Window on the street …

This passer-by, who is he?

 Towards what end is he hastening?

 Hidden vision, stolen vision.

 Street on window … What is behind it? What dramas or what joys? Inquisitive vision without answer. The window cannot tell what it saw. At best she is an expressive witness. But of what ?

 Then the imagination is let loose, crazy scenarios are formed.

 Fix the memory to continue to titillate the stranger. I have a thing for windows and the stories they spark. Imagining the life, the lives they have seen pass by, imperturbable, sometimes generates a fairy tale, other times of Kafka.

 Dominique Lécorché