Face to face
It is almost an anatomical study: the grain of the skin, the veins, the reliefs. A charcoal drawing of a thick mane that reveals an eye, small, where the light is at play.
It is an extreme framing, without an ear, a muzzle or an outline. A vision that presses us against the animal, as if to better feel a presence, intense and deeply physical.
In this face-to-face without barriers, the horse overwhelms us like a world. A sensitive world, yet profoundly different.
The eye tells us nothing. The gaze refuses translation. It sends nothing back to us.
Between this being and ourselves, there is no fusion but a just distance, to be accepted and respected. Because among worlds, there are those in which the living fully exists without ever needing us

Face to face
It is as if you were standing very close to the horse. So close that you can only see its skin, its veins and the hairs of its mane. Its eye is very small in that big head. It does not really look at us.
The horse is there, immense, but silent. It does nothing. Its eye stays somewhere else, in its own world. This horse tells us nothing.
So we understand something strange. The horse is not there for us. It exists without us. It does not belong to us. We can look at it without it looking back at us. We can be close without wanting to touch.
And maybe respecting living beings simply begins there: accepting that there are worlds, like the horse’s world, that are not like our own.