There's a sense of care that goes into the preparation of a meal.
My name is An-My Lê. I'm a photographer.
This is certainly not one of Atget's masterpieces, but I chose this one because it speaks deeply to me in terms of my formative experience in many ways. It's supposed to be Atget's kitchen. And it's actually what we call a 'working area'; there's no stove, but this is where things are prepared. You know, Atget's work is so interesting, because it's about the art of seeing. He's so connected to the description of the objects, to the description of the light, to the space, but at the same time he's able to suggest the sense of mystery.
It speaks to me personally, because I grew up in Vietnam, but we moved to Paris in 1968 in the middle of the war. So, being in Paris was an incredible respite for more for me. I actually have a weird connection to the abundance in food. I mean, I remember during war that's the first thing you think of—is there enough food? It seems that this is definitely not between the wars because of all the bread. I imagine the bags are filled with what we call 'viennoiserie'—croissants, pains au chocolat—all of the goodies that you can get often on a Sunday morning.
He knew exactly where to place his camera—slightly high, so that you could see everything, but you never feel the heaviness of the camera. It's such a light touch that infuses the picture with a certain poetry, with a certain intimacy. There's a humbleness to the way he approaches everything and infusing the human condition in the work.
When you live in exile, you know, you have these memories of your culture, and it's very much tied to food. It's the sense of smell, the sense of touch; you're tied to love, you're tied to sustenance. There's a sense of care that goes into the preparation of a meal. There's a ritual that is important for me.
And so, when we lived in France, I was experiencing all of this French culture outside, at school, with my friends. And I would come home, and there was my grandmother listening to Vietnamese music, smoking, and trying to recreate these Vietnamese dishes in our small apartment in Paris.
And so, this picture resonates in so many ways, and it's not necessarily comfortable. It brings up complicated feelings. It begs for a narrative that is beyond the edges of the frame.
