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Here, textures of bare skin, bodies that are seized, tense, or abandoning themselves, faces that stand out to pierce the darkness. It happens during the hours swallowed by dawn, behind a door, a pane of glass, a wide-open window, perhaps simply on the other side of the mirror. When time is suspended so as to fracture reality, when sensations are the only master and defenses dissolved. When the first hour of blue melts into the grisaille, keeping the daily grind at bay in a play of monochrome, allowing glances to tell the truth.
Here, an intimate circle, living and departed, loves, lovers, friends, brother, fairy godmothers and long gone mother. Cédric Rivrain’s loved ones, posing for a brief moment in the flow of a slice of life, or recalling themselves to his memory. Hearts that no longer beat but return to the light, raw ventricles that discreetly palpitate to the point of losing their shadow: these are existential stages that are recounted. Like a diary, an autobiography...More
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Press Release
Here, textures of bare skin, bodies that are seized, tense, or abandoning themselves, faces that stand out to pierce the darkness. It happens during the hours swallowed by dawn, behind a door, a pane of glass, a wide-open window, perhaps simply on the other side of the mirror. When time is suspended so as to fracture reality, when sensations are the only master and defenses dissolved. When the first hour of blue melts into the grisaille, keeping the daily grind at bay in a play of monochrome, allowing glances to tell the truth.
Here, an intimate circle, living and departed, loves, lovers, friends, brother, fairy godmothers and long gone mother. Cédric Rivrain’s loved ones, posing for a brief moment in the flow of a slice of life, or recalling themselves to his memory. Hearts that no longer beat but return to the light, raw ventricles that discreetly palpitate to the point of losing their shadow: these are existential stages that are recounted. Like a diary, an autobiography...More