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When I was 4 my father put me on a bike, pushed me down the hill and I crashed in the salad patch at the bottom of the garden.
We lived next to a huge chalk quarry which was used as a tip, filled with rubbish: this is where I grew up.

I learned how to burn tires, make spears out of construction material and a l… Read More
When I was 4 my father put me on a bike, pushed me down the hill and I crashed in the salad patch at the bottom of the garden.
We lived next to a huge chalk quarry which was used as a tip, filled with rubbish: this is where I grew up.

I learned how to burn tires, make spears out of construction material and a luge out of Renault 5 bumpers.

Because we lived in a disadvantaged area, we had to participate in “activities”, thanks to a pro-communist France.
From this time came my diploma in archery, my hatred of horse riding, my expertise at building balsa planes and wobbly pottery. Basket-ball, judo, volleyball, cross country, pommel horse and javelin were imposed on us.

We only liked soccer.

When we'd had enough of it all, they sent us to photography.
I did not want to go, but I had to.
And I loved it: The photo lab was like paradise; magical.

Then, when I was older, I had to do all sorts of jobs. Mostly jobs other people did not want.
Dustman, security guard, fisherman, telemarketer, grape harvesting, working for antiquarians and other artisans. Anything.

From that time came my love of people at work and my dislike for social injustice.
Photography stayed with me.

After years of working in IT, I moved to New Zealand (2000) where I now photograph people.

People moving, running, arguing, dancing, jumping, protesting, agreeing, swimming, smoking, flying, crying, working. Doing nothing.
People living.


Photo by Bryan Lowe.
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