My son was off to forge a knife, so I dropped him at Le Gâvre with a Praktica MTL3 and a roll of RPX 400 and went looking for something to photograph. It is the camera I learnt on in 1987: same model, same shutter noise, a different decade. The plan for the rest of the day was lunch, flowers and confession.
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A couple of hundred people signed up to hear from me and I sent them almost nothing, because I could never work out what a newsletter from me was supposed to be. I think I’ve got it now. Here’s the first one, published so you can see what you’d be getting.
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Last of three, and the one that surprised me. I went to Utah expecting the American story and came away with a French one, and I didn’t work that out until I got the pictures on a screen and started reading the writing on things. Two armies, two months apart, same sand.
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Forty minutes up the road from Pointe du Hoc, and a completely different kind of remembering. At Pointe du Hoc it’s in the ground. Here it’s on the houses, on the church, in the street names — and on a black plaque outside somebody’s front door that took me a while to properly read.
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Back to Normandy after seven years, and this time west into the Manche. I got out of the car at Pointe du Hoc at twenty to four and back into it at Utah just after seven. This is the first of three posts from that one afternoon — craters, concrete, and about six hundred thousand other visitors a year.
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Two trips, seven years apart, and I only worked out this week that they were ever the same project. Sixteen photographs between Pegasus Bridge and Utah Beach, all in black and white now, all live in the shop.
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I went to the Merville Battery in August 2019, between Pegasus Bridge in the morning and the war cemetery at Ranville in the afternoon. I wrote about both of those and never wrote about this, and the photographs sat on a disk for seven years. This is the part of that day I had let go of.
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I headed back out with the Canon AE1 Program to capture more of the Voyage à Nantes, this time at the Jardin Extraordinaire—a hidden garden carved into an abandoned quarry. With the car at 48°C, it was sweltering, but the wandering through Chantenay and an unplanned brewery visit made the day worth every frame.
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It was 46°C in the car when I set off and 40°C by the time I reached Place Graslin, which is not the weather for walking a city. But Le Voyage à Nantes paints a green line through the streets and I wanted to follow it, at least as far as I could manage without melting. The AE1, a roll of HP5+ rated at 100, and whatever the evening put in front of me.
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There’s a photography blog I keep coming back to, and I want to tell you about it. Monochromia is a collective — photographers from Chicago, Nuremberg, Rome, Washington D.C., and a village on the Nile, all posting one black and white image at a time with barely a word of explanation. I contribute the occasional shot from France, which makes me biased. It also makes me a better photographer.
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I had no plan, no destination — just a car, a camera, and an afternoon to fill. I missed the bridge at Ancenis, ended up on the wrong road, and somehow landed at Montjean-sur-Loire with a river wider than I’d ever seen. The Canon 6D Mark II and I made the best of it.
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May 1st: the first day of the Month of Our Lady. I loaded the Canon AE1 Program with Fomapan 100 and drove to La Rabatelière to photograph the Sanctuaire de la Salette. What I found was a burned church, an axe-marked door, a miller’s millstone, and a hillside full of statues built in defiance of the Republic. The Vendée remembers.
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