The conscious tourist sometimes feels a little out of place, an intruder in situations and contexts that are not entirely familiar to him. And all the famous places are so full of flocks hastily dragged hither and thither by the guide on duty, unwitting intruders, that one wishes for an immediate return of some pandemic.
As a tourist myself, but consciously and deliberately solitary and unorganised, I wanted to play with this concept of ‘intrusion’ in some images brought back from a trip to northern France. I have sometimes used this concept as a metaphor: the intrusion of the past into the present or vice versa, or that of a certain taste for the horrid in certain contexts; at other times in a direct way to highlight from some detail a sense of a break in rhythm, of the irruption of the absurd.