PROUST'S MADELEINE

What's crazy is that it was right there, within reach, all along, without us ever having seen it or even imagined it. It's a wonderful story, though, one that's rooted in our childhoods. His, of course, and mine too. Like all of us, my brothers and I had a fantastic uncle who played basketball and had a wonderful collection of electric trains. He made us dream. He shared all of that with his sons and with us as well, sometimes. Kind, curious, open, always calm and smiling, he was the perfect uncle, and he still is today. It was during a family birthday party that Uncle Jean-Pierre, a little embarrassed, handed me a business card, explaining: " You have to call Julien, he's a photographer and what he does with toys is magnificent. I'm sure you'll get along well. He's like a son to me." When I called him, Julien said to me: "But we know each other: you let me climb aboard your Caterham from the cup, during the Turkheim hill climb, twenty years ago. I still have the photo somewhere... "

In short, as the conversation progressed, Julien revealed a more personal aspect of his work as a portrait artist, as well as the environment  in which he thrives. He is a lover of things and people, of objects, their shapes, their history, and also of cars that tell stories. He lives and works in Alsace with his partner Lydie, sharing studio sessions, weddings, family portraits, and the pursuit of those fleeting moments that are often impossible to capture in a photograph. Great photographers say it: portraiture is the most demanding and difficult discipline there is. And both are on this quest for the perfect, unique, and fleeting moment, the blue note of the musicians. As for Julien, he explores in a more personal way—and has done so for ages—the soul of things, the message they carry, and the bond that unites them with their keeper. “It’s a shooting and post-production technique developed over the years. I started with still lifes which, as their name doesn’t suggest, are generally imbued with movement and even life.” For the toys or objects my clients bring me, it's often the same story: the toy bears witness to its owner's childhood: whether they were careful or restless, contemplative or playful. What always amazes me is the connection and the power of this testimony. It's then up to me to let them tell this shared story through this image. And the emotion, always deeply personal, is particularly strong in the little boy we all remain when he discovers his dream car, the tennis racket from his past exploits, or his motocross bike brought back to life in a large format. I recently photographed a copper skimmer passed down by the great-grandmother of a young woman. The photo now hangs in her kitchen, a place of deliberate transmission between these women. I find it beautiful. I can humbly contribute to stories that might have faded away without this other perspective. One thing is certain: this object is both important and foundational in many of the lives I discover. This is evidenced by the fact that many adults who contact me and who have kept or rediscovered the miniature from their childhood also own the real, life-size version today . ”