“The first drowning of the season is a bit like the opening of the ‘cabane à chichis’, the big mushroom hunt or the first frost: it sets the rhythm of the year.”
A secret corner of mushrooms. A tractor in a nightclub. A phosphorescent virgin. A ghostly concert. Sand paths that wind between the pines to the ocean.
The desire to leave and the need to stay...
Presqu’îles are slices of life seized on the fly, in turns tragic or comical, which, through the portraits of people attached willingly or forcibly to a place, the moors of the Médoc, speak of life as it is, be it there or elsewhere. As these short texts answer and assemble each other, a world takes shape. The world of those we don’t necessarily talk about, that we don’t always see.
Without pathos, as close as possible to his subject, Yan Lespoux draws an archipelago of solitudes that touches the universal.
