My interest is in looking at the intent of the photographer as well, to read whatever story he is telling with the available material, to try to navigate the photographer’s cultural filters versus my own and finally to see how these are affected over time and space.”

Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with making money, but that mindset has led an entire generation of photographers to concentrate on what sells, not what moves them.

An entire generation is being led to believe that the features on their cameras are more important than the photos they produce.”

I think that in all my works, what I’m trying to do is arrange phenomena in a way that proves that some kind of hypothesis is true.

In photography, the same concept is referred to as camera language (although in practice, the term is more frequently used when discussing cinematography and filmmaking). As in design, color, line and form are important elements that help define a visual grammar. But technical and mechanical forces are also at work: lighting and lens choices, film speed, paper choice, aperture settings, shutter speed and camera angles are all mechanical controls you can use to define a signature camera language. …

Through manipulation of equipment, color, lighting and composition, it’s amazing how a photographer can establish a distinct visual language and then, using different mechanicals, add what can best be described as visual linguistic dialects.

I really don’t go too deep into a concept because I think that can feel a bit contrived. But I take inspiration from photos, although it’s not really a specific era or moment. I like the idea of ‘I use this fabric because I love it: what can it fall into, how can I use it?’

Color, and then fabric, is first for me. Then I was looking at a number of old French photos. There’s a photograph of a boy, taken from behind, facing a mirror. I don’t think it’s attributed to a single photographer, but I’ve been thinking about it. He just wears woven shorts rolled up, and stripes.”