I walk in the rain. A smell of fish invades my nostrils.

Docks, warehouses, sailors, ships.

The rain often lashes the basin, the Slipway where boats are repaired and repainted. In the Dom-bunkers, immense German cathedrals from the Second World War, welders work metal.

Over the course of two years, I will produce slow, thoughtful work that mixes portraits and places, objects and landscapes. I seek to capture the poetry that emerges from this vast industrial theater, in which man measures himself against the ocean. I use a photographic camera, which works with 4×5 inch film plates, to suspend time, to preserve the memory of the Keroman district. I compose each image on my frosted glass, sheltering myself under my black veil, positioning my heavy camera, mounted on a stand, recording the world in its depth.