Nothing can against the fragility of the past. By nature present sweat wears it out.
Nothing can go against the drift, the permanent erosion of “remembrance”. The memory slips between out fingers. It leaves us speechless. Because of time. The arrow that pierces like death at the heart of each moment. It spears us.
And we are insects despite ourselves. Ephemeral to time scale. We can only resist or accept; light & volatile or shielded, stuck & fatalistic.
I prefer the butterfly. It’s maybe the only being to lightly carry the weight of its brief destiny: he flies.
So I photograph the volatility and the small music of time that passes. And the traces of forget on the memory.
In photography there is a strange anchoring to time, in light and silence. And memory also.
The creative process of my pictures is like the process of remembrance.
My work is often made of series: it proceeds the collection and juxtaposition. It functions like lots of memories , fragments of time recorded and juxtaposable.
I try to reconstitute the complex memory process in photos that allow no focal point, a visual play that mixes, condenses, superposes different images as the memory records different times – that of the present, the past and that of the memory that prolongs perception of the present moment: the imagination.

See the works of Frederique Bouet