Imagine a theatre of light and shade.
Imagine a scene deep in the heart of France, set in rolling hills and valleys, crisscrossed
by a patchwork of hedgerows and forests.
Contact with nature can arouse animal instincts that we thought hidden much deeper than they
are in reality.
It is up to us to get out and look for the wildlife around us.
Such encounters make us wonder about what we used to be, about what we have become.
Our modern lifestyles have made us forget the importance of being close to nature, and
to allow the seasons to carry us gently through the year.
We could easily forget our animal past that lies beyond these modern lives.
To unearth this past is no easy task, and yet it will take us behind the scenes.
That evening, looking at some old slides I'd found in a wardrobe, I realised just how much
time I'd spent wandering through this land we call nature.
From the walks with my father, or my grandfathers, from these early photos taken with the simplest
of cameras, I was now to unlock emotions that had been carefully shut away.
Such are the little things that made me who I am today, kept close to my heart as I grew
up in my native countryside.
So it was, one picture was enough to transport me back to the place I'd chosen to go to
one summer evening.
Every move I made would count during this outing as I tracked the animal I somehow knew
I would find.
The game was to get as close as possible, without even seeing the animal, yet feeling
its presence.
Using every nook or cranny of the terrain to steal just a few more metres.
The height and its curiosity.
The
Once the patient
approached over, I would take position, put in faith and experience, and without knowing how,
the meeting would take place, to be over having lasted the briefest of moments.
Once again, I had enjoyed eternal delights of these improbable seconds.
But as the night was taking its time to fall, I felt like playing one more stalking game,
and a game it was. I had no serious aim except to gain a fleeting glimpse of an animal that often
disappeared, before I had the time to take even the slightest picture.
Once again, I had no serious aim except to gain a fleeting glimpse of an animal that often disappeared,
before I had even the slightest picture.
The day was giving way to night, and I was gently letting my mind drift in the dusk.
When the day drifts into night, the inherited observer is occasionally allowed to witness scenes otherwise lost to others.
Even though the late summer sun was fading slowly, and that night was beginning to fall,
the silhouettes at the edge of the forest led me to think there were still some photographs to be had.
The deer were there, almost motionless, but something was wearing them.
Their caution was a contrast to the agitation of the wild boars.
I was aware that one of the deer had died two days before, and the body had taken just a few hours to disappear.
The young stag that had grown up had become one of the princes of the forest.
The forest was no more.
All that remained now were a few meager photos, barely enough to show the majestic presence of this animal compared to our own insignificance.
With the full moon came a warning of a change in the weather.
The gentle warmth of the previous few days had given way to an uncertain and threatening climate.
This ideal weather for wild boars meant more complications for me, but not to the point of giving up.
Above the ghost-like waves of clouds rolling over the hillsides, the rain gave warning of movement amongst the animals.
The beating rain transported me back to my childhood.
It was so heavy as to leave you more than little embarrassed after a long walk.
Rain blended one smell with another, reducing visibility.
Rain that meant the slightest photo was going to be hard work.
Rain that meant the slightest photo was going to be hard work.
Rain that meant the slightest photo was going to be hard work.
Rain that meant the slightest photo was going to be hard work.
A few weeks later, however, the first few days of autumn would seem much more frenetic activity still, the rutting season.
The abundance of food around had given rise to an earlier than normal start to the animal love-making ceremony.
I was a little surprised to be witnessing such a scene, both in front and behind me, a scene of wild boars facing up to each other just a few metres away.
I swallowed hard as the snapping of every twig gave further cause for concern.
But I was concentrating on the photos I had to take, caught up in the heat of the moment, however uncertain the outcome may be.
These are the fleeting moments that give us the slightest of insight into the animal world.
Dear two, have their rutting season. The sound of their bellowing echoed in my mind as I tried carefully to prepare my equipment.
A few weeks later, however, I was able to prepare my equipment.
I was able to prepare my equipment.
I was able to prepare my equipment.
I was able to prepare my equipment.
I was able to prepare my equipment.
