When she was forty-two years old, Alexandra learned that breast cancer had settled in. She was filled with questions, doubts and fears. It was then that a battle began, to chase them away one by one. By dint of fighting and struggling, she managed to overcome them.
Today, it is this scar, the last witness to her victory, which is proudly revealed in the photo. Her struggle is represented by the thick pink sweater she forcefully pulls off.
Alexandra has two sisters. I’m one of them. And it’s thanks to the battle she fought, that even today, at the age of thirty, I remember that breast cancer screening is important.

Perhaps she was afraid of losing her insolent youth forever. Perhaps in her previous life, she would never have dared to surrender herself to photographers, to unknown eyes, to capture what was to elude her, to be herself, to free herself.
I, the former colleague who’d become a friend, waited, knowing it would take time. And then she came. Ready to give this gift of intimacy. I said yes, of course. Or rather, I said nothing. I let her play with the light of this already warm summer evening. Here, in this garden where her family comes to eat on Sundays, where her children run and play, where she likes to see the washing blowing in the wind. Where we celebrate.
And I saw her. As we all saw her. The man, the children, family, and friends.
I didn’t retouch anything and let her choose. Look at her. She’s the one: it’s her.

A cry of hope

“October 2019, a merciless verdict struck my life: breast cancer. A diagnosis that could have been devastating had this invisible disease not been detected early enough. The months that followed were a fight for life that put many things back into perspective.
This ordeal inspired me to break the silence and make my story visible and understandable, because I believe that prevention is our most powerful shield against this scourge hidden behind fear and shame.
My message is clear: ladies, never neglect breast cancer screening!”

Text and photo composed by two of us, with Sylvie, the model in this photo, who asked me to create a strong image reflecting her ordeal. The photo was taken in my living room, with a black backdrop, a simple stripbox and a reflector. The modeling clay for the disease we want to extract.

On that particular day, Émilie felt invisible, but she wasn’t. We were in the process of emptying the studio in downtown Saint-Étienne that she’d occupied before the doctors confirmed she had triple-negative breast cancer. Among the suitcases and boxes, she accidentally broke a vase and smiled. I told her we’d remember this moment in a few years, and she looked confidently at the lens.
People would stop in front of the studio window and tell her that everything would be all right, they would tell her that they too had a family member who had suffered from cancer, and she listened to them with empathy.
Before becoming a photographer, Émilie was a care assistant. The care she provided enabled her to erase suffering, and then through photography she made people’s stories visible. Today, she’s learning how to better help other women going through the same ordeal.

Crossed paths… fragments of Her(They)

A woman, a reflection, a shadow... A parallel triptych illustrating light drawn from shadow.
It all starts with an artistic intuition, mulled over and accepted, which whips up the momentum of a life walled in by illness.

Audrey, photographer, the shadow above the mirror, opens her art to Anne-Claire, suffering from cancer of the right breast and multiple sclerosis, the woman with crosses.
The smiling reflection is the mirror of a woman who discovers herself differently, stronger still in the artist’s gaze, compassionate and sparkling, opening up to Audrey to avoid being trapped in the battle.

A snapshot of “three souls” in the confused nebula that illness provokes, and transforms here into a cheerful, complicit sharing of lives.

Sabrina and I had already met, first for a pregnancy photo session, then for a session with her newborn Mia. Sabrina had planned to contact me in the coming months, but the project was quite different, the project of a second baby, of a new life to add to their family. This had to be temporarily mourned when a lump in her breast was felt and life decided otherwise. Another path had to be taken.
Sabrina came for this session eight days before her operation. The cancer is there, it can’t be seen, but it’s there. Invisible, it nonetheless takes up all the space.
The session took place naturally, with the participation of her daughter Mia, who, as if to give a cold shoulder to the disease, sticks her tongue out at it with impunity! A gesture so spontaneous and detached that we’d love to do the same!
Our children are our force, our power: with a glance, they give us the energy to move forward and fight. All the women I talk to are unanimous on this point!

