This photo was taken on our return from a week’s vacation in Bordeaux. Aina was fast asleep... The most important aspect of this picture was the desire to show her true state of health, without wearing any artificial hair. An important step in one of the phases of her treatment.

A sunny encounter with Christelle and her secret: a smile that lights up her face and makes her eyes shine. In 2018, a lump in her right breast, triple-negative cancer. Surgery, chemotherapy, radiotherapy... Remission! In 2020, a new palpation, a new cancer, this time in the left breast, hormone-dependent. But Christelle doesn’t collapse, she dons her warrior’s armor ready to face a double mastectomy.

So, what’s the secret behind her smile? Immediate reconstruction after the mastectomy? Nipple tattoos? Tattoos that hide the scars and tell her story? A new remission?

I wanted to do her portrait, the portrait of that smile, with just the arms of her daughters embracing her, surrounding her and carrying her. Her daughters, whom Christelle wants with all her might to see grow up and to accompany in their lives as women. Then two little faces appeared, and I understood: her daughters illuminate the picture, they are Christelle’s light!

The photo session was experienced by each of them as a gentle birthing of a cancer declared in 2019. I saw mother and daughter arrive in the studio, dressed in a common force. Two warriors of blood and heart heading in the same direction. During the session, they both expelled this cancer-crab that didn’t belong to them and had entered their story when it wasn’t invited, as Astride reminds us. With a sense of humor, they burst out laughing, “Liberated, freed...”

Ever since Maryvonne’s cancer was diagnosed, it has been the light of the heart that has coached her recovery, “and this flame is called love,” she tells me. A love of light, and a light of love!

Alive and nourished by the light of words: “We’re all the light of others, you know,” she tells me matter-of-factly. “Life is luminous when you know what’s essential.” Cancer is the trigger for this photo and this inner light that shines outwards. Mother and daughter Ad vitam æternam

I’m not very big, but I’m the first. I’m not the main one, but I’m important because it’s through me that you were able to be saved. I’m hence just as important as the second scar, but less obvious and less brutalt for you. I’m only a few centimeters in diameter and circular in shape.

We often imagine that it only happens to other people. It took you by surprise, insidiously, malignantly. It entered your life both violently and painlessly. You didn’t collapse, on the contrary, you took your cancer in your stride and went into battle. So, it was through me that this liquid invaded your body to save you and destroy this impetuous, amputating and deadly cancer-crab.

Today, we’re very much a part of your life. Your body has changed, but have you really changed? You see us every day, but you manage. You’ve accepted us. You’re still as feminine as ever, despite us.

“I’m fine, I’m in good spirits and it’s more successfully treated these days! No worries, I have breast cancer. Remain yourself despite this news. Don’t change your attitude towards me, I’m still the same and I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. That’s life, and life’s a beautiful thing even so!”

December 29, 2022. My friend Eva posts this message on a WhatsApp group. I break down as I read her words... What can I do to stand by her side in this battle... which attacks her health and femininity. The obvious thing: photos! Today, pretty little curls bloom again on your head and we’re about to have our fifth photo session. I see you as beautiful, and the fact that you also see yourself every step of the way is my greatest joy!

Camille, Véronique, Catherine & Sylvia : 4 femmes très différentes... 4 histoires de vie... 4 cancers du sein...

Camille, Véronique, Catherine and Sylvia: four very different women... four life stories... four breast cancers...

It was sport that brought them together during their illness, gave them a taste for surpassing themselves, and enabled them to rediscover the light in a darkened life path... A much brighter, more enveloping and energizing light than before! Each of them presents us with her favorite sport, enabling her to embrace life to the full and shed new light on it.

Physical activity has reshaped these new bodies, allowing them to feel more feminine than ever. This new group of friends naturally christened themselves “Plus sexy Tumeur,”* a name that now accompanies them in their new challenges!

*Translator’s note: the French employs a play upon words, sound and meaning that cannot be translated. “Tumeur” (tumor) and “tu meurs” (literally “you die,”), the latter part of an idiomatic expression (“plus adjective, tu meurs”) to express the superlative. In this case, the notion of “sexy as all get-out”.

