Powerful and proud, the Camargue seems to taunt the centuries. His landscapes are fierce and wild, have, still today, this primitive force that modernity has never been able to tame. Is it her mystery that keeps me dangling on its banks, and forbids me to attach myself to other lands? My show “roots and wings” would have been able to give me the taste of the other, the desire for me to melt into the horizon far away… There was nothing: no region, no site have been because of the mad love, absolute, unconditional, which I anchor in the country of my childhood.

The passion that I feel for these ponds to the contour of undecided on which is reflected the flight of pink flamingos, to these shifting sands, and these marshes impavides, was never extinguished. How to resist to the fascination exerted on the eye these saline sparkling waters of sips of white gold glisten in the midday sun? How not to get caught up in the dance captivating sheaves of samphire and tufts of saladelle that seem to …

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