PARALLEL LINES: Les First Rencontres d’Arles.
© Noémie Goudal
Written by Federica Belli
Strolling through the streets of Arles for the very first time in the short life of a young photographer, soft caresses of warmth both on one’s skin and eyes, the optimistic atmosphere of many people hoping for new discoveries is impossible not to notice. For how curious about the exhibitions one might be, what actually brings people in town is the hope of new meetings, the desire to exchange ideas and impressions with like-minded people. After all, young photographers in Europe often struggle in meeting each other, with an industry that (quite differently from the American one) not only is still mostly in the hands of older professionals, but often relies on isolation and individuality to produce work. Thus, in exciting occasions like Les Rencontres d’Arles, everyone is finally empowered to behave as if there were no etiquette–no rules at all–and simply approach people with a smile. Somehow, though, upon entering the border of the village, everyone unknowingly falls under the silent and sibylline spell of a completely new set of rules.
First of all, the orange coloured atmosphere in the village and the thirty-eight degrees of every gust of wind make it impossible to sustain serious discourses on one’s work after 11am; those few people who really desire to discuss heavy topics must comply with the unwritten rule of sneaking out of their rooms in the early mornings, while the ever-laughing guards are still recovering from a night out. As the bells tolls eleven times, the time for self reflection and professional dedication is over. No way one could reestablish the silence which felt so permeating just a minute before. As the bars get crowded once again and exhibitions suck in all the professionals, Arles streets become the place for laughter and celebration of sharing a common language: the love for photography and all things beautiful.
© Bettina Grossman
Timidly visiting the exhibitions, first timers might be tempted to quickly walk through the shows to test whether they get particularly excited about a single exhibition, with the innocent hope of visiting it again over the course of the opening week. But they would quickly notice how absorbed everyone else is in each single detail from the frames to the lights to the floor tiles: one ticket means one entrance to each exhibition. And the location of each show being so breathtaking on its own makes this rule particularly painful.
Though the unwritten commandments of Arles strongly rely on everyone being created equal, the dating etiquette still applies: just like during the past century a girl would rather die alone than approach a boy, during the festivals no rationally minded photographer would ever approach a curator asking for a portfolio review off the records. And this one is particularly tough for emerging or enthusiastic photographers. Mostly because such unofficial portfolio reviews take place openly in front of everyone just like most criminal acts which never get noticed. And yet, such quizzical game is a tale of seduction, a series of customs and symbols the photographer enacts so that the curator somehow cannot resist the temptation to pronounce The Sentence. “I would love to see your work”. And just like that, a photographer in Arles suddenly rejoices.
I would now close this short series of rules (after all, I have only been in Arles for one day) with the one I would define as the most clear cut one: always, and I mean always, have your business card with you. You would rather write a phone number on your favourite belt and give it out rather than having the most renowned gallerist in Europe shrug as they mutter: “It’s a pity you don’t have a card, I would have loved to see your work”. And please, as you slowly melt and internally scream, don’t you dare suggest: “Hey, I have a printed portfolio right under my arm:)”. I mean, what are etiquettes for, if not for being frustrating yet unbreakable?
