Now I am trying to write a story without really having anything to tell but many things to feel.
It’s about seeking out a dune of sand, a small fanciful paradise, with an ephemeral but fulfilling sensation of happiness and freedom. I don’t really know how to talk about all of this clearly without falling into cliche or the merely illustrative or banal.
In this type of situation, instagram can help me capture images to nourish my stories, to appear like traces, glimpses, or fragments. I dig around my images as I would a catalogue to feel the moments they each capture, to acknowledge them, absorb their meaning and then transform them (or at least try to) into narrative form.
We go off in search of dunes. I can feel that they are always out of reach. I almost feel like falling tenderly off them rather than leaping away.
I made a cake for a Bernadine nun. It’s a cake with apples and pears.
Today, I didn’t see any dunes, and all the roads are blocked off. There wasn’t much rain. But yesterday, it was like a hurricane out there and you could hardly see the road. The waves were so huge you could no longer see the horizon.
I saw the sea spray. It was as fine and white as clouds. It darted about and clung to Mama’s fringe.
From the other side of the balcony, Edward is talking to his friends. His eyes shine when he looks at me.
I learned that the great dune was doomed because of the storm.
The sun is back. There isn’t a single cloud in the sky. The small mountain paths cradle me, and I practically fall asleep.
The yellow light drowns the green leaves and the white facades.
Perched way up high, the great king scans the ocean, the trees and the mountains. He embraces them. A blue fog devours the faraway faces. I found some genuine balanus and I put a fake one on the marble, giving thanks.
The stars are all there and the moon puts on a brave smile.
I have gone but the noises follow me; a quillback rustling becomes a murmur in the trees, squeaking bellows, crashing wave.
The sand dune must certainly be far away now, lost.
It is invisible, and even in my pictures, you can’t see it. Maybe I prefer to see the dune as an unrepresentable object, which even words can barely adorn, that photographers try to capture by certain light and with certain fluttering.
Student at the Fine Arts Institute in Lyon