At seventy-four, Stéphane Duroy publishes Slow Motion with Éditions Bessard — one of his finest books. Not a polished monograph or a several-kilo tome meant to crush all others, but a fanzine printed in a small number of copies. Printed in riso — a technique that favours accident and tactile sensation over impeccable, almost aseptic reproduction — Slow Motion is, in thirty images, the condensed result of a photographer's life now moving more and more towards painting. On the back of the cover a painted, ghostly face can be made out, and everything is already there of the major preoccupations of a photographer haunted by the history of crime in the twentieth century: questions of the figure and disfiguration, of appearance and disappearance, of anonymity.