I have also spent a vast amount of time studying the work of others, reading, learning, and experimenting. I continue to do so, because for me, photography remains a realm that can never be fully explored.

My journey has led me to work in photography and video across widely varied fields. Some of my images have been published in the press, I have taken part in exhibitions—both solo and group shows—and I spent years teaching photography at the university level. Even now, I occasionally share what I have learned through private sessions; I love the idea of sharing knowledge. To my mind, teaching photography isn't about telling others what they should look at. Instead, I aim to help them discover their own way of seeing and, above all, to find joy in the act of taking pictures.

The Girl with the Cigarette — Wandering thoughts

Presence · Distance · Humanity

Between portrait and documentary

I don’t really feel the need to specialize. What interests me lies less in the subject itself than in what it might reveal. I might photograph landscapes, nature, spaces, human activities, and—above all—people. My work sits somewhere between portraiture and documentary. I am not looking to make a statement or capture a spectacular image. I am drawn more to a posture, a gaze, light streaming across a room, an almost imperceptible presence, or the trace left by someone or something. That detail Roland Barthes called the "punctum": the element that—without our always knowing why—touches and moves us.

I love images that suggest rather than explain. Photography is a caress. The surface is sensitive; the depth is deeply moving.

Black and white naturally plays a significant role in my work, though I also shoot in color, often with restraint. I am just as interested in a face as in a night landscape, an illuminated sign on a deserted street, a landscape traversed, or those ordinary things we no longer really notice. There is a certain melancholy in my photographs, but I want it to be a happy melancholy. I do not seek to mourn what has vanished; instead, I am interested in what remains: a light, a presence, a sensation, the memory of a moment.

Trace · Light · Time

Photographing what remains

I almost always work in series. A single photograph can be powerful, of course, but I like it when one image responds to another, when a rhythm takes hold and a story gradually unfolds. That is also why I do not strive for photographic perfection. A perfectly executed image can sometimes leave me indifferent, whereas a fragile, imperfect, or quiet photograph may stay with me for a long time.

Form, light, and color are important, but for me, they remain a means to an end. What I seek above all is a sensation—something almost tactile, a presence, an emotion that cannot always be explained. Over time, my way of photographing has become simpler and, likely, more attentive. I try not to impose an image upon the people or places I photograph. I wait, I observe; sometimes I move closer, often I step back. I try to allow things the space to exist on their own terms.

We must look with who we are—with our memories, our experiences, our wounds, our joys, and our sensibilities. It is often there, in that fragile space between what we see and what we feel, that true stories emerge. If my photographs leave enough room for the viewer to resonate with their own story, then I am happy.