Composed with candlelight, the light has taken hold of the subject. In total darkness, visible under the lens, two white candles off-camera, two three-branched candelabras placed on either side illuminate a body lying on a black sheet.
Nothing more.
Initially, the idea was to talk about mourning the loss of the breast. The two flames represent the two nipples, the two lost breasts. Light on what is no longer, light that fills an emptiness and expresses reconciliation with a truncated body that, with time, becomes a whole body again. The light has decided otherwise, and soberly invites us to consider the intimate sensuality that resurfaces months, even years, after surgery, treatment and convalescence. In the shadow of the fire, the contours of a face filled with bliss and a sensitive body that feels desirable again, just as it is.

The light remains intact, but the body changes. So how do we tame this new, sometimes battered body? By encountering a new light: the light of photography. This photo tells the story of an encounter with a radiant, funny and energetic woman, who ends up taking off her wig. Surprised, not by the deception, but by the fact that I didn’t find a dejected or diminished woman underneath. Quite the opposite, in fact. I wanted to share my naive wonderment with her, perhaps to help her develop her own. I like the idea that light, both exterior and interior, remains the same. Only the reflection in the mirror may change.

The date is marked in red in my diary. October 13, 2021. Mom’s operation. The day before, we decide to take a photo as a last souvenir before thebreast removal. It’s a black-and-white analog print. Sitting in front of one of her paintings, she smiles, a blanket on her lap, revealing her bare chest with modesty and pride, a pink ribbon placed on her right breast. Hypersensitive, we’re connected.

This photo gave birth to the one you see. Six months later, the same painting, in color. The modesty is still there, but without the blanket this time. To accompany her, I chose one of her clay sculptures, fresh from the kiln. On one side, a breast missing, on the other, a new creation. Who supports the other? I’m proud of this woman, a luminous artist, dignified and full of hope, just like her paintings.

This is my friend’s story put under the spotlight. She’s the one who tells you her story. “My name is Laëtitia. Last January, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I had to put on my boxing gloves. It was inconceivable for me to let it win. I had to fight for myself, for my daughters, for the love of my life and for my mother, who died of cancer four years earlier... I owed it to her, this woman who fought so hard. Everything went so fast, with all the treatments one after the other that deprive you of the sun’s rays. I missed that light so much. The one that tickles the skin and warms the heart. It’s this proscription that imprisons you all the more in this disease. Through this photo, for the first time in a long time, I felt beautiful. I think I’ve beaten the cancer-crab that stole my mother from me, that stole my freedom, my serenity, my shape and my femininity. Thank you, Céline. Mom, this photo is for you.”

This portrait is an obvious choice. Marie stands in front of the lens with, against her heart, against her breast sacrificed in the name of survival, a photo of her and Lyah taken before the disease became visible. A month later, like a double punishment, Lyah suddenly flew up to the stars and now shines in the sky. From then on, this light became a beacon, a beam in the night, guiding Marie, enabling her to avoid the pitfalls and helping her to overcome the darkness so often felt... This battle against the disease, Marie will win it, she promised Lyah!

We wanted this photo, between light and shadow, to be an ode to life, a beacon of hope. “Today, I look at the photos without you, but you’re there, always... I present this portrait with pride, this ode to love, to life. My daughter magnified and exalted me, so I would be stronger than the disease. Love is all the lights in the world shining in a heart in the process of being reconstructed, the light is you, Lyah.” ».

Because every photo tells a story, this one tells the story of Sandrine, who, by chance, meets Audrey, a photographer. Audrey offers Sandrine a moment to let go in front of her lens. During the session, they share together. Between laughter and emotion, Sandrine tells HER STORY: the mammogram that changed the course of her life. And this photo became their obvious choice: “Let in the light and watch the silence make noise.” Why this title? Because the mammogram she’s holding in her hand is the one that saved her life. A lump discovered during a breast examination leads to a medical imaging appointment. When the light glowed in the dark film, she saw the inside of her breast illuminated, while the doctor saw the cancer hidden inside. She was now embarking on a journey into the unknown. Because a scan, an image can save your life just as it saved hers, don’t wait for silence to make noise, do breast screening: Sandrine is me, is you, is us.

While photography etymologically means “the art of writing with light,” light itself comes from the Latin luminaria, meaning “star, torch.” Isn’t it more symbolic than a torch to honor these courageous, resilient women marked in their flesh? I met Aurore four years ago, when I glimpsed her surrounded by other women also suffering from cancer, and I was immediately struck by a sparkling aspect, her energy, resilience and, above all, determination. When we first met, she told me of her deep but thwarted desire to have a child. I found her again today, just as determined, just as luminous and pregnant! Yes, she carries within her this courage, this freedom, this torch, and believe me, she shines even brighter. In the end, it’s all this at once, this simple glimmer of hope, this light, this dawn... These are the lights I photographed.