So determined, so brave, such a fighter. There are women like that, you don’t know why, you meet them and the magic happens. It took Juliette and I ten years to find each other again.
I became a mother and a photographer. To exhalt, reveal, honor, liberate and tell the story of women is my leitmotiv. For her part, Juliette has been battling triple-negative breast cancer for five years. For her, for us, it was an obvious choice. We had to get together.
Through this competition, she hopes to close a chapter and heal her wound. The photo had to tell the story of the scar on her heart, not the one on her body. She thought she was “born to be a mother,” a phrase that resonated so strongly with her. Illness and intensive treatment involve sacrifices, but this one is the hardest...
“This photo is for you, the child I’ll never have. If you had been a girl, Victoire was the name we would have given you; it would have made sense.”

This collaboration with Kelly arose from a desire to keep a record of what her body had undergone after two breast reconstructions, before the scars disappeared as if to erase these harsh aspects of life.
We’ve known each other for several years, and it was only natural that we should come up with the idea of a photo series. For both of us, an artistic approach was a way of dealing with the art of surgery, photography and, of course, her participation as a model. This transition between the world before and the world of this new body is a bit like floating, a rebirth, an “in-between time,” between two planets.
The art of posing requires great mental strength to reveal a body modified by the operations performed by surgical artists. Photographic art, on the other hand, is an amalgamation of all this, while retaining the soul and respect of the model. The power of art in the service of mental reconstruction.

At the age of thirty, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and underwent a mastectomy.
This self-portrait was taken on October 22, shortly after my mastectomy.
I’ve worked as a model for over half my life, and have been photographing nudes in self-portrait format for over a decade. Breasts are an important part of any woman’s body; mine are also part of my professional career. My work is exclusively on film, and I don’t retouch any of my images.
Although it was difficult to take self-portraits after my mastectomy, I thought it was very important to document the healing process, for it’s something that’s often invisible. Many parts of the recovery are hidden, like scars and drains. I wanted my photos to reflect in all sincerity what it means to be a young woman with breast cancer.

Julie is thirty: cancer of the right breast. Julie is forty: cancer of the left breast.
The laughter, so present, so full of life, makes you forget what she’s been through: chemotherapy, bilateral mastectomy, radiotherapy.
Breast reconstruction, a breast that won’t heal.
“Is one breast better than nothing?”
“No, fed up with doctors, hospitals, and I prefer things symmetrical!” Six months after the removal of both breasts, we’re driving in Brittany. We’re driving through this forest. I hit the brakes. She didn’t want to show her flat chest yet. I insist, she trusts me and takes off her T-shirt. This shot takes two minutes.
At that moment, my photographer’s eye is caught by her luminous smile, which makes her painful scars invisible. I photograph her courage, her soul, her emotion.
I don’t think I ever really looked at her flat chest. In fact, I still can’t see it, yet nothing is hidden. Her joie de vivre has erased all traces of her struggle.

What could be more intimate than the bedroom?
This was the ideal location for our photo shoot, where we revealed what is normally invisible: a silicon clone hiding a scar, the trace of a grueling past.
It’s not easy for Sylvie to reveal herself.
She pulls on her bathrobe, hides herself, masks her body and suddenly, between two poses, becomes herself again, fidgeting, enjoying herself, laughing and forgetting about the camera.
This photo expresses who she is, the woman I know and who has shared my life for seven years now: laughing at everything, even the worst, and continuing to live life to the full.
This photo naturally stood out among all the others.

My daughter. Anne-Aël.
Is she cured?! Long hair, eyelashes? Just like everyone else...
After two long years of intensive treatment, the test results are good, and yet... Every evening, a little pill comes out of the box. It has been this way for two and a half years. And will continue to be so for another two and a half years.
She’s in pain, she’s tired. But night after night, she keeps going. All the people she loves surround her, support her.
Yet she is alone, as she has been on her sofa for several years now, alone and confronting her disease.
At this precise moment when the pill is acting on her body, on her mind, none of the people she loves can experience what’s going on in her head, in her body. Two and a half more years of effort and she’ll be truly cured.
For the moment, we’re talking about remission, with discretion and conviction. It’s hormone therapy.

