It's always tempting to stop this thing that I may call anything you wish but certainly not a blog.
I've been looking for another word. "Carnet de bord", says Wikipedia in French, I just checked. I like it. I liked it. Notebook. I have written this somewhere : what you may see in my notebooks. What is visible. What you choose to be seen.
Anyway. Just after the Y, the Z.
And the sensation.
Ze end. Every time I reach the Z. The same attraction.
I've been working at the Opéra de Paris recently. A production called "L'histoire de Manon". A ballet, for sure, but also theatre, drama, love, betrayal, and fight and anger and love again and death. Not less than that.
And I realize that what I love especially, what makes me take a few pictures in a row - whereas usually I like to stick to my motto "one image, one intention"- is this : the ends. When the curtain falls. When you remember you're in a theatre. When everything becomes less and less visible. When you're left with feelings inspired by a story that is not visible any more. Feelings far too vast for a simple viewer. Thus, staring at a black curtain.
Like on a blog ; you drop curtains where you wish, when you wish. You choose. What is visible. A few pages in a notebook.
So. L'histoire de Manon. Maybe I should show you the beginning too, since this man - Lescaut - seems to be already draped in the black curtain of the end. Everything is said in that image. And then, Acte I, Acte II, Acte III. The ends.
The beginning. Stéphane Bullion.
Acte I, the end. Josua Hoffalt & Jeremie Belingard.
Acte II, the end. Aurélie Dupont, Jérémie belingard & Aurélien Houette.
Acte III, the end. Nicolas Le Riche & Claire-Marie Osta.