Hi, I'm Alex.
A French photographer drawn to light, shadow, and everything that lives in between.
It all started with someone else's photographs.
My grandmother kept albums the way some people keep diaries — carefully, a little obsessively, pulling them out at every occasion. Sunday afternoons, the smell of old paper, images of people I half-recognised. I must have been very young when I understood that a photograph isn't just a record of something that happened.
Simple comme un baiser — that's what a photograph is, when it's honest.
I came to photography the long way round.
Architecture school. Theatre. A few years in Québec. The stage as a comedian and director. I was - and still am - constitutionally incapable of doing just one thing.
But all of it fed the same hunger: to observe, to feel, to capture what a room holds before it disappears.
Before the camera, I learned to read a silence. To notice what a body says when words aren't enough. That instinct didn't go away when I picked up a lens — it became the whole point.
I'm drawn to clair-obscur — the way light falls unevenly, the shadow that makes the brightness mean something. No flash, no studio perfection, no poses borrowed from a yoga manual.
I work on instinct. Closely. Quietly enough that people forget I'm there, and quickly enough that I don't miss what matters.
My images tend toward the poetic, the intimate, the slightly imperfect. I love a baby who cries, a girl who doesn't smile on command, a moment that spills outside the frame. That's not a flaw. That's life insisting on being itself.
Memories. Feelings. Art.
I'm hypersensitive, and I've stopped apologising for it.
For a long time I thought it was a liability. Now I know it's the whole thing.
I feel the tension in a room before the ceremony begins. I notice the way a father holds himself when he sees his daughter. I cry during vows — and still get the shot.
That sensitivity isn't a flaw in my process. It is my process.
I'm equally at home in muddy fields and candlelit ballrooms.
Trainers or heels. France, the UK, anywhere the story is worth following.
There's a touch of French sale caractère running through my work. I'm not looking for polished. I'm looking for truth — the freedom to move, to feel, to simply exist in front of the lens.