“If it’s not my fault, or Mom’s, then it’s your fault Dad!
You’ll stay with me for the rest of my life, won’t you, Mom?
Look how soft my mommy’s little hedgehog is.
Mom and Dad, where’s your hair?
I’m sick of this scar, I hate it, when is it going to go away?
I don’t like tubes, and I hate Dimitri the surgeon.
The pathologist is nice.
Will you become a skeleton if you die, Maman Pauline?
Will you bring all your stuff with you if you go to heaven?
And why do you always say you dance in the rain?
Mom, I never want to cut my hair again, I’m afraid of catching the big boo-boo.
Ladies and gentlemen, my Mom has inflatable boobies now.
Mamou le cœur, I can’t see the little box anymore, do you think I’m going to have a little sister?”

—“To you, my little angel whom I love so much, my loving Nina, a huge thank you for being the driving force behind my recovery. We were celebrating your second birthday, and my 35th, on the day this atomic bomb fell on our family. Despite our respective anxieties, you, Dad and I formed a strong trio against the big boo-boo.
A huge thank you to you both, my family.”—Pauline

HE is one of the rare men struck by the inexpressible.
HE embraces the cause of women and men, united in the same struggle.
Discretion and modesty gone, HE gives himself up to my gaze with courage and strength, revealing what is hidden.
Bruised body and soul, stigmata of inner pain, traces of rediscovered hope.
HE is a brother, a messenger bearing witness to all that is possible.
HE reveals himself like a star that illuminates with its beam the IИ.VISIBLES to make them unique in the eyes of the world.
His name is François.

“Make the pain visible or make myself invisible?
That was one of my first thoughts when I was diagnosed with this terrible disease. And then, why would I want to keep it to myself?
I wanted this cancerous crab, hidden in my right breast, to never encounter those close to me, and I wanted this ordeal to encourage all women to take care of themselves, so that none of them would swiftly fly away.
To soften the blow, it would have been tempting to remain invisible, but I didn’t count on all those little assistants in the shadows!
My partner, my family, my friends and all the incredible people I met during this dark period.
Day after day, they were my reference point, my lifeline to keep me from sinking into the universe.
To you, who gave me the desire to make the invisible visible, who made my story audible... Thank you!”—Eva

I felt it was essential to pay tribute to the powerful role played by the support of loved ones.

“Cover this breast that I cannot behold.
By such objects, souls are harmed,” says Candice, the lover of words and letters.
Molière’s line takes on another meaning for her. She describes it to me in front of the camera, in her own way, through the poetry of the body. Author, mother, artist, she dances with life.
The ordeal of cancer has not dampened her zeal to follow her desires. I want to capture her blossoming, like a flower, show her sweetness, her candor. Capture her vitality, her solar energy, her inspiring chlorophyll, nourishing hope. With her haughty bearing and taut torso, Candice poses and I compose... I compose my photograph, like a painting, a picture to contemplate, to make speak, to draw from, to reflect on, to interpret, to find serenity. I invite the gaze of others to discover a feeling, an emotion, a story. “Show this breast, which gives an example to be seen.
By such beauties, souls will be touched.”

This photo symbolizes the invisible becoming visible when laid bare. Through it, I want to remind people not to trust appearances. This pregnant woman suffering from a recurrence of breast cancer went unnoticed: despite chemotherapy throughout her pregnancy, her hair didn’t fall out completely.
Cécile, 36 years old, received wonderful news the day after her recurrence was announced. She learned that she was pregnant. Her story is complex... First cancer at 32, detected just after the announcement of her genetic mutation, and the chance of having a child naturally almost nil following treatment... and yet... We all have a story, our story. Through this photo, I want to remind us to open our hearts and minds. Not to judge appearances, but to see the invisible through the visible. As Antoine de Saint-Exupéry so eloquently put it: “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

I met Laurence during events relating to breast cancer. Having undergone surgery for a breast cancer tumor, I was all the more aware of this cause, and am actively involved in raising awareness. The idea of photographing Laurence took shape in my imagination. I wanted to highlight her sunny, radiant side. What had marked both of us the most about the invisible side of the disease?
Laurence immediately accepted the idea of the Estée Lauder Competition. She came to the studio accompanied by her mother, father, daughter and friends. I could feel her desire right away. I heard the prayer whispered in the ears of those close to her. The message became clear: “Everything’s fine, don’t worry. Accept this illness as I have accepted it, for it has become part of me. It has given me an unsuspected gift: to love life even more!”
As the photos were taken, I saw faces relax and tears fall.

