Avril 2005, Hamilton, Ontario (Canada)"Wreckage over the highway"
A few years ago, a powerful car was taking me from Toronto to the Niagara Falls. On the road, the large, desertic and desperately dull sceneries almost got me asleep when suddenly, a sign, on the board of the highway, woke me up. Only a name "Hamilton". Only a name, but I could hardly forgot the electrical choke those eight letters, thus gathered, inflicted me. I remember the voice of Maggie Cheung in O. Assayas' Clean movie, the terrifying column of pollution smoke raising up into the air and enlightened by surrealistic colours... red, rose, purple, crimson, green, dark blue...
My driver stoped the car on the emergency-park of the road, and let me down. Following the exit road, I walked until I reached the lake bank and freezed. Straight ahead, in front of me, over hundreds of meters square, a junkyard was spreading its obscene intimity. I started the ascension of the mount and took off the last roll I had kept in my overcoat. It was a Black and White roll. I loaded it inside the chamber and shot. Thoses minutes are the longuest of my entire life : I lost every single notion of the time passing by. All my mind was focused on the light and clear ballet of the birds into the air. Nested among the rubbishes or floating over my head. At the background, the chimneys of Hamilton-the-inhuman-one were coughing up their large bubbles of smog. I don't remember the sounds around me : not even the far away howls of the seagulls nor the honk of the boats notifying of their entry into the industrial bassins. All I had in front of my eyes, was black and white. the pale surface of the water, the smoke, the clouds, the sky itself, the ground made of junk mail and used paper beneath my feet.
As I ended my roll, I came to realize my driver had joined me silently. Obviously what had hypnotised me was providing the same effect on him. without a word, we came back to the car. On the left side of the road, stood a wrecked ship of the XVIII century. At this very moment, I thought that a part of me, ended forever on the side of this road... a part of my sensibility because for the first time of my life, I had abandonned the romantic will of shooting perfect things. The beauty was merging in front me from a single junkyard, in a place I did'nt even know before. As far as I can remember, this stop by the Ontario lake was my first easthetic emotion in the photographic field.
Years after this, I still remember of everything. Still... I cannot help thinking of what would have been of this moment, if, by smallest chance, I hadn't seen Assayas' movie before. Would I have felt the emotive charge that strongly ? Would I have had the curiousity of this place which was only a name stocked in my brain ? Would I only have stoped ? I don't think so. I keep in mind many scenes of movies I watch. I know since that canadian choke, that a the smallest impression caused by a picture can induce the biggest personal experience for years. I stock memories and wait for them to reborn in an initiative of mine one of these days. The creation starts with imitation such as the envy follow the merit as its own shadow. Everything becomes really simple in life when one accepts this. and a simple life is what we need : too much oftenly, life is what happened while we have other plans.
My driver stoped the car on the emergency-park of the road, and let me down. Following the exit road, I walked until I reached the lake bank and freezed. Straight ahead, in front of me, over hundreds of meters square, a junkyard was spreading its obscene intimity. I started the ascension of the mount and took off the last roll I had kept in my overcoat. It was a Black and White roll. I loaded it inside the chamber and shot. Thoses minutes are the longuest of my entire life : I lost every single notion of the time passing by. All my mind was focused on the light and clear ballet of the birds into the air. Nested among the rubbishes or floating over my head. At the background, the chimneys of Hamilton-the-inhuman-one were coughing up their large bubbles of smog. I don't remember the sounds around me : not even the far away howls of the seagulls nor the honk of the boats notifying of their entry into the industrial bassins. All I had in front of my eyes, was black and white. the pale surface of the water, the smoke, the clouds, the sky itself, the ground made of junk mail and used paper beneath my feet.
As I ended my roll, I came to realize my driver had joined me silently. Obviously what had hypnotised me was providing the same effect on him. without a word, we came back to the car. On the left side of the road, stood a wrecked ship of the XVIII century. At this very moment, I thought that a part of me, ended forever on the side of this road... a part of my sensibility because for the first time of my life, I had abandonned the romantic will of shooting perfect things. The beauty was merging in front me from a single junkyard, in a place I did'nt even know before. As far as I can remember, this stop by the Ontario lake was my first easthetic emotion in the photographic field.
Years after this, I still remember of everything. Still... I cannot help thinking of what would have been of this moment, if, by smallest chance, I hadn't seen Assayas' movie before. Would I have felt the emotive charge that strongly ? Would I have had the curiousity of this place which was only a name stocked in my brain ? Would I only have stoped ? I don't think so. I keep in mind many scenes of movies I watch. I know since that canadian choke, that a the smallest impression caused by a picture can induce the biggest personal experience for years. I stock memories and wait for them to reborn in an initiative of mine one of these days. The creation starts with imitation such as the envy follow the merit as its own shadow. Everything becomes really simple in life when one accepts this. and a simple life is what we need : too much oftenly, life is what happened while we have other plans.
* * *
I eventually managed to book a place for Sapporo on december the 25th. chasing the wild sheep with star-shaped hair. Murakami would be proud of me. But the most important part will take place on the 24th, since a wonderful friend did all her possible between two tirering days of work to find us a jazzy rest place, far away from the noise of conventional Xmas Eve. A "cheap" place, though spending money in order to fill up my mind with Jazz never bothered me... A "cool" place, though I never doubted such a place would exist in the biggest and craziest city of the world... Let's just hope that I won't be dispointing that small (1.55) young woman too much, eh ? I'll try to smile this time Meg, yakusoku.
3 commentaires:
Salut Kim-chan.
I just hope that the Jazz place and my height won't disappoint you too much...
Well, au moins we'll have fun together:-)
You know, I'm really looking forward to seeing a piece of your smile again.
Salut JK,
Ce qui paraît incroyable avec cette épave, c'est qu'en apparence elle ne fait l'objet d'aucune politique de "patrimonialisation" qui la transforme en attraction touristique, et détruit ipso facto son statut de vestige. Et l'objet à gauche est-il un tank ou je rêve ?
Biz, Sophie
Ah non, c'est l'autre partie du bateau, j'ai mis mes lunettes... En tout cas, on ressent ton émotion esthétique sur cette prise de vue.
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