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Dust Storm May Exist
© Aline Diépois & Thomas Gizolme

Aline Diépois & Thomas Gizolme »

Dust Storm May Exist

Exhibition: – 8 Jan 2010

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Dust Storm May Exist
© Aline Diépois & Thomas Gizolme

Aline Diépois & Thomas Gizolme Dust Storm May Exist Dust Book by Aline Diépois, Thomas Gizolme Steidl http://www.steidlville.com/books/895-Dust-Book.html Text by Thomas Gizolme Book design by Aline Diépois and Thomas Gizolme Typography by Thomas Gizolme Colour and b/w plates throughout 104 pages 19 cm x 24.5 cm Clothbound hardcover with tipped-in image Steidl ISBN: 978-3-86521-818-6 Leave behind one a time, a city, a world where every thing is on its place, where the raw moment, the unexpected, the fork are excluded, planed, where all the angles were rounded off and the smoothed surfaces. Aline and Thomas meet, and the course of days, too massive, cracks. The light gets through a breach, a base line infiltrates there, a space of danger and hope half-opens, the breakaway stands out as a survival: it will be towards the most evident, most primal, towards the mythologies which shaped their sensibilities, papered their retinas and consisted their mental sound tracks: towards the Big American West. It is a question of returning to the roots of the dream. In a double way: in their projects, their creations, but also in the intimate weft of their existences. It was in the western dust American that drank the photography of the origins because the dream was for sale. It was necessary to attract the money of the decision-makers, and the sweat of these people who still believed at the idea of happiness. The image was can by which have enticed them towards these depopulated areas : disproportionate landscapes, one somewhere else , offered in black and white. Visions to shoot the head, because such was the effect to reach. And heads never stopped it turning This day there, in Paris, the dizziness still knocks, decades and decades later. Aline and Thomas take a ticket, with for any money " ballad of has thin man " of Bob Dylan who walks them in the head, the guardian figures in slide show under their crane (Robert Frank, William Eggleston, Sally Mann) and the number of an unknown, former secondhand bookseller exiled in the middle of nowhere, sensible according to a common knowledge to supply them a falling point and roaming angles where to roam. By way of address, a kind of surreal treasure hunt, a map in the treasure hardly modernized. They decide to work without ever planning anything, to revive this word the real sense of which is often lost: immediate. No second becomes moldy, an immediate result to move the cowardly reins, by letting the technique, the control, the frame, the precision resume their extras' places. Restore there luck in the accident. A chamber Linhof Master's degree and a Polaroid 600 in pocket, they drive, in closer of the desire, pushed aside by an atmosphere, a silhouette, a mere nothing which upsets on the quiet, by an unforeseen which gives itself, polas put under the windscreen, so that the sun reveals them and alters them at once, and negatives were hung on a cord stretched out on the back beach. Innocence, purity; these powers which wear out when we do not use it. So, according to the meanders of the road, the bottoms of bags and the impossible directions, They try to re-dip their imagination to there source. And the source is always lively. A solar road trip, according to the meetings, the recollections, where we cross a legend of the blues become a desk clerk, to whom, too much impressed, we are afraid of giving his keys, a ghost of committed suicide to haunt a chamber of motel, the musicians of Calexico to give a concert enchanted in front of ten persons in one to dine poor. These pages, news scrawled texts, images, tracks collected as so many short-lived butterflies, let with the events, with the anecdotes, with the reality and with the dream, the freedom to faint, to dissolve; they carry and get in them the heart of this journey, and give to see the main part; this road makes for two. Irrigated by a delicate and powerful poetry, in the trembled, melancholic elegance without pathos, archetypes resume life, take back sense. Decorations ballasts of a soul. Hung on the lace of a in the border lit by cold incandescence of outlines of a face, a shoulder, a flower ripped by the desert, running along fair hair as strands of bulbs under a calcined sky, filtering through colors annihilated by the heat, a dialogue is set up, enters the clarity which the darkness is loaded with, and the part of shade which the light carries in her. From their arrival, here and there, posters, planted on shoulders and banks, raised themselves in front of Aline and Thomas: "Dust storms may exist", warned they. In this book, of the storm the beauty - and the dust does not return completely to the dust.

Dust Storm May Exist
© Aline Diépois & Thomas Gizolme
Dust Storm May Exist
© Aline Diépois & Thomas Gizolme