This series is everything to me, but also nothing. It’s “nothing” because I went against all my technical instincts as a photographer.
I did it with only my heart and soul, not with lights and a camera. These photographs have nothing in common with the rest of my work, I usually do more portrait work, and this is not a portrait. But maybe it is, and that’s what would make it “everything”. Maybe it’s a portrait of my mother’s love. I like to define my work as a moment. A moment we freeze, we steal, to which we grant longevity and even immortality. This series is a portrait of time. It took time to create because of the perishable aspect of flowers. [Official Website]
The need to wait for them to blossom in order to finish taking the pictures. My mother’s love has always been as superficial as a flower, and I think I forgave her with this work. The only function of a flower is emotional decoration. Adding dying beauty in the bottomless vase of a suffering child’s heart. There’s never enough water to keep it alive. This series is Mommy’s death. It’s this illusion that goes away. It’s the reality of a dying bouquet which you don’t need to water false hopes to anymore. All that is left of this flower is the photograph of my point of view, which isn’t truth, but only emotion. “Mommy” only existed because I believed she did. The moment I stop believing is the moment the bouquet starts drying.
This series is about grieving my mother. Wondering if she ever existed. What were her true colors ? And the ones I gave to her ? The ones I disguised her with ? Or was I the one who was disguised ? I hid behind those warm and comforting colors, so I wouldn’t see the mold eating at the roots over time. These photographs are ephemeral and timeless at the same time. They are the fragility of love, and of the petals falling like her skin, burnt by the sun. My ideas towards this series are as blurry and velvety as my lense makes it look.
