Meet Rudi, 42, the romantic high priest of digital collage!

140625Rudi

NO TALKING SHOP, NO DAILY GRIND. Paris, 42 rue de l’Yvette. Thursday 15 May 2014, forty minutes past two. I have a feeling there’s still a few hours needed to finish organizing my drawers and I’ll be back in the studio free from all my digital fever. Which will allow me to enjoy other delicious moments. For example making some beautiful still lifes with my Rollei SL66. Or exploring the dunes in Ostend. Hunting for driftwood on the North Sea beaches. Listening to Toru Takemitsu and Robert Ashley. Will I be continuing with New Still Lifes for much longer? Certainly until 30 June. But after that? I think it would take a torrent of encouraging hits on my website. With that hope… happy holidays! Buddha bless you!

 

Do you dream of a double life? Write an online diary !

Le Boy

NO TALKING SHOP, NO DAILY GRIND. Ostend,  29 Kemmelbergstraat. Tuesday 6 May 2014, thirty-five minutes past one. I’ve just typed ‘online diary’ into the computer and Google has come up with 326 million hits. I am discouraged? Not in the least. The apprentice diarist that I am is not going to be put off by such a little thing. So I go on with the novel of my life. Helped by a 1980s Petit Robert dictionary, a pink propelling pencil and an eraser. In the glass frame adorning my office, there’s ‘The Boy’ (above), a drawing of October 2011, the month when I decided to start leading a kind of double life on the Internet. No regrets… to be continued. Buddha bless you.

 

Writing a diary means amusing oneself to pass the time. Here’s the proof.

Dusty Heart

NO TALKING SHOP, NO DAILY GRIND. Ostend, Belgium. 29 Kemmelbergstraat. Tuesday 6 May 2014, thirty-two minutes past twelve. Now I’m telling you the story of my life, I pay attention to everything that happens to me, and I note down in a little blue Campo Marzio Design exercise book everything about my life’s routine. The purchase of an electric razor, walks, some words heard on the radio, etc. Strangely I have the greatest desire to write when nothing happens. When a sudden shower of rain makes me want to draw a heart in the dust, for example. Here (see above) I feel like a diarist – like an old curmudgeon amusing myself to pass the time. Keep walking…

 

Anti-blues and good luck charm : Ray, a little guy made of wire and sellotape!

The Funambulist

NO TALKING SHOP, NO DAILY GRIND. Ostend, Belgium. 29 Kemmelbergstraat. Tuesday 6 May 2014, twenty-three minutes past nine. This morning while walking along the coast I had a keen sense of being alone. With my hands in the pockets of my parka, alone on the sea wall surrounded by greyness, I watched the sea for a long time. At the end of the jetty a sailing boat headed north. Back in my office I searched for the best photo to banish my blues and chose Ray. He’s the tightrope walker you see before you. Drawn during a period when I was worrying about my career as a DJ, he managed to bring me luck. And ever since, he follows me , tucked in the bottom of my wallet. Buddha bless you!

 

‘My dear, it’s April : the lilacs and the roses awaken many disturbing things in my heart’…*

Sweetie....

NO TALKING SHOP, NO DAILY GRIND… (05/10). Paris, 2 rue Vivienne, Institut national d’histoire de l’art. The Oval Room, seat 82. Thursday 20 February 2014, fifteen minutes past ten. On the back of the postcard* addressed to Mademoiselle Glachet Blanche, ironer from Gamaches in the Somme, are a few words from her ‘dear sister’. It informs her that ‘Renée (?) has had dreadful colic for two days with some intestinal inflammation’. The sister adds ‘a bit like Maurice (??) when he was little’. Think about the idea of making photos using objects bought for a maximum of 2 Euros, that is twice the price of this postcard found on Sunday at Domino’s, the best tea shop in Ostend (16b Witte Nonnenstraat). Buddha bless you!

‘Erratic, the summer rain. Sometimes pouring. Sometimes almost stopped. Then come two or three much heavier drops*.’

The Summer Rain

NO TALKING SHOP, NO DAILY GRIND… Ostend, 29 Kemmelbergstraat. Saturday 15 February 2014, three minutes past midday. French poet Yves Bonnefoy (b. 1923) wrote these lines in his poem*  ‘Deux Musiciens, trois peut-être’, which I read in La Vie errante [The Wandering Life] (Mercure de France, 1983). The thread that binds me to New Still Lifes comes from my appetite for discovery. Always curious (whether books, music or films) here I can show what seems to resonate with my own pictures – ones I’ve already made or will make. Buddha bless you!

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A Little Fairy under the Sheets. Smiling. In Love.*

In Ostend, Belgium, color photograph of a doll adorned with a paper heart and wearing too much makeup ...

*Une petite fée sous les draps. Souriante. Amoureuse.

Self-taught painter and photographer, Jean-Loup Lafont lives and works in Paris. Using his Rollei SL 66 as his digital Canon, he divides his time between long walks in the city and still life photographs in his little studio located in front of the Eiffel Tower. Represented in France by Galerie Joëlle Mortier-Valat (www.paris-gallery.com)‎, Jean-Loup Lafont would be happy to present his recent works far from the Seine. Please, don’t hesitate to contact Joelle or jeanlouplafont@photoshelter.com.

