In a shady motel room, a lonely French photographer is writing letters, recounting his journey through the heat and dust of Arizona.
In November 2019, I flew from my French rainy town to the dusty heat of Tucson, Arizona, in the heart of the Day of the dead celebrations. Every plant, bird chirp or rock under my shoes felt novel to my eyes, ears and skin. There, even death took new shapes and colors for me.
I tried to best capture and express my feelings, emotions and sensations in the letters and photographs I sent to my beloved relatives.
Here are the letters, collected in a short film.