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Chaque photo a son histoire
Mardi - Samedi | 11h - 19h

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@reponsesphoto #nukuhiva #pvmondaynature #epicjeudi #curationbywipplay #geofrance

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#pacificocean #curationbywipplay #fisheyeslemag #reponsesphoto #pvmondaynature

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À L’occasion de la sortie de son dernier livre “La Dolce Vista” aux @editionscontrejour, qui accompagne l’exposition en cours à la @polkagalerie, Claude Nori (@noriclaude) nous a raconté l’histoire derrière ses images.

Disponible
🖥️ En ligne : polkafactory.com
📍 En boutique : Polka Factory 14, rue Saint-Gilles 75003, Paris

🎤 @josephkohler_

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La Mélancolie comme Chemin Intérieur

La mélancolie n’est pas une maladie de l’âme, mais plutôt une porte. Celle qui s’ouvre lorsque nous cessons de fuir nos propres pensées, lorsque le bruit du monde extérieur s’éloigne enfin.

Dans ces moments de silence intérieur, où les mains encadrent le visage comme pour créer un sanctuaire privé, quelque chose d’essentiel advient. C’est là que commence la véritable introspection, cette plongée en eaux profondes où l’on rencontre enfin qui l’on est vraiment, sans masque, sans détour.

La mélancolie nous enseigne l’honnêteté avec nous-mêmes. Elle force à regarder en face les zones d’ombre que nous préférons ignorer : nos peurs, nos doutes, nos rêves abandonnés. Et paradoxalement, dans cet exercice douloureux réside une forme de beauté, celle de la sincérité brute, de l’authenticité retrouvée.

C’est à travers cette mélancolie contemplative que nous apprenons vraiment. Non pas par les réponses, mais par les questions que nous osons enfin nous poser.

La mélancolie, finalement, est moins un état à fuir qu’une invitation, celle de descendre en soi-même pour en remonter transformé.

«La mélancolie, c’est le bonheur d’être triste.»
—Victor Hugo, Les travailleurs de la mer.

Photo & Texte: ©️ Gaël Chamoulaud (2025) — La mélancolie comme Chemin intérieur – Self-portrait

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"Speechless" - Photo : Gaël Chamoulaud - Angoulême- 2026.

#portrait #blackandwhite #photography

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Between the Fingers

There’s a gesture we make when holding two truths at once—when the hand covers the eyes not from one feeling, but from the whiplash of many.

Bipolar disorder isn’t just highs and lows. It’s the distrust of your own mind that grows between them. Which thoughts are yours, and which are the illness speaking? When you feel joy, is it genuine or a warning sign? The disorder doesn’t just alter moods—it makes you question the authenticity of every feeling, every version of yourself.

Society wants neat categories: sad or happy, sick or well. But some of us exist in the space between, asked to find balance on an axis designed to tilt.

The cruelest part isn’t the extremes—it’s sorting through the wreckage of decisions made by someone who wore your face but not your judgment. It’s the exhaustion of cycling through selves, dying and being reborn within your own lifetime.

But here’s what hides between these fingers: you are not your poles. You are the awareness that observes them both. The continuity that persists through every cycle.

Not every oscillation can be stopped. Some frequencies are part of the instrument itself. The goal isn’t to stop moving—it’s to learn the rhythm well enough to hold on during the crescendos and rest during the silence.

You are not broken for cycling. You are exhausted from cycling alone.

The light still finds its way through.

Copyright ©️ Gaël Chamoulaud (2025)

#mentalhealth #bipolar #depression #anxiety

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Living with bipolar disorder means navigating intense highs and lows that go far beyond typical mood changes. During manic episodes, you might feel invincible, bursting with energy and ideas, sleeping little, and taking risks you wouldn’t normally consider. During depressive episodes, getting out of bed can feel impossible, and the world loses its color.

But bipolar disorder is manageable. With the right combination of treatment, medication, therapy, and support, many people with bipolar disorder live full, meaningful lives. It’s not about “staying positive” or “just trying harder”, it’s a real medical condition that affects the brain, and it deserves understanding and proper care.

If you’re struggling, please know you’re not alone. Reach out to a mental health professional, talk to someone you trust, or contact a helpline. Recovery isn’t linear, but it is possible.

Let’s keep talking about mental health openly and without shame. The more we understand, the better we can support each other.

#BipolarDisorder #MentalHealthAwareness #MentalHealthMatters #EndTheStigma #ʏᴏᴜᴀʀᴇɴᴏᴛᴀʟᴏɴᴇ

Photos: ©️ Gaël Chamoulaud, Angoulême (2025)

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Some days, the weight of it all asks you to pause, to hide, to breathe, and to hold yourself together with everything you’ve got.

Living with bipolar disorder isn’t weakness. It’s carrying something invisible, and still showing up.

If you’re in that moment right now, hands over your face, trying to find the air, you are not alone. And this too will shift.

Be gentle with yourself. Always.

Photo : Gaël Chamoulaud - Angoulême - France

#bipolar #bipolardisorder #mentalhealth

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Lequel est le vrai ?

Trois visages. Un seul homme. Et pourtant, lequel regarde vraiment ?

Il y a celui qui affronte. Celui qui se dérobe. Celui qui observe sans être vu.

Nous ne sommes jamais un seul. Nous sommes cette superposition silencieuse, ces versions de nous-mêmes qui coexistent sans se parler, qui se tournent le dos tout en partageant le même crâne, le même souffle, le même sweat gris d’un dimanche qui ressemble à tous les autres.

L’enfer, c’est les autres, disait Sartre. Stromae, lui, a compris que parfois, l’enfer, c’est soi.

Ce portrait ne montre pas un homme. Il montre ce que personne ne devrait avoir à porter seul, le poids d’être plusieurs sans savoir lequel mérite de rester.

Projet Contraste @projet_contraste

#Portrait #Contraste #Photography

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#streetphotography #synchroniCITÉ #oiseaux #rougeetnoir #consommation

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L’acqua che resta

Ai margini della foresta pluviale ugandese, quando arrivano i temporali, l’acqua scende lungo le innumerevoli colline e si raccoglie nelle piccole depressioni a valle.

È lì che i bambini vanno a cercarla.

Non è acqua potabile. È l’acqua che ha attraversato i villaggi, i sentieri, i pascoli dove cammina il bestiame. Scende dalla cima delle colline raccogliendo tutto ciò che incontra, in luoghi dove spesso non esistono reti fognarie né sistemi per depurare ciò che la terra restituisce.

Eppure, per molti di loro, quella è l’unica acqua disponibile.

La raccolgono con taniche gialle, attraversano passerelle improvvisate, si spingono dentro pozze torbide che, soprattutto durante le stagioni delle piogge, possono diventare un pericoloso veicolo di malattie, tra cui il colera.

È difficile spiegare a un bambino che quell’acqua può farlo ammalare quando quella stessa acqua è necessaria per vivere.

Forse è questa la contraddizione più dolorosa: l’acqua, che dovrebbe essere sinonimo di vita, può diventare una minaccia alla vita stessa.

E mentre noi apriamo un rubinetto senza pensarci, loro aspettano la pioggia.

Poi scendono a valle, con una tanica in mano, a raccogliere ciò che resta.

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#streetphotography #photoderue #SynchroniCITÉ #reponsesphoto #polkamagazine

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