Hiroshima August 6th, 1945.
A pilot, colonel Paul Tibbets, drops a bomb. An A-bomb.

A as atomic. A as annihilation. A as the start of a series. Nagasaki, three days later. A white lightning. And then the burns that won’t go away. The cancers, The poor ruins. The black sky.

But also the works of the mind, the novels, the photos, the films, the stories. And in the end a city rebuilding itself, that lives as if nothing happened. Or not quite. A city that also lives for the abolition, everywhere and forever, of nuclear weapons.

On the ruins of the Dome, images as traces of the words of Masuji Ibuse, Marguerite Duras, Tamiki Hara, Philippe Forest; of the photographs of Yosuke Yamahata ; of the films of Alain Resnais, Shohei Imamura, Isao Takahata, Akira Kurosawa, Nobuhiro Suwa.

Traces of my stay there, my readings, my memories of cinema and testimonies to my absolute detestation of weapons and wars. And my love for life.

 

All that stands seems an aberration

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Neither inside, nor outside, neither in front, nor behind

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It was a deceitful rain

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I'll forget your eyes first

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You haven’t seen anything in Hiroshima

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I'm acting in a film

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There was that “Hiroshima, mon amour

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I remember that during that night...

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From the color of the sky, we could make out the evening

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Each of them, Yosuke Yamahata looks at

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An impossible sign drawn backwards

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“It is not easy living on the humans’ Earth” (Sôseki)

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Christine Gendre-Bergère tous droits réservés.