Someone was saying that there is just a tiny probability a teenager Lartigue and a senior Atget to have known and seen each other shooting at the Bois de Boulogne.
It would have been no way to miss each other today with the infinite availability of everybody's work through modern communication tools.
And still, my ignorance on so many talented photographers has not been getting any better albeit all the accessibility and ease of information.
I am hence not to be forgiven when I prefer to present a picture over so many others apparently better.
Curating is as much a private moment (or even more) as photographing. And I may be alone in describing and decoding Henri-Pierre's image, but I cannot stay indifferent in front of a theatrical scene spontaneously created by life, nevertheless, only acknowledged and captured by the author's keen eye.
Admire the bent legs and pipes, and the lifeless subjects with the strange glances as opposed to the almost alive doll and the perpetual movement of the drawings on the wall.
Even the gestures and the expressions are so forced that we may easily consider that we all are crash-test dummies in an urban test tunnel. LIfe in a lab-tube, in-vitro!
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