This self-portrait represents the light at the end of the tunnel. When I was at my worst, in the middle of chemotherapy, lying on my sofa, I watched my mother emerge from the bathroom. The light falling on her shoulders, her figure silhouetted against the red-and-white background as she entered my shadow-filled world, inspired this photograph.

This image illustrates the end of aggressive treatments. My hair was starting to grow back, and I thought it would be a good idea to use this backlight to highlight it.

From the moment I was diagnosed with cancer to my remission, I photographed myself every step of the way. As a photographer by training, it was an obvious choice for me to bear witness through my images.

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.

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

Sandrine called me when she was diagnosed with cancer. She wanted to document this tough battle against the disease with images—without really knowing what to expect. Her motto: help other women to move forward, don’t hide the disease and love oneself no matter what. This photo was an obvious choice for both of us: the light on Sandrine, on her scar and her head without hair. Cancer’s traces, scars are still there, but Sandrine is more beautiful than ever. She’s strong, sensual and very much a woman. This photo session was all about laughter, joy and good humor to break the daily grind of treatments, fatigue and, sometimes, discouragement. Her testimony still brings tears to my eyes. “The diagnosis of my breast cancer was terrible, the earth crumbled under my feet, but something obvious became clear to me. I had to tell everyone around me, and the only person who could help me was Virginie. Thank you for showing me how feminine I can be, despite my body being bruised by the removal of my breast.”

In the darkness, a body is born. It’s a self-portrait. I find it hard to believe it’s mine. Physical and psychological suffering have plunged me into a deep depression. It’s in this cascade of blackness from my head to my body, upside-down flames, that I think I can make out my truth between the swaying strands. Like flames consuming me, depression is signified by chiaroscuro. I reclaim the beauty of my body, shaped by expert hands while I was absent. The softness of the light, the roundness of the prosthesis surrounded by the curve of my arm, can help other women regain their inner peace. External beauty can help restore harmony.
This photo is part of an art therapy project I carried out entirely on my own when confronted with my emotions. It allowed me to heal myself mentally. I encourage all women to cherish their bodies and love themselves anew.

Light at the end of the tunnel. Carole doesn’t cry over her fate, not even in thought... She discovers another way of seeing and feeling herself. To tell others: “Don’t waste your time and energy being afraid. It changes the way you look at yourself and others, the richness of life and its trials, your relationship with your body, your spirit, your place in the universe...”

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.

With this image, I chose to highlight my wife’s struggle in the disenchanted digression that is breast cancer. The choice of a single light source emphasizes the visible signs of the disease: mastectomy, scars, portacaths, alopecia. At the same time, this inner fire is seen as a source of hope, renewal, reconstruction, remission and healing.

This source of light in the palm of her hands symbolizes the survival instinct we all have when confronted by the disease. This photo also demonstrates, through its strong contrast, the dark side of the disease that only the victim can feel. The aches, the pain, the loss of identity, the emotional rollercoaster... The staging of this image was salutary in helping my wife, who is still undergoing treatment, to accept her new body and her new appearance. This competition highlights my role as a caregiver in this battle, which is never fought alone.

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.

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.

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.

I was born on a winter’s day in 1976. I was born on a winter’s day in 2022. Everything was turned upside down one day in autumn 2021. Follow-up mammogram: the microcalcifications had returned. Biopsy... Again, four years later... It’s chaos, I already know the result. The tactless announcement: “The breast must be removed. Didn’t you understand? Only solution.” No, I didn’t understand... No, I don’t want my maternity, my femininity, to be taken away. Second appointment, at the Oncopole in Toulouse. He has blue eyes; I know this because he looks at me when he suggests another reconstruction technique.

I choose to say yes, to fight: for my sons, my mother, my sister, my father whom I held hands with two months before, when he breathed his last, for me. I want to live, to laugh, to enjoy every moment. My lower abdomen becomes my breast. I give birth to my breast. I rebuild “me.” New navel, huge scar, scarred breast, extra kilos from hormone therapy. But I’m beautiful and nothing will ever be the same again.

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).

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.

In the soft morning light, a woman stands facing the mirror, bathed in the golden light that caresses her skin. Her fingers skim her breasts, exploring every curve with tenderness. Like sunbeams filtering through the clouds, she explores the contours of her breast, searching for the slightest imperfection. Self-palpation becomes a sacred ritual, an intimate dance. Every pressure, every movement is imbued with gentleness and goodwill. In this ballet of sensations, she discovers the strength and fragility of her femininity. Each palpation is an act of love, a promise to take care of oneself, to listen to oneself, to respect oneself. For in the light of knowledge lies the power of prevention, of healing, of life. And so, in the stillness of this suspended moment, she connects with her own light, strength and beauty. And in this simple yet powerful gesture, she celebrates life, health and the magic of her whole being.

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.

“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!”

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.

Blood poured from her breast... Mastectomy. Then a miracle baby arrived after five years of unsuccessful ART treatments. Milk gushed from the other breast and nourished her infant for fourteen months. Then, one day, darkness fell once again. Over and above the disease, Myriam fears the mourning of shortened breastfeeding and giving up on the dream of a second child.

Marie, Knight of the Legion of Honor for her support of breastfeeding, contacted me a few days before this forced weaning due to incompatible drugs. She asked me to immortalize the last feeds to accompany Myriam and her son, who are misunderstood by those who think that one year of breastfeeding is already a great achievement. Having breastfed for seven years of my life, I feel immense empathy for what she’s going through. I urgently welcome her into my studio to cast light on the beauty of this unique bond, and her resilience in the face of this ordeal. One last time, milk spurts from a breast, and light springs eternally from the shadows.

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.

Sophie and Gaëlle, a close-knit mother/daughter team. Sophie was diagnosed with breast cancer during a screening in December 2022. It was the start of a battle fought together. The experience made us question our existence, our position in society and our profession. Gaëlle, after ten years as a production manager, decided to take up documentary photography. A desire to highlight society in all its cultures, beliefs and stages of life.

We photographed Sophie floating lightly on the surface of the water, revealing the traces of the cancer she had overcome. The use of soft natural light enhances the serenity emanating from the image, representing the end of this battle. The composition highlights her scar, a trace of this past ordeal. Sophie has accepted her new body, and through the calm that emanates from this photo, she hopes to reassure women who must in turn fight this battle.

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.”

Above all, this photo tells Sophie’s story, it speaks of her resilience and the strength she has found in the face of the disease. It was Sophie who originally contacted me. She wanted to capture in water, which is her element, her battle against breast cancer. Together, we brainstormed to create a series of images depicting the different emotional phases of her fight.

I drew my inspiration from her stories, from her journey. This photo came to me in a single click. The colors, the light, her expression: everything arose from her emotions. To arrive at this image, we dived in together, both in the water and in the period of her life she wanted to highlight. A period marked by hope, light and, above all, the future.

At the age of thirty, I was diagnosed with breast cancer and underwent a mastectomy.

This self-portrait was taken less than two years after my mastectomy. A close-up photo of my scar in the light. I’ve worked as a model for over half my life and have been doing nude photography, self-portraits, for over a decade. Breasts are an important part of every woman, but mine are also part of my professional career. My work is exclusively on analog film, and I don’t retouch any of my images. I printed this photograph by hand in a laboratory. Since my cancer, my work has focused on documenting my recovery, which has helped me reframe the way I look at my body. I choose to love it every day.

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.” ».

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.

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.

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.

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!

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