Where You Are Tender, You Speak Your

For Death Must Be Somewhere In A Society; If It Is No Longer (or Less Intensely) In Religion, It Must Be Elsewhere; Perhaps In This Image Which Produces Death While Trying To Preserve Life. Contemporary With The Withdrawal Of Rites, Photography May Correspond To The Intrusion, In Our Modern Society, Of An Asymbolic Death, Outside Of Religion, Outside Of Ritual, A Kind Of Abrupt Dive Into Literal Death.

What The Photograph Reproduces To Infinity Has Occurred Only Once: The Photograph Mechanically Repeats What Could Never Be Repeated Existentially.

Other Countries Drink To Get Drunk, And This Is Accepted By Everyone; In France, Drunkenness Is A Consequence, Never An Intention. A Drink Is Felt As The Spinning Out Of A Pleasure, Not As The Necessary Cause Of An Effect Which Is Sought: Wine Is Not Only A Philtre, It Is Also The Leisurely Act Of Drinking.

When We Look At A Photograph Of Ourselves Or Of Others, We Are Really Looking At The Return Of The Dead.

It Is Said That Mourning, By Its Gradual Labour, Slowly Erases Pain; I Could Not, I Cannot Believe This; Because For Me, Time Eliminates The Emotion Of Loss (i Do Note Weep), That Is All. For The Rest, Everything Has Remained Motionless. For What I Have Lost Is Not A Figure (the Mother), But A Being; And Not A Being, But A Quality (a Soul): Not The Indispensable, But The Irreplaceable.