« One way or another I had to eventually make true my claim to finish, my obsession with closing. This became The End Of The Image. There is nothing more common than the words of a language used by all those who speak the same language. Yet, at the same time, those words are unique, like the dialogue that continues beyond the first flesh given to us.
Those last images are whispered words, cryptic formulae that conceal tremendous evidence, indecencies.
The skins and bodies are no longer the skin and body of any particular child, they are the skins and bodies of our lost childhoods. A big, unique body unfolding infinitely. The very childhood of life, the source of all nostalgia. » Bernard Faucon