Hervé Guibert’s infernal photographs on display at the Macro

The exhibition set up by Anthony Huberman hides a lyrical consonance with the life of the French photographer and novelist. An art of hiding that obscures the human being, placing him outside the horizon of the shot

When the French writer and photographer Herve Guibert he decides to face the demon of disease, AIDS in particular, by taking the monstrous bull by the horns, in a sort of bullfight transfigured through the shadow of the word. She immerses herself in a thickened and misty blanket of pathology, of suffering, of carnal and dazzling reflections that open wide like the jaws of hell, and she gives birth to “To the friend who didn’t save my life”. Terminal romance, really. Motionless space beyond which nothing but ice and emotional desolation extend. From uncertain publishing fortunes in Italy, first published by Guanda, then plunged into the vortex of disappearance and finally taken up by Gog. A dark work. And lyrical. Its emptiness is perceived. The origin of every absence. Of silence and cloistered solitudes between anatomical details, hospital admissions, and the constant presence of a pain that is no longer only physical but which, on the contrary, feeds on desolation and closure in oneself. The beloved physiognomies evaporate. They withdraw in front of this virus which atavicically brings out the beast that dwells in our flesh.