In India, cows and sacred bulls in the streets.
From a distance, Immobile like mausoleums.
Nearly the architecture of their frameworks is a traveling temple
Lively force, softly moving. Mountain of flesh and bone, haloed with their aura of sacrality.
Some bulls are bright, reddish or gray.
The clarity of their dress gives them a sweetness of attitude. One can read well the finesse of their forms, eyes drawn and as make-up, delicate nostrils.
On their coat ras deploy all gradations of nuances.
Of subtlety and refinement rare, undulating in the folds of their flesh
And on the mountains of their bodies, leaving the ecstatic glance behind.
Black, they are imposing, frightening.
They seem the dark force, they seem the threat
On the dark side of our impulses.
In the Indian streets which are like the open book of life,
Where the Sublime meets the Foul, I have seen these animals,
As the incarnation of our psyche, our dreams, our drives,
Navigating the maelstrom of the streets, encumbering the crossroads,
Always there, immobile or suddenly arising.
I saw in them the Minotaurs, guardian of the labyrinth, the opportunity of a face to face with myself.
So I collected the images of these encounters, these confrontations soft or brutal, in order to portray them as objects that give visibility to this invisible.