PRESS REVIEW            



   Bilingual edition:English / French
   Photographer: Jean-Paul Lubliner
   Publication date: January 2000
   Chinese publishing very soon

   8 passage des Abbesses - 75018 Paris
   Phone: +33 1 46 06 13 11
Jean-Paul Lubliner

That night, at four or five AM. I shot the first photograph. The next day I repeated the experience. The third and fourth day I proceeded in a mechanical manner. But on the fith day...everything changed. I all of a sudden became aware of this crazy project and only then decided to get involved. I had to get equipped : camera, back pack, film. I was set. It was at a turning point in my life, searching for new alternatives. Facing live's difficulties and the emptiness surrounding me, I had to open my eyes, regain consciousness, atain a spiritual awakening. Life is often kind to us, like the flutter of wings, furtive, elusive, uplifting us, we must trust it for it always gives us a chance. I have always wished to come up with an ambitious project. A project which could be a challenge, forcing me to surpass and therefore renew myself. Each to his own meditation technique, I chose the heart of the city. To be in communion with her, in a space which is not only familiar but with which I have not taken the time to discover and appreciate.
I am confronted to myself, panicked. This vast space reveals itself, foreign, hostile, I am lost, no bearings. She stands before me, magnificient, grand, erect. Modern totem of the city, omnipresent. Facing her, she is everywhere I look. I am paralysed, I scan the area, searching for my bearings. I stare at the countdown.
I, anavailable, a man in a hurry, was inflicting to myself a useful pause. Then comes the photography. An old intimidating dream. At last, I break the ice...
After a fortnight I begin to detach myself from the subject, inserting the first characters of my story. A cyclist seen from behind and the next day a man from afront. This life within the picture opens new horizons to me, passion begins to rise, I know, I can carry on. The days roll by... I escape my feelings of nostalgia, my routines, resisting.
I know this is a crucial moment. A time to confront myself. Liberation is within reach. The Paris skies...How many days, years has it been since I've looked that way ? Today I have it all to myself, as I have the birds, the trees, water, the sounds of the city... I discover the architecture, then the people. Those who live in the vicinity who walk their dogs, those who jog and the tourists. As well as all those who have come to demonstrate for Freedom and Human Rights on the square established by excellence. The pleasant memory of my father, Great humanist, comes back to me, protecting me.
Shopkeepers recognize and greet me. The woman selling waffles and cotton candy, the man selling merguez... 200 meters to the left, 200 meters to the right, I proceed on my journey.
By fulfilling my obsession, I discover those of others. Those who cycle around the world, on a motorcycle or on rollerblades and whose course one day or another, ultimately passes through the Trocadéro. Moreover, there is a joy which emanates from the place : the dancing, the bongos, the lawns... in time I find life worth living again. And if at times doubts remain concerning the purpose of this project and my ability to renew and regenerate myself, I know that I have gone too far to turn back, already two mounths...
It's summer time. Paris empties itself and I remain alone in my parisian prison. Not a day enables me to escape this project which is beyound my control.Yet, there is a way. I discover that by shooting two paragraphs in a row, one just before midnight and one right after, thirty hours of freedom lie ahead of me. I escape and hop on the Eurostar heading for London. A stolen moment in time. Just when a moment of peace spreads over me, anguish rises once again and overwhelms me: renewing myself over and over, crazy bet ! However, nothing can ruin this immeasurable pleasure, searching and capturing my photograph. My eyes becomes accustomed. Seeing it before it even exists. Freer yet invariably attentive. Each time being a present. This obsession never going beyound the electrical perimeter. Even on my return home, in my dreams, I never let myself get invaded.
Just like in a marathon the last kilometers are the most difficult. Espacially the last month. Each day I must hand in two photograph's to "Le Monde" newspaper. They only publish one granting themselves the right to choose. Yet, no matter how tired and weary I may be my photographs sustain and replenish me. I am oblivious to everything, to the rising excitement. My goal is within reach. What goal ? The year 2000 ? I enter full force into the future. Standing on the edge of time. Enjoying the moment. I come to terms with myself. As the term of this immobile voyage. I now am certain that each day of my life will be a quest for the ultimate moment. A pact with myself, a pact with my instints, my true inspiration, as for each of my photographs.