It is a very small black and white photo, a little sepia, which I found in the grass near the hospital. There were boxes, not far away. Someone had moved, or was dead. Their affairs had been thrown away, and the wind had extracted this dust of life.
The film was impressed twice. The first scene takes place in a country of the south (Algeria?). There is a couple: she in her floral dress, he in a white shirt open on the collar, a cap screwed on the head. Behind them, trees and walls. Nothing transcendent.
Now look at the second scene: it looks like ghosts. As if this film had seen what was going to happen later: three children, two young ones, one last a little older. They are held in their arms. We do not know if they sleep, if they ask. Perhaps they’re even dead?
And then look finally, let your eyes blend in the silver paper. Dream maybe also a little. Let your retina float. Do you guess this third impression on the film? This black and white female bust, this throat, these two breasts emerging from a black neckline, these impeccable curves, this contrast of the skin and shadows, this velvety skin, this grain of the epidermis, almost a heat, almost a call. There is a story, in this picture, a destiny, a life, a mysterious girl.