A photograph can rip away from time a hundred days. This is the principle of the solargraph. The curve of the sun lays its trail on the photosensitive paper. On the surface, the immensity of the world is in motion. The light traces each day in contours the shadows, those of the trees and the insects on the move, those of the buildings and the meteorological accidents. It will take several months for the developing organisms to build their microscopic cities. The paper is finally extracted from its habitat; a can hanging from a window or a branch. The photograph owes its immortality on screen to the radiations of the scanner, which have come at the same time to end the cycle of its life. The proof by the picture does not exist because it has the defect of being alive, which arouses in Quentin Lacombe an indelible fascination.
Among the chaos of organic materials and patterns of ultra-urbanization, the series of photographs "Crucible of time" crystallizes this state on the border of collapse. The title is taken from the eponymous book "The Crucible of Time" (Brunner, 1984). The author tells the story of this star whose trajectory crosses a turbulent interstellar space, cluttered with dust, meteors and wandering planetoids, and whose inhabitants are preparing to die or to survive. Through his photographic processes, from long exposure to the use of the image's only negative, Quentin Lacombe makes each print a time capsule whose atmosphere illustrates the loss of control over our environment.
