Many people contribute to our Shuttercrack flickr pool daily. One of them who never fails to deliver is Parisian photographer Pierre Wayser. His submissions vary from recent digital shots, to analogue photography from the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s. The fact that Pierre uploads so many photographs of these era’s already make his Flickr photo stream a treasure. That his pictures never go with a description and instantly bring a sense of nostalgia of a Paris I’ve never known, only make them that much more intriguing to me. I lost hours browsing through his photo stream containing an impressive collection of captured moments.

As I’m seriously at a loss for words to describe four decades of amazing photography, I’ve decided to ask Pierre some questions.

“My Paris extends to the ends of the earth.”

Pierre: “I’m using Flickr for what it is. I use the tags in order to give some indications; The date, the place and I always associated a song title to the image, which in a way give a kind of (poetic) counterpoint to the reading in place of an explanation.

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The subjects of Pierre’s photography vary a lot, from conceptual photography, to street photography in Paris and documentary photography of trips in Asia. But the pictures that raise the most questions are the ones of some of the beautiful men and women Pierre photographed in their prime during the 70’s and 80’s.

Pierre: Some of them are dead and curiously some are still alive ! This is usually what you can say after almost 40 years of photography…” When asking Pierre if most of his shots are from Paris, he answers “My Paris extends to the ends of the earth.”

If you are as intrigued by Pierre’s photography as I am, he also has a book available through Blurb called ‘Moon Can Do‘, containing a selection of photos from 1974 up ’till 2011:  “

What? It is possible that the image is reduced and does not have any more the rights of its reproduction. Since, there is secession on all our reflections. The madness reconstructrice of alive pictures. We at such point are isolated. The saddest camping of the coast. With the inhabitants of his own wax museum. Men of a dye of mucous membrane. That returns insidiously, dully. At the first hot nights of concerns. A handkerchief on the face, against the flies. Midnight on the plait, heat awakes me. Impression that somebody knocks on the wall. An elliptic movement in the shade. Complex and hemmed stylization. With the surprisingly clear and remote sounds on the surface of water.“