Steidlville

“I am everywhere, in the ocean which is my blood, in the hills which are my bones.” August Strindberg

“I travelled to Easter Island in the winter. In July. The isolation, the climate and the elements as well as the statues, all created an oppressive atmosphere that is a long way from the tourist images. I wanted to face that, to grasp this uneasy mixture through my own contemplation. This book is above all an inner narrative.
I walk, looking at the ground, photographing what is around me, what is given. No arranging, no composing. I record the signs offered by the landscape. Clues. They are like an image of my unease. Language of stones, of water, of earth, planar writing. Note it down, gather a vocabulary out of natural elements and human traces.
Solitary objects, away from the world. Metaphors of torment. Found forms, ready-made sculptures. Born of time, of erosion, of rainwater, of atrophy. The work of the wind and water on volumes and surfaces. The forms of my sensations.
A book made up of surfaces. Pages of matter. Fragments. The texture of a rock resonates in me like the vibration of a string. Roughness, buzzing, racket or, soon, respiration, silence, emptiness. I photograph the permanent. What has always been and will always be; what is constant.” Martin d’Orgeval