This photo was taken in July, as part of a project I’m running with Grenoble University Hospital. During the year, I take portraits of women who have experienced or are experiencing breast cancer. Malorie was forty when the photo was taken. Her birthday is coming up. She’s in the middle of chemo. She has a very unusual personality compared to the rest of the women I’ve photographed. She’s very cheerful, very sunny. She’s done a lot of psychological work to let go of her body and of the side effects of chemo. She brought a marker so we could write something on her body. She asked me if I had an idea, and we wrote “Who runs the world?” in reference to a song title.

As a photographer, I’ve sought to capture and celebrate the indomitable beauty of a body marked by disease, that of my wife, thirty-five years old, suffering from HER2+ breast cancer in the metastatic stage, affecting the ovaries.

This image, taken during a crisis of intense pain after brachytherapy had irradiated her ovaries, is the fruit of a profound visual quest. I played with light and shadow to reveal the subtle majesty of her disease-afflicted body. Through this delicate contrast, I wanted to pay tribute to the dignity and grace of her femininity, despite the ordeals imposed by treatment. This photo is an ode to resilience and inner beauty that transcend suffering.

My little extra something... One breast less. It was by crossing through the darkness that I encountered the light. My little extra something... One breast less.

It was by crossing through the darkness that I encountered the light. This is the message from Sandrine, encountered when supporting one of the projects of her L’amie Zone en amazon organization.

Highlighting scars also means celebrating women in all their singularity and truth. Sandrine is a powerful, radiant woman, with visible and invisible scars, who chooses not to hide. Her smile, hanging from her lips, testifies to her strength and resilience. Her body is different, unique, and she helps women to feel beautiful in this post-op time. Because becoming an Amazon can sometimes be complicated for the woman herself, under social and societal pressure and that of personal or collective imagination.

The light in this photo reveals much more than scars; it illuminates a woman in all her splendor, proving that beauty lies not in perfection, but in authenticity, inner strength and uniqueness! Her motto is “Unique is so much better than perfect,” so let’s shine the spotlight on these unique, non-perfect, beautiful, powerful and radiant women!

Kintsugi is an ancestral Japanese technique, consisting of repairing broken ceramics with lacquer, and highlighting scars with genuine gold powder. Cared for and honored, the broken object can become more resistant, more precious. This process of symbolic repair thinks and heals wounds. As a painter, lacquerer and photographer, I work on repairing. When I met Luna, so young and so strong, after breast cancer at just twenty-six years old, a double mastectomy and multiple ordeals, I saw that she was a role model for all female fighters. An alchemy took place, like when gold powder settles on lacquer. By capturing her reflection in my lacquered paintings, I offered her a new perspective, on the borderline between painting and photography. Then I printed her reflection on Japanese paper, tore it up and repaired it with 24-carat gold. By emphasizing its fault lines with Kintsugi, I enhance her lines of force.

Each scar tells a story of struggle and perseverance in the face of adversity. This self-portrait is a declaration of strength and vulnerability. It captures a battle played out not only in the treatment rooms, but also in the silence of the bedroom, where physical and emotional pain mingle in an incessant dance.

For thirty-three days, I endured radiotherapy. Each session left an indelible imprint on my skin. A bright red burn that seemed to consume not only my body but also a part of my being. The pain was constant, a stark reminder of the ongoing combat, but it was also a sign of the battle I was waging with unwavering determination.

Every burn, every red mark, is a testament to my relentless struggle and my ability to overcome adversity. It’s a reminder that, even in moments of despair, there’s a light ready to be discovered, a light that shines from within.

The liberation after breast cancer remission is an indescribable sensation, a profound relief after months of struggle and fear. Water, a symbol of purification and renewal, then becomes a powerful ally in this healing process. Immersing yourself in its soothing waters, feeling its freshness envelop your body and mind, is like leaving behind the weight of your illness to at last start breathing again. The water then becomes a reflection of this liberation, a mirror of the strength and resilience demonstrated. This moment was taken on a sunny day, and I wanted to highlight the subject in the rather dark water with a lighting effect.

Cindy is one of those moving women who is above all a warrior at heart. She felt very uncomfortable about her highly visible scar. I invited her to do this shoot to free her and help her regain her self-confidence, while drawing attention to her scar.

