Ressan le photographe de l'infiniment intime...

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Who am I?

 

Ressan tells us about freedom, and desire which makes everything possible. His work, for whom would quickly browse through this site with an esthete eye, may be at first an anthology of images. Of those that create a real impression, of those we love to remember, of those that feed the delight of the eyes and possibly, the inner turmoil.

Who wish to extend his visit over time and beyond emotions will discover a pictorial narrative in several acts, punctuated by interludes. Ressan has seized a libertinage 'between the lines'. Not the mythified or commercial, nor the acted out libertinage, but the libertinage of his contemporaries, deeply rooted in his time. The one where the flesh merges, with pauses and sighs. The one of laughs, both before and after.

In the scenes - not the poses - presented by Ressan, you will certainly find bodies and rippling muscles, but most of all, the author has not forgotten that there are little dumb kisses. There, you grasp the echo. Just as he knows how to render the brightness, either unexpected, incongruous or stealth, crossed amongst varied delights. The gloss of copper, the pretty roundness of a knee, the nuances of a wine, a string that jingles. The guest is here neither voyeur nor obtrusive, simply an accomplice and a witness as a man of art, reproducing the colors and materials. Rich from his perspective, he can slip them into his style. Moreover, when the photographer turns into the historian, he invites you to listen to the music of the senses, or write it.

These pages are made of rich moments. The comparison will not make teeth grind – may hypocrites forgive me - as the worst sin, the one against good taste, has no place here.

Martin Benoist

 

Ressan lors d'une séance dans un appartement parisien

Autoportrait.

 

   

 

 

 

 


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