Moins par moins

Those who have already made the journey know that crossing continents does not guarantee an encounter with otherness: at the end of the road, you are likely to encounter only yourself, your certainties, your prejudices, your limits. But just cross your garden, your doorstep. Go and see your nearest neighbour and your world falls apart. Your moral certainties crash against a wall. Everything you took for granted cracks. The laws of physics are overturned. You have just crossed the galaxy.

What we see in a comic strip is considered to be doubly obvious: the image leaves nothing to be seen, it is entirely self-affirming; and the image is made even more obvious by the story, of which it is only the context. But what if the very act of looking became the object of a narrative? What if it was only a question of the relationship between different moments of looking, different ways of looking, different angles of view? And what if this question took on its meaning in political questions, those by which a world, a nation, a city, is constructed precisely by showing only certain points of view and by calling them “reality”? In the apparent chaos of the images of Moins par moins, a form of education in the gaze, in discernment, in a renewed awareness of the political power of images, takes shape.