1986, Erreurs superposées

1986, Erreurs superposées – “July 1986, I’m two years old. On the banks of the Dordogne, Thierry and Marie-Martine are spending their last summer together. For reasons that will remain a mystery, their love is over, and Marie-Martine wants sole custody of their son. In order to forget, Thierry will leave to rebuild his life far away, in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.”

“In 2017, Marie-Martine, Maël’s mother, was swept away by the waters of the Dordogne. Maël has hardly known his biological father, but decides to tell him that he has disappeared. As a result of this reconnection, Thierry sends him some photos from the time. Among them was a film that had been exposed twice. The first time, in the summer of 1986, in Dordogne; the second, in the winter of 1987, in Riyadh.

1986, Erreurs superposées. 1986, Superimposed errors. The title, scrawled on the envelope containing the negatives, is enough to let loose the bridle on a multitude of decipherments. It suggests enough and little enough that, faced with the images, I immediately begin to search and find – over and over again – a whole play of oppositions between these two series at the hinge of an uproar: Maël’s childlike curves are matched by the severity of concrete and steel; intimate, human-sized framings are matched by vast shots of deserted streets; the facetious trepidation of bodies is matched by the silent obstinacy of facades; the bluish warmth of French undergrowth is matched by the red sand of the Saudi desert; erotic complicity with Marie-Martine is matched by a few rigid self-portraits in a functional bachelor pad. It seems too easy to be true, and yet Thierry’s sadness shines through. His gaze is heavy with lack. Places without love merge. Thierry’s loved ones have burned his retina and reluctantly haunt his new life. Impossible to turn the page. Impossible to load a blank roll of film.” – Matthieu Millou