They were always strong horses in their recurring dream, wounded males galloping inside my eyes with the sunlight penetrating them like fingerprints.
Pinned on all fours barking fearlessly at the wind from the front with its mouth foaming like a rabid dog.
A color blind painter who talks to himself, thinking about what will be this morning's tea, who talks to himself while climbing the stairs, when he was taking a bath, why he ever did it ... when he is alone. .
Sovereign bastard!!!
A self-taught man with a smudged look fearful of the noise motorcycles made as they passed him and alert to any sound that might hurt him, with the power to breathe in any dust of distant fear.
A great son of a bitch when the only light was that of his moon all night long, a nocturnal by nature, a practitioner of pain ... physical and mental.
Fertilized by mistake among the dances of unknown gods ... if you ask me I'd say he's not from this planet.
With a self-imposed mutism difficult to understand, sometimes even for himself. .
Diametrically a freak off !
An old soul in its first life with a sick, dreamy, anxious body waiting for a reset and rewind... for its reincarnation. .
Photography by Richard P J Lambert
I make experiences for strangers and thus become the best strangers.