If the photographs of Corinne Mercadier are in permanent quest of the seizure of harmonically perfect moments, it is that to stand on the floating bridge of the sky is the affair of a rare moment, of a fraction of second unprecedented, a small miracle of ephemeral composition, before everything is disordered again.

To make the space appear and sculpt it, the photographer uses thrown objects, revealing through their unexpected dance the power of geometric structures uniting the air, the thing and the being in the same suspense.

Random therefore, and the intelligence of the box of vision, to invent and capture points of presence forming edge between the terrestrial and the celestial.

In pictures, Corinne Mercadier builds scenes, which are theaters of appearance, possibilities of awakening, awakening and stupor.

They are interior planets, gliding silences, dreams inhabited by ghosts of flesh.

On unknown sands, tightrope walkers play with balls they will never touch.

There is in the photographic work of the great lady a whole world of simple forms, which are archetypal mental configurations, circles, cubes, octahedra, like so many energetic pyramids building passages of relief.

Here, everything dances and freezes, everything dies and resurrects, incessantly.

Everything is fringes, edges of abymes, neighborhoods in resolved tensions.

One morning, under the eyelids still closed, as in Botticelli's, one can see rays of light that have no source, pure expression beyond the joy of the artifices of the day.

A golden canopy stands out from a fresco by Giotto in Padua, it is a welcome arch for the unknowable.

The history of art - Piero della Francesca, the primitives of photography, The Pier of Chris Marker, the experiences of Francesca Woodman - is for the artist of necessity a treasure of annoyances, veiled or not.

An angel approaches, carrying a new terrifying, dazzling, but untranslatable in words.

Everything is then to resume what had been understood until then. You have to get to work, open the archives, put on the wall of the studio the fruit of a lifetime of research, and advance to new levels in the labyrinth.

Ride the mad hope of a vita nova, an absolute departure, a fall, and the need to imagine a new faena.

Polaroids, Glasstypes, images of images, are traverses of time, ridiculous and respectable death, ways of calling the past, and perhaps the future, to the help of the present.

The works of Corinne Mercadier are essential as dramas without anecdote, played with a lot of lightness.

Characters are arranged in an open-air theater, very chic as at Marguerite Duras, hieratic and solitary. They brush against each other without looking at each other, staggering a little.

The artist observes them carefully, throws them some stuffs that the wind plays to unfold, presses the trigger.

At the photograph now to testify the secret of their links.

How would one call chance after chance?


Fabien Ribery June 4, 2018

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