The following photos were taken during threeevenings in July 2024. They have, I had, a single subject: a cocaine addict who injects himself in his stifling maid’s room, prays to Zarathustra, invokes Zarathustra, insults Zarathustra, curses Zarathustra, maybe even challenges him. He doesn’t do it for fun, it’s not a joke, it’s not theater: when Fred spits on Zarathustra, he really spits, when Fred screams, the neighbors scream too, so Fred says he knows that he is being spied on, he goes to get the two knives in the kitchen, puts them on his knees, turns off the light and looks into the dark and I wait in silence, in respect,Zarathustra is somewhere in the room.
I do not interrupt the silence; silence and speech are Fred’s business, he quickly made me understand that. I’m here to take photos, nothing else. A whirlwind of violence, madness, intimidation... Yet that’s why I came. It’s not just a question of photos, it’s a story of perdition.