Reveries of the Solitary Photographer

A Still-life photograph (String, Glassine-paper Sleeve, Photo, Drawing from the 1980s, Tin, Pressed Dead Leaves) Yvette Studio, Paris France

A Still-life photograph (String, Glassine-paper Sleeve, Photo, Drawing from the 1980s, Tin, Pressed Dead Leaves) Yvette Studio, Paris France4 December 2012. At the age of 24, when John Hopkins discovered Morocco, he wanted to become a writer. ‘But’, he adds hastily on page 23 of his Tangier Diaries (1962–79) ‘of what? Essays, novels, short stories? I had no idea’. A question which, in the context of photography, I’ve never had to ask myself. Buildings leave me stone cold. Female nudes the same. And as I am in no way attracted to photos of plates of food, of landscapes or factories, I naturally put my old Rolleiflex SL66 at the service of objects. With objects, dumb and extremely well-behaved as they are, you can have fun with nothing at all. A shadow, a piece of string or, as here on the left (Woman Alone, Ostend, 2012),the transparency of a piece of glassine paper. It’s this joy that I come looking for every morning in the studio, impatient to choose the trinkets with which I am going to be lucky enough to spend my day! Buddha bless you!

For a Long Time my Studio Looked Out on to a Dilapidated Courtyard.

I've painted the daisy. At that time, the shiny blacks were my obsession...

Extract from my photographic diary, Yvette Studio.Ostend, 3 September 2012. It’s six in the morning, daybreak and the light is very beautiful. On the silent terrace I’m searching for ideas for photos. Oxana is sleeping upstairs, in her room cluttered with books. As for me, I’m dreaming of Daisy, the still life (left) with such brilliant black colours. I took the photo in a suburban studio which looked out on to a dilapidated courtyard, conducive to gloomy thoughts. Sometimes clients came to see me there, astonished at the potholes obstructing the path to the studio. I’ve always worked in outdated places. I love towns that are trapped in the past. Hence this long stay in Ostend. An old-fashioned resort, with its kitsch hotels, its casino, its accordions, its funfairs. And its biting winds! Buddha bless you!  Extrait de mon journal. « Ostende, 3 septembre 2012. Il est six heures du matin, le jour se lève et la lumière est très belle. Dans le silence de la terrasse, je cherche des idées de photo. Oxana dort à l’étage, dans sa chambre encombrée de livres. Moi, je rêve de Marguerite, la nature morte (à gauche) aux noirs si brillants. Je l’ai photographiée dans un studio de banlieue donnant sur une cour défoncée, propice aux pensées lugubres. Des clients passaient parfois me voir , étonnés par les nids de poule barrant le chemin de l’atelier. J’ai toujours travaillé dans des lieux hors mode. J’aime les villes prisonnières du passé. D’où ce long séjour à Ostende. Une station à l’ancienne. Avec ses hôtels  kitsch. Son casino, ses flonflons. Et ses vents furieux! Bouddha vous bénisse! »

Walking and Dreaming : Nothing more Stimulating for a Still-Life Photographer!

The dead leaf comes from Nice. The blue veil, from Paris. And I've found the branch in Ostend.Extract from my photographic diary, Yvette Studio. Ostend, 6 August 2012. Alone in my little flat at 33 Koningstraat, I’m dreaming as I watch the seagulls circling under the clouds above the grave of the painter James Ensor which I’m about to visit to pray for my loved ones. Yesterday, while out walking, right in the middle of a square surrounded with lime trees, I saw a brass band playing The Pink Panther. Back in the studio I worked on the still life with blue veil (left). ‘Blue like the Ostend sky’, said Oxana, when the sun came out again… Oxana, who’s from Georgia, writes. Her first project is a biography of a communist heroine from the early days of the movement. Oxana dreams of becoming a writer. In the evening, over a jug of white wine, she tells me about the scenes she’s having trouble with. As her heroine had lived in sunny climes, I’m happy to offer my Indian experience to resolve the situation. Then we raise our glasses and drink to it. Buddha bless you!  Extrait d’Yvette Studio. « Ostende, 6 août 2012. Seul dans mon petit studio du 33 Koningstraat, je regarde les mouettes tournoyer sous les nuages à la verticale de la tombe du peintre James Ensor où j’irai cette après-midi prier pour ceux que j’aime. Hier, traversant une place entourée de tilleuls, j’ai écouté une fanfare jouer  la « Panthère Rose ». Puis je suis rentré finir la nature morte au voile bleu (ci-dessus). « Bleu comme le ciel d’Ostende », a dit Oxana quand le soleil est revenu.La Géorgienne écrit la vie d’une des premières communistes. Oxana reve de devenir écrivain. Le soir,autour d’un pichet de vin blanc, elle me raconte les scènes qui lui donnent  du mal. Son héroine ayant vécu dans des pays plutot ensoleillés, je me sers de mon expérience indienne pour débloquer la situation. Et si ça marche, on trinque! Bouddha vous bénisse… »

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