RED

A reflection. Two faces in the same frame traversed by a fleeting movement. A single protagonist placed in front of himself, at the heart of a diptych where the story is cyclical, on the red that disembowels its center. The subject is stretched towards an action that excites him but that he barely masters. Dynamic, his image freezes sharp and blurry at the same time, until it evaporates before the social eye. With her gaping mouth screaming letterless sounds, the subject is atypical, but it doesn’t show. Alienated, but we don’t know. In his hands, he has an unsuspected power, a weapon of freedom, but he doesn’t know it. He has red. The red of revolutionary passions, the red of rebellion anger, of the blood of the insurgents, of those who fight against reprobation, oppression. It has the red which bursts and gives the floor.