“Do you see anything? It seems to me I am trying to tell you a dream - making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible” – Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness (1899)
At the dawn of winter 2020-21, as the second wave of covid-19 began to hit, the city faded away again. This time, the sweetness of spring was a distant memory.
The day ends with my eyes violated by screens and the feeling I need to get out. Drawn to the dawning darkness, I wanted to see for myself what was left of my fellow man.
As the rain poured down and the fog set in, I met hundreds of eyes, averted. Settled in these glances was the fear of the other. It ruled by division.
Yet every evening, some people would break that silent distance, spontaneously coming to talk to me. It served my need to connect. So from week to week, capturing the atmosphere of that winter became almost secondary. Going out, a remedy against my low spirits, and photographing, my way of connecting with the people of my city — those who still ventured out. Later than reasonable. Later than the curfew. Later.
These exchanges, sometimes violent, sometimes gentle, I brought them back home, at night, looking forward to the next one.