An imaginary line drawn on an old map . Black, thin, sharp.
One day in a late winter I tried to cross it.
It' s been a journey within a journey. That line seemed to never end. I was waiting to see the end of the stroke of the cartographer's pen. Seems like if the ink had expanded on the ground covering trees, rivers, bushes, houses, people. A deep black that had altered the soil, created settlements, affected the lives of people.
I felt a sense of mystery, isolation, anxiety.
Those places have become a pretext and a context which captures scenes, imagine worlds and stories that I want to explore deeply.
These images are the result of an observation work done on the settlements between New York and Montreal that marks the transition from American culture and the Quebecois culture, which has a beginning, but the end is uncertain.