CLIK. The click of the shutter, only the simulated electronic sound of my inseparable digital camera. I capture images, fragments beyond time, the same way as I bring back to my studio the defenceless spoils of consumption, boxes, wrappings rent asunder after the act of purchase, and colored flysheets that offer the pleasures, the colors and the shapes of communication, vehicles that transport nutrition and desire, paper rinds of dreams and plans, with which I invade myself and exhibition spaces after having given them new shape, color and meaning. I breathe zappingly. The way you do nowadays with films, books, thoughts, persons. Moments, like fragments of a whole that you are incapable of comprehending in its entirety, jarred by recurrent stimuli that pile up on each other […].
CLIK. A stored photo that does not respond to commands. A message that announces a malfunction while saving. An error. The binary code has gone off course and the error gives rise to the unexpected. And I find, perhaps what I was looking for.
The key to combining my tools into dialogue: writing, photography and subject. I offload waves of images into my computer and mix them on the screen to the click of the mouse, pursuing unpredictable combinations of fragments that intersect with the onscreen messages of the selfsame program […].
STAMP. CLIK. I capture and stop the image that the eye chooses as definitive, storing it away in a new play of contamination: with the packaging, with the paper sheets, or with the selfsame monitor that generated the same. I have always used the computer for working, but only now is the interaction of codes symbiotic, only now can I directly tear the non reset images from the temporary memory.
With a clik fragments of a face, an object, a place, intersect in new stories, colors, suggestions, the colors broken down into primaries, almost a print proof prior to the definitive path towards the final version.