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From the series "Wet furs"
Never enough love and not enough energy from youth to survive in a world which doesn't want you. Nature has an order, and it's fair. Natural selection is the force maintaining a balance in everything, and that's honest. But neither the reasons of JJ Rousseau nor the evolution of Charles Darwin can give you the strength to watch children, men or macaques, dying. Fatalism is an idle argument since Cicero, and in a world fighting egoism in order to promote voluntarism, no noble hearts can't accept the unacceptable vision of decaying lungs. Death has to be admitted, not the death pangs, not the path toward the end. Death is absolute, dying human. Death is tolerable, dying repugnant. You don't know, I don't know, if this young japanese macaque will pass its first winter or will pass away. Few succeed. Otherwise the tribes would be too big, and the alpha males would kill anyway the likely challengers. Few should survive. Few have to survive. However, to conceive the end of this young monkey in its first year is inadmissible, and that's good. To imagine is the domain of the idealist, of the storyteller. Quintessence of the feelings by projecting them. To be pragmatic is just boring, aseptic, uninspired. That's not for us, photographers.

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