I've been visiting the Camargue for a decade. In the summer months, those of holidays from work and everyday life. The months that characterize this region for an overcrowding of tourists. Yet the Camargue remains a region where people are not predominant, but it is the land, the practically infinite spaces, expanses without flat edges, marshes, fields that dominate everything. The sky looks different in places like this: there are no mountains, there are no tall buildings. The clouds have no barriers. A land of silence, of animals that live in a wild state in the fields that run along the edges of wide roads.

If it is possible for each of us to define, to trace a place of the soul, the Camargue represents my elective place of the soul. My personal land of the soul. The ideal destination of my journey.

The photographs in this book were made in motion. From the car windows, from the bicycle, aboard a boat sailing along the many canals. The arrangement of the images is not reasoned: during a journey you encounter different, changing landscapes that run along the streets like a movie. And like the frames of a movie, memories flow, overlap, have gone and come back, without an apparent logic. These are the reasons for an emotional bond, and I can say affective, with this land that is often considered a land of passage, a land where nobody and nothing is born, or dies. People pass, the earth remains.