Faces Places Page #5

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It's a painterly approach,

it's artistic...

Just admit you like naked men.

Sure, naked men are beautiful.

Women, too.

These were the two guys

I had with me.

Fouli Elia and Guy Bourdin.

I made a version with Guy alone.

We could try, but...

visually, on the bunker,

it won't work.

Ok, we'll find something else

for the bunker.

And let's paste Guy

on a wall with holes.

Or on a ruin.

Will a ruin on a ruin work?

It's called

a picture within a picture.

Or how about we try a house

under construction, with holes?

Guillaume, might you be amenable

to using a cinderblock house?

One with holes.

Why not?

They're just under construction.

Right, it might work.

Guillaume, come!

Etienne, everybody come.

Agns!

You're in Normandy,

one of the oldest regions in France,

and you picked

the ugliest house around!

Nothing ugly about beginnings.

Let's go inside and see!

I'm just saying we're always

looking for beautiful old walls.

Why not try the ugly cinderblocks

of a building being built?

You're always making fun!

I'm trying to find you some surfaces,

with holes!

So JR's artistic director

and you, his pasting supervisor,

don't agree to pasting this?

Same scale as the window,

or larger?

We like to go large.

It needs to be

on the human scale.

I admit it may not be a good idea,

but what matters most to me

in this region is Guy Bourdin.

Why go back to Guy Bourdin's house?

Remembering the dead is good,

but some places

more readily bring them back.

He went on to become

a famous photographer,

but when I knew him,

he was a young fellow

from La Chapelle-sur-Dun,

who lived with his grandma.

Did you ever work with him?

No, but we saw each other often.

And we did go on a shoot together,

along with Fouli Elia,

using one of those

big plate cameras

with 18x24 negatives.

Guy often posed for me.

He was a good model,

because he understood

what I wanted to do.

I made another portrait of him here.

Near this beach shack.

I'd love to see that photo.

Feels like it was yesterday.

I shot it from here.

I remember the exact instant

when I placed the camera.

I looked at Guy, and then,

I pressed the shutter release

and took that photograph.

That image.

I may remember my pictures of him

better than I remember him.

Too much wind.

Wait for me.

No, I'm leaving. Too much wind.

Why don't we put that image

on the bunker?

I'd like that.

Would you put it up as it is?

It'd be good to tilt it a little.

The sea was still far away

when we began.

While JR was on a ladder,

I got a visit from the mayor

of Sainte-Marguerite.

I don't know when it fell.

I think I came beforehand.

We knocked it down in 1995.

Right, that's it.

We deliberately knocked it down.

Part of it was hanging over.

The mayor at the time was afraid...

It's pretty funny to have to push

a big rock like that.

Yes, and I love the way

it planted itself on the beach

like a work of art.

Recently, a calf fell off the cliff.

He'd just been born,

back that way.

He'd just been born

and hadn't yet learned

about danger.

And he fell.

I couldn't have imagined

better for Guy.

Here he is,

like a child in his cradle.

Resting in peace.

The next morning,

we went to see.

The tide had washed the image away.

Ephemeral images

are my stock-in-trade.

But the sea worked fast.

The sea always has the last word.

And the wind, and the sand...

The image had vanished.

We'll vanish too!

The film won't be finished,

and I won't have made

JR's glasses vanish.

I'd heard about this little cemetery,

where Cartier-Bresson is buried.

I wanted to go there with JR.

Here they are.

This is Henri

and this is Martine Franck,

also a good photographer.

One for Henri...

and one for Martine.

Quite a few people have come

to this secluded place.

I remember his photo

of a man jumping over a puddle.

What an eye he had.

People associate

"the decisive moment"

with Cartier-Bresson.

Apparently

he didn't like the expression.

He once said he didn't want it used.

This is one of the tiniest cemeteries

I've ever seen.

How many are there? Ten people.

Not even.

It's well-hidden.

We had this plan

to go see Cartier-Bresson's grave.

And we did it.

I didn't take any pictures.

Did you?

Just a small one.

I'll take one before we leave.

Are you afraid of death?

I don't think so.

I think about it a lot.

I don't think I'm afraid, but...

I might be at the end.

I'm looking forward to it.

Really, why?

Because that'll be that.

Good evening.

I'm struck by how

you always wear

that hat and those glasses.

So I am as I am,

and you're in your costume.

I mean,

in your chosen appearance.

Your haircut is like a costume, too.

Why'd you choose two colors?

I like color.

And I didn't want to be white

like that darling dog,

who's all white!

You're all white, pooch.

- We've gone off subject.

- No biggie.

What is the subject, actually?

You are

extremely caring

toward old people.

True.

Where's that come from?

Well,

they've always been around.

I grew up with old folks.

Grandparents?

Yeah.

My grandmothers lived with me.

I looked after an old lady

who lived across the hall.

They were meant to look after me,

but I ended up looking after them.

I see.

Do you still have a grandmother?

One, yes.

She just turned 100 this year.

That's wonderful.

Can I go meet her?

Grandma, this is Agns.

Hello, madam.

I've wanted to meet you

ever since I met him.

- Really?

- Sure, grandmothers are important.

He speaks of you often.

- Does he?

- Yes.

- So I came to see you in person.

- Thank you.

Does he keep

his glasses on with you?

- You accept him like this?

- I do.

You don't remove your hat

and glasses for your grandmother?

He's always like this.

That's my grandson!

Tell me, when he was little,

what did you call him?

- I don't remember.

- A nickname?

My little sweetheart...

That's nice.

But it works for anybody.

No special nickname?

My little fellow.

That's lovely.

That's all she had to say about it.

Everyone has their secrets.

Dark glasses must run in the family.

Hush, hustle...

and hop!

Le Havre harbor.

I managed to get you here

after all.

I'd never been to Le Havre.

Except in a song.

During the war,

we would learn old songs.

I was 13,

and I strummed a little guitar.

To the port of Le Havre they came.

Three big ships filled with grain.

Apples and pears,

turnips and cabbage.

Figs and strawberries

and sweet grapes.

Three ladies came down to haggle.

Kind sailor,

how much is your wheat?

Climb aboard ladies,

and have a peek.

I brought you here to meet

these guys,

Christophe, Denis and David,

who worked with me,

along with many others.

This is where

we put the eyes on the ship.

All these guys here

really worked hard on the project.

Why did you do that for JR?

For his pretty eyes,

but we can't see 'em!

Right.

She wants to get my glasses off!

You didn't mention

our project is about villages.

- So the containers...

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