To celebrate what is small, modest, unperceived, the slope flowers and other rejected plants.
To feel the world in its flesh,
The silent wall of beings and things.
To find a place for a break, a moment of rest.
In the mountains, to swim in the middle of the carps in the black waters of a lake.
To accept to lose control, to make contact.
To question the real nature of the truth.
To bet on one’s possible shock.
To let feelings and emotions override,
Not to exaggerate and proceed like so, like a blind person, towards what imposes and questions.
To produce, in a way, in spite of oneself, a picture which will be in an album, piece of a riddle with no sketch, the one of a life which opens up and then disappears.

Alain Levillain