I was contacted by Sabrina—whom I didn’t know—on January 31, 2021.
40 years old, suffering from breast cancer, she wanted a photo to be taken of her, in order to complete her therapy.
We took the photo, during a session which lasted two hours, in a cold, empty apartment.
It was as if I were “protected” by my camera, which served as a bulwark against the intense emotion that filled the space. I chose this photo as the most memorable: she had just taken off her scarf and revealed her head.
I remember those powerful moments, her tears, her fear. I selected around forty photos, all more powerful than the others. At the end of the shoot, we talked, and I told her how amazed by her I was, by her strength and her courage.
Back in my vehicle, I was able to release my emotions, alone... I’ve been photographing “people” for over fifty years, and this experience will stay with me forever.
We saw each other again two months ago, and she had regained her smile and her hair.

The verdict was in: shock. Everything became blurred, suddenly worrying, abnormally absurd. The unknown has struck, the pain is spreading, you think you’re going to lose everything. The poison seeps.
But you have so much energy. This mad rage is your life force. So, fight back, face up to it and use this invisible source that’s clinging to you. Release that anger, show that rage, spit out that fury. You’ll make it, yes, you’ll get through this, you’ll be the one to win this battle. This revolt is already your victory, and we’re all with you to make sure this life force never lets you go.
FUERZA!

Affected by breast cancer in 2008, I created a photographic project based on the fragility of hair, a feminine symbol of vigor and beauty.
This image is a variation on that project. The presence of the light table underscores the patient’s status as an object who must submit to a technical medical protocol.
I propose here a poetic vision of resilience: remission, attenuation of side effects, including hair regrowth, reappropriation of one’s body, learning to love it again and feel it fully.
Contact with nature reinforces the feeling of being fully alive, of being able to vibrate, to feel. The light table is finally kept at bay, with the image of the hair before the illness. Illness cannot be erased. Although it’s part of you, it’s now out of the way. This step aside allows us to take the distance we need to build resilience, and to move resolutely forward with our lives.

This is the story of Fannie, a joyful young woman, pregnant in the middle of the COVID pandemic, who learns that she has cancer. She could have given up, resigned herself and felt sorry for herself, but that’s not at all her style. She has turned her smile into a shield, and her baby into a battle. “Alone we go faster, with two we go further” has become her motto. Fight, heal and smile, while waiting for the baby and the cure.
Faced with our society’s often terrified view of illness, she wanted to show herself without artifice. It was not without modesty and fear that she revealed herself to me, with her flayed, patched-up femininity. But I saw in her only the beauty that so many women no longer dare to show. A prosthesis to glue on, a wig “in the shape of a cloverleaf” to wear, scars to bear, and hope behind that hidden look. Today, Fannie is cured; she continues the fight by helping others.

“Cancer. The life-altering tsunami that leaves scars on the body and bruises on the soul.
A photograph of a ‘moment in life’ captured by Ulrike with gentleness and kindness.
Life afterwards.
Light after darkness.
The calm after the storm.
RE.BIRTH
IИ.LIFE
Happiness past, present, future.”—Nathalie

Nathalie, in this image as in life, is the embodiment of strength and light. There’s a connection to the body, to nature, that takes us on a journey of resilience and inner peace. Behind the majestic pink dahlia, there’s a scar. A scar that is now allowing other moments of life to blossom, filled with love and joy. Nathalie reminds us to keep hope alive and draw strength from the beauty all around us. On the day of the photo session, from my perspective as a woman and as a photographer, she was undeniably beauty incarnate.

