Looking down the Avenue d’Olonzac towards the invisible rolling hills with their patchwork quilt of vineyards and woods.
I stood motionless, a shadow with a camera, measuring the passage of time: “Thousand-one, thousand-two … .” Light flowed into the camera, silently burning a portrait of the night into the emulsion of the film. It is a mediation that I have practiced for years. No matter where I travel, eventually, late at night, I am drawn out to photograph the solitude.