To ride on the curl’d clouds


She cupped her hand and, with brimful eyes fixed to a narrow glowing point, explained that it contained the world.


Imaginary life.


Being and Nothingness

DSC_4274_bcm_smNotwithstanding some thorny issues (missing model release forms, bad lighting conditions, the flat tire the catering truck mysteriously succumbed to on the way to the gig (sabotage is still suspected)–the list goes on and I do not wish to bore you with a litany of excuses), my heartfelt thanks goes to Pachypodium geayi for being such an exemplary, though sharp-tempered, model.

Strelitzia reginae


Our story began…

xDSC_3108_neo_smGabon. Moyen-Ogooué. 1960. Dans la forêt sanglotante, abrité sous l’aile du soir… A beaded curtain rustled in the wind, its wooden jewels producing a delightful tintinnabulation, mainly, it would seem, for the sinistraural enjoyment of black beetles, now scouring the floor for moldy bits of couscous. In a stuffy corner of the room, under the indolent sway of a rusty ceiling fan, the helter-skelter disarray of clutter, hastily piled on a roundwood table, proved irresistible for a band of marauding capuchin monkeys that collected, among other things, cherry-scented pencil erasers, shiny chocolate bar wrappers, and, under a babel-like stack of papers, a dull blue passport. Then, as unexpectedly as a nosebleed, a herd of forest elephants shook the ground, forcing the slinky thieves to scamper. Thus, in the steamy jungle of Gabon, our story began.