“My roommate.
Facing my mirror, I spoke to you. I wanted to show you that I was there. Me, talkative, you, so silent and devastating. At night, alone, I faced your terror, you, emerging from your bed and enveloping me in a deep black fog. Silently, we faced each other, sheltered from the gaze of others. By striking you with my first blow, on my thirtieth birthday, hostilities were launched. With each blow I dealt you, I hoped. I often put on my best colors to scare you and to prevent you from deciding. I tried to throw you off balance by flashing my best smile to ward off your invisible evil. Facing myself, I see what you’ve left in your wake. Entire rooms have been destroyed, where the greatest battles were fought. I’m taming this new me, honoring it by intensely and warmly welcoming every color, every smile and every flower that has come to recolor my interior.”
—Camille

“It’s hard to resist social pressure, the injunction to be aesthetically tolerable! Just because it’s ‘possible’ doesn’t mean I want or need to do it.

Sophie has captured me in her magical focus, in the movement of life.
Listen to what I’m telling you:

Look at my freedom of choice
My conscious choice
My eyes are open to the present
Staring straight into yours
I see you
My spirit believes and believes in the future
All my soul shines to illuminate it
My star will perceive it
The dream of Love will be it.”—Pascale

—Pascale is one of the 15,000 women a year who refuse reconstruction, by choice! Together, we decided to pay tribute to these women, and make them visible in a world where they are not! A portrait in black and white and in motion, to be universal, a bare torso to show the heart that beats behind the scar, a photo to show the beauty of these women.

“In the street, dressed and smiling, I’m an average 39-year-old woman, pregnant with her second child, quietly walking with her 16-month-old baby.
Naked, I’m a young woman full of scars and tattoos, physically and psychologically rebuilt after hormonal breast cancer when I was 33... A happy, peaceful mother thanks to a fairy godmother, an egg donor.
Because the disease doesn’t just affect one year of our lives, the time it takes to undergo treatment... No! The disease completely disrupts our lives and our plans for the future!
I’m a Warrior, as my loved ones remind me... an Invisible Warrior like my Ksisters and Kbrothers! So, thank you so much for making us visible today! Because the disease doesn’t just affect others.”— Pascaline

A few words from Pascaline, my wife, and a photo—taken by me this morning—of her and our two sons.v Because they’re anything but invisible to me!—Gregory

I had the joy of photographing Nadine a year ago, for a “Woman’s Moment” offered by her two daughters, after her second breast cancer.
I found this gesture very touching; offering their mother a space to celebrate herself, despite the harsh ordeals that had hammered her body.
For this competition, I wanted to photograph her again, this time accompanied by her two daughters.
Using the “slow pose” photo technique, I wanted to illustrate the invisible forces that unite the sick person with their loved ones during illness.
But above all, beyond the representation of a battered body, I wanted to show a gaze, a soul. With this frontal pose and the gaze directed towards the lens, I invite the viewer to meet my model. Who is Nadine? Why is she smiling at us?
I dare to hope that the invisible takes precedence over the visible, because we’re not just form and matter, and no-one should be reduced to their physical particularities.

“You are Mom,
You are Mom’angel.
Mom to me down here,
Mom’angel for our Lucas.
He joined Dad in the clouds,
In the tumult his heart had stopped.
It was so sudden,
We became widow and orphan.
And as death tore my brother from me,
You, too, were fighting that damn cancer.
You made it IИ.VISIBLE,
It wasn’t your target.
Your fight was elsewhere,
For Lucas you watched and prayed for hours.
This cancer mutilated you
But you rose again.
For me, you went on living,
In reality, you were just surviving.
You’re strong, Mom,
A true warrior, Mom!
But, again your enemy
Sends you to the mat,
He wants to wipe you out,
This is too much!
Go on, Mom! Scream, cry!
Lighten your pain!
I’m with you, your fight
Is my fight too!
Don’t forget, you’re strong, Mom,
A true warrior, Mom!”—Enzo, Caroline’s son.

–Caroline wanted to strip herself naked to make the stigma of her invisible suffering visible, thereby becoming a spokesperson for hope

Above all, Sarah is a gaze. Frank, gentle, laughing. An ocean. She has an indescribable strength, a posture, a dignity.
Sarah is beautiful for all the life she exudes. And yet! When we first met, I was unaware of her battle against the invisible intruder. So many years spent, losing bits of herself, body and heart; hoping, stumbling, relapsing, fighting again, furiously.
And in this ultimately relative time, which passes at different speeds according to our personal histories, Sarah stopped. While everyone else is running, whirling around, unable to see her, advancing ever more breathlessly, blinded by their own chimeras, she becomes invisible.
As a photographer of the soul, I observe the inexpressible, the depths of Being, the stirrings of emotion beneath the surface. Sarah chose me to bring her to light. An honor, indeed. Friends answered our call to produce this image of her, in the ebb and flow of the unaware crowd.

