Rarely has reality needed so much to be imagined.

An object dies when the gaze that lights on it has disappeared.

When men die, they enter history. When statues die, they enter art. This botany of death is what we call culture.

And always the animals from each trip you bring back a gaze a pose a gesture that points to the truest of humanity better than images of humanity itself

...after a certain quantity, photos apparently taken by chance, postcards chosen according to a passing mood, begin to trace an itinerary, to map the imaginary country that stretches out before us.

Rarely has reality needed so much to be imagined.

What I'm passionate about is History, and politics interest me only insofar as it is the cross-section of History in the present.