My photography looks to the past, where, with my schoolmate, we set up a darkroom in my grandmother’s cellar. An old sink, where women washed clothes by hand, set on bricks held together by cement and two holes in the wall for water to come in and out.

With the digital revolution, each time a photo appears on the display of my camera or on my iMac monitor, I once again smell the acids that lived in that now empty cellar for years.

And art is a bit like the light trough an enlarger, or the slow movement of the photographic paper in its final bath.

Currently living and working in Berlin, I betray sometime my view cameras for digital photography.

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