une balle - one ball - un pallone - μία μπάλα
“Today I had a visit from my children. The youngest asked me to make something for him. That’s why I say that now I have to make a bicycle that flies …” (prisoner, condemned for passion crime)
"Oggi ho avuto una visita dai miei figli. Il più giovane mi ha chiesto di fare qualcosa per lui. Ecco perché ora dico che devo fare una bici che vola ... "(prigioniero, condannato per delitto passionale)
«Σήμερα με επισκέφτηκαν τα παιδιά μου. Ο μικρότερος μου ζήτησε να του φτιάξω κάτι. Γι' αυτό λέω ότι τώρα πρέπει να φτιάξω ένα ποδήλατο που πετάει...» (κρατούμενος, καταδικασμένος για έγκλημα από πάθος)
Some images have their own life, sometimes they haunt you for years, until one day they become an icon of your imagination, a fruit of your experience, and a story to be told outside History. They become like storytelling lasting as long as the narration unfolds, before they fade back into oblivion.
I took this picture in 1999, while working on the "la maison de Cain", a photographic essay about crimes of passion.
Only 6 years later it surfaced back into a short tale: a story woven around a rolling ball from the prison ward of Koridallos to the port of Piraeus, to the port of Rotterdam and then loosing it in the world of similes...
It created itself one real fictional space, a movie I called after a song: "hold my me".
«Σήμερα με επισκέφτηκαν τα παιδιά μου. Ο μικρότερος μου ζήτησε να του φτιάξω κάτι. Γι' αυτό λέω ότι τώρα πρέπει να φτιάξω ένα ποδήλατο που πετάει...» (κρατούμενος, καταδικασμένος για έγκλημα από πάθος)
Some images have their own life, sometimes they haunt you for years, until one day they become an icon of your imagination, a fruit of your experience, and a story to be told outside History. They become like storytelling lasting as long as the narration unfolds, before they fade back into oblivion.
I took this picture in 1999, while working on the "la maison de Cain", a photographic essay about crimes of passion.
Only 6 years later it surfaced back into a short tale: a story woven around a rolling ball from the prison ward of Koridallos to the port of Piraeus, to the port of Rotterdam and then loosing it in the world of similes...
It created itself one real fictional space, a movie I called after a song: "hold my me".
Certaines images ont leur vie propre, parfois elles vous hantent pendant des années, jusqu'au jour où elles deviennent une icône de votre imagination, le fruit de votre expérience, et une histoire à raconter en dehors de l'Histoire. Elles deviennent comme des récits qui durent aussi longtemps que la narration se déroule, avant de sombrer à nouveau dans l'oubli.
J'ai pris cette photo en 1999, alors que je travaillais sur « La maison de Caïn », un essai photographique sur les crimes passionnels.
Six ans plus tard seulement, elle a refait surface dans un court récit : une histoire tissée autour d'une balle roulante, de la prison de Koridallos au port du Pirée, puis au port de Rotterdam, avant de se perdre dans le monde des similitudes... Elle a créé son propre espace fictif, un film que j'ai intitulé d'après une chanson : « hold my me ».