The Strange summer of Mrs X

This is Madame X. Or at least this is what remains of Madame x : indeed, this dressmaker was moulded from the body of Madame X in her exact proportions...
There is no question, there is no answer. There is silence. Only silence. There is no happy ending : there’s just an end to each and every one, each and every thing ; Madame X is you and me. She “used to live” just like one day the same will be said about us all. You and me. The things we saw, the things we lived, the people we loved and cared about will go with us in this silence that awaits ahead. Madame X died a long time ago. She lived in this big mansion in the southern Alps, in France. May be she loved to play the piano and to swim. May be, she loved to read and write. I can only imagine.

And me, I need to get out of this house and bring back something that will make Madame X see something alive. Hopefully, something that will make her happy.
And me, I need to escape and feel whatever there is out there that makes me feel alive : people in the water, a homeless poet by the river bank or even a mini golf. Feel the late summer afternoon breeze around my body. Listen to my heart beat as I focuss my large format camera onto my subject and breathe one more time before, the cable release in my right hand, I fire the trigger, as if I was at the heigth of my life...