Valérie saw what no one had ever seen in Karine. Because she hid it, always smiling.
She invited her to undress, gently, with all her trust.
Karine revealed her first secret. The tattoo you’d never guess she had when she was dressed. She had it engraved in eternal ink, as a tribute to the victims of the Bataclan terrorist attacks.
The first electroshock.
Then, a barely discernible indentation, the result of a lumpectomy. An invisible cancer that left her with a feeling of imposture.
She didn’t lose her hair or her eyelashes; she kept her breast. Yet the cancer was still there.
Second electroshock.
Behind the smile she wears every day, there’s nevertheless a gaze that hides the secrets Valérie has managed to capture. A gaze of daily fear, for too many years. Screams. Bad words. Bad gestures.
Thanks to electroshock therapy, she has left her fear behind. She’s finally whole, visible, Her.

In 2009, Brigitte, a professional freediver, underwent surgery following the discovery of a breast tumor. This was followed by a positive test for BRCA1, leading to a second mastectomy and removal of the ovaries as a preventive measure. Brigitte continued to compete, but stopped in 2011, feeling that she wasn’t diving for the right reasons.
Eight years later, at the age of 53, Brigitte decided to return to competition, to be crowned Elite World Vice-Champion in 2022. It was only very recently that Brigitte agreed to talk about her mastectomies; she never wanted to be seen as a “victim.” It’s another challenge for her to accept to shed light on her operations, in the hope of being a source of hope. The portrait of a woman who is strong and free despite her scars.

“The future is a present made for us by the past.”
Seeing life differently, realizing that it’s fragile and ephemeral. That you have to live your projects and dreams to the full, never missing a crumb. Live each day as though it were your last.
That’s my philosophy and that of thirty-one-year-old Tifanny! There are people with passions, but I’d instead call them vocations: to pass through this world and bring something to others, to pass through and say to oneself that if tomorrow I had to leave, that I wouldn’t have passed through for nothing and that I’d shared happiness and love.

This photograph is part of a documentary series tracing Blanche’s journey, from the early stages of her battle with cancer, to her recent decision not to proceed with breast reconstruction.
The image raises questions about the duality between visibility and invisibility that accompanies her journey: the obvious scars, juxtaposed with the more subtle marks that mingle with the shadows of the branches; the invisibility of her breasts that are no more, but whose imprint remains. The cancer moves away, but leaves behind two closed eyes, engraved in the form of scars.
Then she is reborn, bringing a concept of “IИ.VISIBLE” into the center of life, with regeneration and hope, activating its ramifications.
In a sylvan environment, Blanche poses with this bright green leaf, highlighting the sap that animates it. Lightened by her choice, she revives, assumes a new profile, finally coming to life through dance and song.

“Come closer, I’m just like you, I can be you.
Nothing shows: not the huge scar under this bodice, nor the fine hair growing back in a deceptively trendy cut.
Sitting here, this file in my hand is nothing more than an administrative and medical mountain I no longer have the strength to manage.
Sitting here, I’ve lost my patience and tenderness with my family.
My family, helplessly coping with every result of my genetic and metastatic cancer.
They, too, suffer the side effects of my treatments: my joint and muscle pain, my nausea.
My family, who endures both my fatigue and my insomnia.
Sitting here, under Frédérique’s watchful eye, I choose not to let anything show, despite the chemo I had the day before. Strong and optimistic as ever, I try to maintain the carefree spirit of outings with friends, and the joy and laughter in my family.
I hope to keep invisible, for as long as possible, what should be shown!”
—Manuella

“The disease made me lose my strength and a piece of myself.”
At dawn, wrapped in the calm, her heartfelt words resonate within me.
Nature, this fertile place, is the perfect space for reconnecting with oneself, with one’s emotions so often stifled. The photo, the visual mark of this adventure, echoes her emotional battle. Each ray of light represents a spark of hope in this desert of feelings, an often lonely and misunderstood crossing. The sun’s touch on her skin becomes metaphorical, illuminating what has remained hidden within her.
In this subtle dance between light and shadow, a discreet transformation takes shape. This communion with her emotions reflects back to us a new, stronger version of herself. We emerge from this journey transformed, with a resilience that now shines like inner peace.
During this session, we experienced moments of vulnerability that became stages towards strength.

