“I met her for the first time at the Berlin Wall in 1989. She’s someone I really admire, she’s very talented and she did that remarkable work on teenagers; that’s her world and she does it so well. She’s demanding, she knows what she wants and she’s one of the great contemporary photographers.” Raymond Depardon
 
 
The New Life
To begin from the body which is never definitively “theirs”, even when everything is already in place. The ambition of the indefinite (as Gombrowicz would say) which is born, at the very heart of contradiction, of the fact of being at once like others and desperately unique. How, then, resolve to inhabit this body definitively as the one possible variant, while the surrounding space is inexhaustibly rich in forms or  “formulas” that one can try on at liberty, the way one tries on dresses?  I’m speaking of the cultural strata into which “they” have parachuted like extraterrestrials - pagan spirits (as Nabokov would say, he who asked himself why, in the end, “they” always imitate prostitutes) - and who are made more of images than of material things. So they try on bodies - a hallucinogenic process (for “them” as for us). For, in appearing, disappearing, and reappearing, they seek as much to lose themselves, to deceive themselves, to make themselves other, as to remind (themselves) of their own existence, which is never certain or definitive.  Experiments which are all too ambiguous.  What they succeed at, in any case, is at making “us” uneasy, we who are capable of accepting a priori something as absurd as toes. 
Extract of the text by Olga Medvedkova, Incipit Vita Nova translated by Richard Pevear, Twin Palms Publisher 2005.