Normal people scare me, they tolerate reality. Sacha Goldberger’s madness soothes me. He’s actually challenging the right to have the last word. Apparently, Sacha is a photographer. In fact, he’s against de-poetical life. Against all perfidious forms of limitations. Against un-poetry. Against the non-introduction of freedom in visual fields.

So it gives hallucinated photographs that have the grain of reality, the smell of real motels, the nonchalance of real aliens in society. The material he scrutinizes is kneaded to give the impression that his fiction has more reality than his baker. He insists on poking our eye, tricking him into thinking, “hey, you guy, I know we are in the real 50s”. It doesn’t look like a movie from that time, it looks like the real thing from that time that would inspire movies. We’re sneaking into an improbable place. Cops are hybrids of movies and real cops. Are we in the drawing ? Almost, since life is a successful drawing.

With each photograph, we discover a photo that is not of the photograph, a drawing that is not of the photograph, an unfinished film, people whose only reality is to inhabit the photographer’s brain. His Roswell is therefore a real ET, a myth in flesh that waddles on the floor.

Why do I care ? Because I asphyxiate in excess of reality. Like you no doubt, I am struggling in a world that stubbornly refuses to integrate enough poetry to become breathable. So, when an athlete of the beautiful goes out of his way to erase the stupid border dream- reality, I want to kiss him. When he dismisses the dullness of reality to befriend it with the dream,

I tell myself that Goldberger is a benefactor, one of those men who relieves the poor humans imprisoned in platitude. Its light also whispers that we don’t have to endure that of the subway, the local fast food or your mother-in-law’s interior ornamented with neon lights. We have the right to bask in the amazing beauty, in the radiant nostalgia of the 50s.

All right, that’s it. This unsuspecting son of a bitch is right to make fun so beautifully, to escape the bland and take Roswell seriously ! To hell with the normal and obedient !

Alexandre Jardin