Gilles Coulon
When the sky #8
It all started one winter evening. When the sky was black. He entered the Guil by pushing open the auction doors. There, in this belly, he wanted to be the one who drives the Fenwick, the one who pulls the fish boxes, and then also the one who cuts them up.
Outside, he also wanted to be the rock on which the waves break, the great dike, the lighthouse that watches over. He wanted to be everything because everything is on the same plane here, everything is in its place. Everyone knows how to keep quiet and submit when the ocean joins forces with the sky to impose its law. He photographed people, landscapes, trawling and hand-pin fishing. In a somewhat compulsive and mechanical way. Like an inventory. Day, night. The rain, the sun. The sky, the sea. He photographed the ghost town when the sky was dark and the kids diving from the top of the rock when the sky was blue.