I was able to prepare my equipment.
After a restless night, dreaming of being a privileged witness to these bellowing cries, I would find something completely different in the forest.
The day was barely breaking and an incredible light shone through the fine autumn rain.
Any noise was hidden by the wind.
I let this magical moment take control of my thoughts.
I carried on their bellowing ritual all through the night and now, completely exhausted, we're returning to the depths of the forest.
Suddenly, a great stag stood still in front of me.
I had to take just one photo before it seemed to turn completely indifferent away from me.
As a ritual that nature had imposed on me, the end of the rutting period heralded the return of the grey cranes.
My constant search for better vantage points and the banks of the river had allowed me to get as close as possible to these massive birds migrating northwards.
The cranes return every year, settling for a few months on the river banks.
I had no other alternative but to be there, and there I was.
As I knew that most of the birds were feeding in the freshly cut maze fields nearby, I set up my equipment.
I set up my equipment.
I set up my equipment.
I set up my equipment.
Then I waited, a strange wait where your mind wanders to places your eyes cannot see.
I couldn't help myself, but imagine that in the distance, behind the tall trees and the opposite river bank, as dusk sitting, was the sight of the cranes, becoming more and more restless in anticipation of their great flight.
At first, I had the noises in the distance, noises that became closer and closer, and so it is. Patience has its reward in the last few strands of the light of the day.
I set up my equipment.
I set up my equipment.
The tranquility of the countryside is often not what it seems. You think you are alone, but in reality, the most important features are almost invisible and remain hidden from view.
Animal life is discrete when it eats. The sound of a beak on a tree hardly gave away the presence of a lesser spotted woodpecker.
In the meadow, the cranes had left some telltale signs. I knew I was in the right place.
But this tranquility was deceptive. In a few hours, a few minutes, everything would be different.
Winter had set in for good. The meadows by the river were, as always, shrouded in mist. The hide had been ready for a few days already, this time with the back to the river.
I witted nervously for the sound of the cranes, and right on time, the first great birds started to arrive.
The cranes gathered in little groups in the meadow. 50, 100, soon 150 birds had landed, and started their preening ritual.
The intensity of the spectacle was mixed with joy, and I concentrated to take the photos in quickly fading light.
The great birds were scratching around, looking for grubs or beetle larvae. They were getting closer. Their self-assurance worried me.
I was having problems focusing as the heat from my body was misting up my lens.
Suddenly, the cranes were unalert. More of their brethren were approaching. The group would be bigger still.
The activity lasted until late in the night.
Before a welcome little would allow me to leave unnoticed.
The ice on the pond had hardly had time to clear away.
Before the pike spawning was already in full swing. These are strange moments where nature awakes from its sleep.
I decided without hesitation to set up my equipment, so as to get a shot of the kingfisher's diving.
In the middle of this large pond covering several acres, my installation had to attract a tiny bird and get it to dive into an aquarium.
Still a little stiff from the cold. I was enjoying, as were the pond turtles, a gentle warmth bringing with it the promise of a mainly sprout.
The slow movement of the turtle is not to be underestimated. Their experienced eye can detect the slightest of movements. I had been right to wear camouflage.
The turtles seem to be in slow motion. They had, of course, spent the last few months hibernating, buried warmly away, protected from the frosts.
Then, as with every year, they emerged from nowhere, still groggy from the winter chill.
How should I shall laugh in my sleep?
Why can't I do anything?
Time had weaved its magic, and the aquarium was doing its job.
The kingfisher had moved in.
I watched the scene from a safe distance.
The next day, I knew that if I managed to get the photos I wanted, I would have learned
just that little bit more about this bird.
My body became part of the structure overlooking the aquarium, as I watched patiently and with
determination.
I was quickly following the birds, to and fro with them.
I could even save me.
Leave the hide to add more fish that in turn disappeared before my eyes.
Even the fish finished up by understanding the kingfisher's merry-go-round.
They were hiding panic-stricken in the corners of the aquarium, making it difficult to get
a clear shot of the scene.
