“In order to understand things, seize their deep nature, I have to photography them; the people, the world who surrounds me. I started at the age of twelve and never stopped. The day when At nineteen years, I was put a uniform, my camera naturally passed from the pocket of my jeans to that of my lattice. It was in 1980.
During my twelve months of military service, I photographed my called life. At least, when I could – I do not want to say when I had the right, because it was forbidden, but when the moment was ready. Not so often that, to see the meager image harvest for a whole year. It is to the army, we often have the hands taken. As for the head, do not talk about it.
This is not a report; It would be incomplete, both lack aspects of what military service was. It is also not a documentary work because there is no purpose or angle or writing. Neither reporting nor documentary, this work must be taken for the only thing it is: a trace. The imprint of moments of a call. A fragmentary testimony of this moment which constrained, two centuries during, a striking stage of the life of each boy, a ritual of transition to adulthood, an emancipation at the same time as a subjugation to the authority. “[. ..]