When Barbara—whom I’d operated on nearly ten years ago—asked me to take part in this competition, and to thereby illustrate in a new way the long-standing complicity and bonds that have been forged, I immediately accepted. The light could be focused only on Barbara’s face, and Yannick seemed to me to be the pillar without which this story would not have had the same meaning.

Lumière(s). Light(s).

Can you see the fear? The distress, the anxiety, the stress, the doubts, the lump in the back of the throat that wants to scream out the urgency to live. And yet there’s always a candle burning in this gaze, this heart and this body. We wavered between light and shadow when, at the age of twenty-four, the verdict came down: triple-negative breast cancer.

Anger, sadness, suffering, then revelation, rebirth and resilience. There are dark days, but also bright ones, and the post-cancer phase is not the “rosiest pink.”

Marina, the photographer, sees the light even in the periods when the flame flickers. Thanks to the disease, the spark that was deep inside me came to ignite and dazzle my world. The road is long, but the light is at the end of the tunnel! I’M FINE!

M.B. (the model).

High school classmates, Hélène and I had been following each other’s lives through our computer and phone screens for some fifteen years. Last summer, just as I was struggling to catch my breath after my mother’s death from breast cancer, Hélène discovered that a tumor had lodged itself in her body. Wife, daughter, sister and mother, she embarked on a frantic battle to conquer the disease. Then summer returned, and Hélène was alive, courageously enduring the treatments. The first results are good. We meet on the beach at Bray-Dunes, the last frontier before the sea of Flanders, our homeland immortalized so many times in delicate paintings. Now it’s our turn to capture all the light. Hélène laughs in unison with Justine, her twin sister, in a singular mirror. They look like water and sky. Intoxicated by the wind and the power of this moment, we share the experience of a moving, joyful and powerful sisterhood. What a gift.

This photo was taken to immortalize my wife’s physical appearance when confronted by the disease. It reflects her strength and resilience. This particular spot in our living room was chosen because the objects in the background are symbolic. Soft light and a luminous range of greys were chosen. Several planes are visible. I wanted them to echo each other. The facial expression shows determination, the gaze suggests direct confrontation with the disease, strength and endurance when facing treatment. This strong yet serene expression embodies the idea of an inner light. The bowling pin in the background represents stability and the ability to get up again after being knocked down, a parallel with the battle against cancer. The immobile bust contrasts with the character’s struggle not to lose her identity when faced with the disease. On the right, the little plant simply symbolizes life.

My photo series Hikari no Kizu (Light through Scars), inspired by the Japanese art of Kintsugi, celebrates the resilience of battered bodies by repairing broken pieces with gold. This project transforms scars into luminous symbols of strength and beauty, offering a path to self-acceptance.

This portrait of Gersende, who chose not to reconstruct her breast after a total mastectomy, illustrates this philosophy. She says: “This experience has changed me in the long term. I discovered myself as I really am, and not as I see myself in other people’s eyes or as other people see me. It has also changed the way I look at and relate to my three daughters; I’m more protective and more attuned to their emotions.”.

My artistic choices, like the enveloping light, aim to sublimate the scars, transforming them into symbols of lived experience and strength. Hikari no Kizu radiates inner light through Gersende’s scars.

“This photo illustrates the transition from ‘chemo-boo-boo-beddy-byes’ to Georges Braque’s quotation [‘Art is a wound turned into light’] pasted in adhesive letters on my living-room wall... When the body is under construction, the flesh open, mapped, one’s hair having fled, how can you imagine ever being radiant again? Almost two years for me... Turning the fall into a dance step, pulling out all the stops to return to life, the place of all possibilities... To capture this return to light, this burst of laughter and desire, a person close to me who was there before, during and now... What she likes to photograph is nature, landscapes.
Thank you, Sylvie, for taking up the challenge! Between us, a spontaneous connection, without shamelessness or artifice, a natural, late afternoon luminosity... In her gaze and her lens, nothing heavy, she makes me sunlit. This portrait is an offering to all the girlfriends who must overcome the smart aleck malady, expressing the dazzle and gratitude of being there. To create is to live twice, thank you, life!”

On my school notebooks
On my desk and on the trees
On the sands, on the snow
I write your name

On every page read
On all the white pages
Stone, blood, paper or ash
I write your name

On the gilded icons
On the weapons of the warriors
On the crowns of kings
I write your name

On the fields of the horizon
On the wings of birds
On the windmill of shadows
I write your name

On the froth of the cloud
On the sweat of the storm
On the dense and dull rain
I write your name

Excerpt from the poem “Liberty” by Paul Eluard