Thirty-four years have passed. And yet nothing has really gone away. Time has done its work on the surface, but not in depth. The body remembers without warning, in a deaf or brutal pain. Memory, however, does not obey any rule: it is enough of a detail, of a noise, of an image to make everything come back. Not attenuated. Not blurred. Brut. As if this 5 May 1992 had never ceased. (Photos Gérard Baldocchi) It was probably written that this day w…
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Thirty-four years have passed. And yet nothing has really gone away. Time has done its work on the surface, but not in depth. The body remembers without warning, in a deaf or brutal pain. Memory, however, does not obey any rule: it is enough of a detail, of a noise, of an image to make everything come back. Not attenuated. Not blurred. Brut. As if this 5 May 1992 had never ceased. (Photos Gérard Baldocchi) It was probably written that this day w…