BERTHOUD_1.jpg
BERTHOUD_2.jpg
BERTHOUD_3.jpg
BERTHOUD_4.jpg
BERTHOUD_5.jpg
BERTHOUD_6.jpg
BERTHOUD_7.jpg
BERTHOUD_8.jpg
BERTHOUD_9.jpg
BERTHOUD_10.jpg
BERTHOUD_11.jpg
BERTHOUD_12.jpg
BERTHOUD_13.jpg
BERTHOUD_14.jpg
BERTHOUD_15.jpg
BERTHOUD_16.jpg
BERTHOUD_17.jpg
BERTHOUD_18.jpg
BERTHOUD_19.jpg
BERTHOUD_20.jpg

François berthoud

A sax howls its incandescent crystalline lament at the moon.
The notes slice through the night, in strands of stardust. A dog turns its head as it slinks away, head still turned, tail down, as though it knows that something's wrong in the air. And yet there is something right in the air, which rises from the lungs like a fierce desire that becomes a sound that becomes a voice that becomes a colour. The colour of the deco houses of porta Romana just before dawn. The colour of our city, suddenly silent, waiting for a new day of work, tears, happiness and dreams. The colour of our bags, which are neither song nor poetry, but carry within them dedication, care, passion: real emotions.