They are there, always there, with a benevolent gaze, hanging on our walls…
For them, the time froze, the time doesn’t exist anymore.
They observe us among the divinities.

« Down here », time passes, running away from us, it flies, it escapes.
To the rhythm of clocks ticking, our life is aspired by the whirlwind of time,
occulting our finitude.

As orphans, holding on to their memory, their face, their image, we cover them
with offerings to make them immortal.

They are there, always present, very much alive…

Our hearts will always be marked with their presence, their spirit, their soul.

Bundi (Rajasthan) 2019

We are in India, in Rajasthan, inside houses and small shops. Frame(s) of life is a
journey in these private places, “inside” but separated from a swarming, noisy,
effervescent world. I am drawn to the humbleness of the places, to these walls of
different colours, to the simplicity of the staging: ancestral portraits, divinities, ritual
items, clocks symbolizing discipline and the passage of time, peacock feathers
representing immortality, flower or pearl necklaces to honor the gods.

The ephemeral sliding on the immutable…