I’ve known Fleur since 2017. Despite her inner struggle against a dark force gaining ground every day, she manages to illuminate us with all her natural, feminine splendor. Made naked by this photograph, the contrast of light and dark shadows make the complexion of this invisible struggle visible. The photographer reveals the essence of strength and determination that emanates from this beautiful Flower [Fleur]. Such is the magic of photography: to make visible what is not visible.

With her skull exposed, Fleur reveals her vulnerability. Maintaining this body that makes her itch. What will tomorrow bring? Ten years of fighting. Today, she shouts out her voice! The softness of her hands and the choice of her jewels don’t disappoint. Beauty is the power that sublimates her. She travels her path with elegance: she’s a bird who, with her kiss, inspires hope in others. With admiration, I reveal the anatomy of her invisibility, her love for life, our “Beija-Fleur.”—G. Ménier

Alexandra, my cousin, suffered two breast cancers in the space of three years.
2017: the diagnosis was like a stab wound through her chest. The anger was devastating, the emotions mixed and transformed as the fight began. After several months, hope was reborn and with it the wisdom of resilience.
2019: second cancer. Maturity and a mind forged in battle cushion the blow. The fight goes on, and hope and confidence are her best allies in bringing her into remission.
This photograph, in the form of a superimposed triptych, illustrates anger, hope, gratitude and pride—these emotions and invisible vibrations that nourish and channel strength and determination in the fight against cancer.
As a woman, I could not help but be touched by the story of my cousin, whom I photographed during her rebirth and three years of remission.
Today, the past is slowly fading.
The future is being written now.

“Visible
My hair, my eyebrows, my asymmetrical chest.

IИ.VISIBLES
My scars, on my breast, on my back and in my flesh.

But, also, introspection, the will to live and to show the world what the disease is.
What it ruins and what it brings to life.”—Magalie

Through this photo, I responded to a request from Magalie, my model. Following a recurrence, and a few days after a major operation, she wanted to show what the disease was like. The physical consequences that we imagine but don’t see. Her strength and the power of her commitment can be seen in her deeply moving gaze. We often hear that “breast cancer is easily cured,” sometimes even that it’s “not that serious.” Yet I come across so many women, young women, who are ill, who have relapsed... If the world could see the real consequences of this disease, we would no longer hear that “breast cancer is the least serious form.” Let’s show them the invisible!

“My hair grew back.
My breast was spared.
The scar hidden.
People who meet me for the first time don’t know, don’t see.
Invisible those months spent in hospital,
The waiting rooms,
The patches so you don’t feel the needle,
The pouches hung up,
The drops we watch fall.
Sixteen chemos, sixteen bracelets around my arm.
What can these numbers mean next to my name and the word “disease”? I’m afraid to check.
Invisible pain, fatigue, the fear that won’t leave you.
I wake up in this hospital bed, is the operation over?
Invisible are the rays that burn through you every day.
Invisible is the abyss inside you that has been created.
How can I say it? I can no longer scream.
In a drawer, sixteen stored bracelets.”—Zoï

In this poetic composition, the mirror, guardian of inner reflections, evokes the invisible.
The absence of a face recalls the momentary loss of identity in the fight against breast cancer. The clock, suspended in the immobility of time, marks the diagnosis, crystallizing uncertainty and forced pause. The drawn scars, gentle marks of courage, converse with the clock, illustrating the physical and emotional transformation.
The fragmented silhouette next to the mirror embodies evolution. The partial body reveals vulnerability, while the hidden parts symbolize preserved intimacy.
My work is a visual meditation on resilience. Absence, frozen time and scars become fragments of a visual poem, celebrating the human capacity to transcend pain. This photograph invites us all to contemplate the timeless dialogue between vulnerability and strength, in a rebirth marked by hope.