‘‘Pillar of Life‘‘
Initially, it was simply a presentation for Hasselblad film cameras. Since these cameras are often stored in their case or in the boot of my car, always ready for use, they have become much more than just tools. They have become ‘pillars’ in their own right, objects of reflection.
They imposed themselves naturally, as a matter of course. Because they are part of history. My history. They embody a period of life, a transition, a time when — as I mention in the 76/11 series — I went off to explore other horizons, particularly after the digital revolution that profoundly transformed photography.
This transition phase led me to a whole new world: that of concrete and cement. For nearly ten years, these materials took centre stage in my daily life, becoming almost a mainstay, a foundation, an unconscious preparation for the next stage: that of architecture, with a capital ‘A’.
It was at this point that my path crossed that of “Chris” — Christian Verhelst — an architect, but above all a rare spirit. A unique bond developed between the three of us: simplicity, openness, knowledge, inventiveness, mutual understanding, development...
A rich, vibrant, unforgettable period.
As in any story, there are sometimes breaks. Periods of absence. A passion that dies down for a while, before resurfacing elsewhere, differently, with more charisma and depth. In more intimate, more personal areas. Areas of expression that I now choose to share with those who are willing to welcome them and try to understand them.
These ‘pillars of life’ symbolise all of this: the stages, the sacrifices, the rebirths.
They are the fruit of a long journey. A liberation. A regaining of confidence and understanding.
And today, with pride, I present them as concrete evidence of these different works... and of this life in motion.
Each column reflects the life of a being.
An existence made up of continuities and ruptures, smooth surfaces and areas of fracture.
Some parts stand tall, solid and full; others crack, drift apart, darken before coming together again.
These vertical lines tell a story of persistence, resistance, and fragility too — like so many human trajectories.
Each column is a standing body, marked by time; a presence that preserves the memory of what has been lived, experienced, rebuilt.
In their silences, in their interstices, we can guess at the interruptions, the resumptions, the rebirths.
They speak of us, of our cycles, of our passages.
Of this inner architecture that each of us builds, cracks, and reinvents throughout our lives.