With the fish carried carefully, gift-like in its beak, the male returned to the female,
which was waiting by the stream that ran into the pond.
Almost at the same moment, the magic of spring took an unexpected turn.
In the form of strange balls of fur.
Fox cubs, barely a few weeks old, were going back and forth between the burrow and the
small play area.
Five little rascals bunched together like the fingers of a hand.
I remained hidden in the bushes, far from the scene, so as not to leave my scent behind
and worry the vixen away hunting.
In this scene, bearing witness to emotion and yet such a carefree attitude, I saw a
statement of the importance of life itself.
Life must be respected in order to respect oneself.
It
was time to move on.
Spring in France is the photographer's season.
You have to be everywhere at once, your feet on the ground, your head in the air, or then
again your eyes observing the water.
Each outing brings with it its rewards, made of sounds, of images, and smells.
It's time to move on, your feet on the ground, your head in the air, your head in the air,
your head in the air.
Water has got this power to allow your imagination to run wild.
Just try and imagine what is happening under the surface.
My reconnaissance from the previous days made me realise that the subaquatic life was now
within my grasp.
Using my Polaroid glasses, I followed the shadows beneath the tree groves.
The carp were moving along the bank.
From where I stood, I tried to follow the ballet.
It became a fantasy.
The carp learnt to move with the camera, and I learnt how they moved.
I was stealing photos that I could only discover once I brought them back to dry land.
It's time to move on, your feet on the ground, your head in the air, your head in the air,
your head in the air, your head in the air.
Nature often offers you the gift of an incredible treasure hunt, with numerous animal tracks
to follow, earth freshly dug up, a fur ball, or even droppings that clearly indicate that
the burrows were occupied by badgers.
So as not to disturb this little world, I had decided to install an automatic camera
over the following week.
As excited as any child, I had become an octurnal puping tom of an otherwise inaccessible world.
So that night, I watched in the darkness, a badger couple along with their cub knows their way out of the set.
The mother and her young even took their time and tenderly played together in front of my eyes.
Night had fallen, the sounds were all different, the animals too were different, calmer, more
peaceful in its meadow, gently lulled by the cricket's sound.
My mind had remained with these animals that are normally so difficult to observe.
Only a new photo subject could hope to catch my attention.
With summer approaching, the pond gave me different scenes, different animal life forms.
From my floating hide, I was getting ready to take a series of photos of this shallow
part of the pond.
Up came and more or less discreetly broke the surface, I decided to concentrate on their
activity.
As I was in part underwater, the photos took on a whole new feeling.
My body was gently floating, the hide moved with the ripples on the water.
I had found a sort of original bath, helping me to blend with my photo subject.
Then I faced with quite a few videos to try these monochrome photos.
I felt a soothing calm come over me.
And as if to bring to a temporary end what must be a never ending story.
I was to observe once again how things are beauty, feed on unforeseen events.
I had only to let myself be surprised.
The forest too has the mystical power to take possession of the mode.
And as if to bring to a temporary end what must be a never ending story.
I was to observe once again how things are beauty, feed on unforeseen events.
I was to observe once again how things are beauty, feed on unforeseen events.
I was to observe once again how things are beauty, feed on unforeseen events.
And as if to bring to a temporary end what must be a never ending story.
A few days from now the deer were to totally lose the velvet skin.
The sign that the season cycle was on the move once more.
From this photographic journey I was left with more questions than answers.
As to what really motivated me to go out and find new photos time after time.
Using photos to show what cannot normally be seen is always a challenge.
As if the reality of what we live and what we feel had no other outcome other than to remain hidden from the material form of the photograph.
When you are behind the scenes you enter.
When you are behind the scenes you enter into a dialogue with the invisible.
When you are behind the scenes you enter into a dialogue with the invisible.
When you are behind the scenes you enter into a dialogue with the invisible.
When you are behind the scenes you enter into a dialogue with the invisible.
When you are behind the scenes you enter into a dialogue with the invisible.
