LoïcLautard

 
 



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A
utrefois, le fer et le verre des pavillons Baltard accueillaient maraîchers et badauds en tous genres dans les Halles de Paris. Ces matériaux nobles ont aujourd hui cédé leur place aux miroirs, vitrines, plexiglass, à un espace qui incite le passant à la consommation frénétique. Métro, boutiques, cinémas, espaces verts, nourrissent le fourmillement incessant des journées…puis, la nuit tombe… prémices d'une vie jusque là sous jacente, un autre battement s'installe, propice aux rituels qui orchestrent la face cachée du lieu. Son rythme est beaucoup plus lent, il devient plus humain. L'espace aussi prend une autre dimension, les miroirs salis par la pluie séchée renvoient la lumière des néons abandonnés sur les vitres brisées. Il est alors minuit.

Les indigents s'installent tranquillement comme de vieux reptiles sur le carrelage fatigué, tandis que les petits dealers déambulent dans la pénombre, sous l'œil furtif du passant qui se hate. Rencontrer ces hommes et ces quelques femmes marginalisés, les approcher pour comprendre leur regard lucide, surprenant de vérité, qui, entre deux gorgées d'ivresse interroge notre vie. Le projet est de présenter une série de portraits fixes puis en mouvement, dans le but de confronter le spectateur à cette beauté émergeant de la détresse.


THE OLD MARKET "LES HALLES" IN ITS PRESENT DAY FORM.

In later times the area in Paris called Les Halles was a bustling market with beautiful Baltard style architecture built in glass and steel , playing host to passerby and farmer alike. This elegant architectural style of steel and glass of times gone by have been transformed into a modern day style of mirrors , vulgar window shop glass ,and plexiglass inciting the passerby into frenetic consommation. During the day this active area revolves around small parks , the subway , the cinema , and small shops feeding the hunger of this incessant desire...Until , night falls...giving way to another premise. The underlying heart beat hidden during the busy day gives way to another orchestral hymn playing sordid chords. The rythm slows and Les Halles breathes humanity , or so it seems. In fact this area takes on another dimension as its mirrors soiled by the rain cast a reflection against the abandoned neon lights and broken windows.
The hour is of course midnight.

Destitute individuals come creeping into the area like reptiles slithering slowly along the worn out tile as well as the small time dealers scaring passing individuals who speed up their pace once catching a glance of these marginal creatures. In meeting these men , and a few women , outcasts of society and coming closer and actually speaking with these lost souls I found truth in their lucid glance. Surprised by their ability to speak the frank truth of their torrid experiences between two or three gulps of drunken existence finds one interrogating his own outlook on life.This project presents a series of photos in two forms. A series of photos in movement and another in static form confronting the spectateur with the emotional parrallel of the beauty rising out of this life of despair.
 
 
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