Jean Gaumy Annick has been our neighbor for 25 years now. Most pupils in Fécamp had her as French teacher.
At her request, I left on the low wall separating our gardens, the bread I went to get at the baker (...)
y, with my “derogatory travel authorization” in my pocket, one meter away from each client. I was alone…
When Annick came out of her house, we chatted (at a good distance of course…).
I took this opportunity to photograph her.
“Solidaritude” is a word that Canadian singer Robert Charlebois instigated decades ago.
I heard solidarity, solitude. It struck me.
Matter of sensitivity, matter of time too.
From this period, I have a motto that I still claim: All alone together
These days, it would be more: All together, but everyone home
Fécamp, Normandy, France. March 18th, 2020.
Annick est notre voisine depuis 25 ans. Bien des élèves de Fécamp l’ont eue comme professeur de français.
A sa demande j’ai déposé sur le muret qui sépare nos jardins le pain que j’étais allé acheter chez le boulanger avec mon« autorisation de déplacement dérogatoire » en poche. Un mètre entre chaque client. J’étais seul…
Lorsqu’Annick est sortie de sa maison, nous avons bavardé (à bonne distance bien sûr...).
J’en ai profité pour la photographier.
Solidaritude est un mot qu’avait lancé le chanteur canadien Robert Charlebois il y a des décennies.
J’entendais solidarité, solitude. Ca m’avait frappé.
Question de sensibilité, question d’époque aussi.
De cette période j’ai une devise que je revendique encore : Tout seul ensemble.
Par les temps qui courent ce serait plutôt « Tous ensemble, mais chacun chez soi ».
Fécamp, Normandie, France. 18 mars 2020. © Jean Gaumy | Magnum Photos
Mark Power Monday’s extraordinary u-turn by Boris Johnson’s government, from the bizarre concept of ‘Herd immunity’, allowing the virus to naturally spread to enough people to eventually bring it to an end (u (...)
ntil it was discovered this could result in a quarter of a million deaths) to the other extreme of family self-isolation at the first sign of the virus and advice to no longer visit pubs, clubs, cinemas, etc., has meant that most of us in the UK are pretty confused as to what to do. Our 17-year old son, Milligan, is going stir-crazy already, after his college closed it’s doors yesterday until further notice; particularly problematic because he’s supposed to be taking his ‘A’ levels in June. We’ve banned him from going to the gym (an enormous sacrifice, which we continually have to acknowledge!) and our gentle suggestions to use the time to tidy his room have fallen on deaf ears. But at least he has his music, and for much of the day our house is filled with piano, drums and marimba. In this respect at least, we’re very lucky. Our 21-year old daughter Chilli (she of my Fuji ‘Home project) decided to come home from university at the weekend, and is now our leading crusader for self-isolation, virtually refusing to leave the house at all. The other pictures attached show the moment, this morning, when she received news that her degree show has been cancelled (not postponed, but cancelled altogether)... a bitter blow since she’s been preparing her installation for months. We feel deeply for her. Meanwhile, now that I’ve reached 60 and have an ‘underlying health condition’ (type 2 diabetes) I’m told I’m in the 'at-risk' category. Walking through virtually deserted streets with Kodak (my dog) yesterday, I had this strange feeling that it was all a dream and soon enough I’d be waking up. I’m still waiting. Brighton. GB. March 18, 2020. © Mark Power | Magnum Photos
Nanna Heitmann I had to self- quarantine after the retreat, since I travelled to Germany. In Russia there are only 140 people infected officially but that can’t be true and it's likely the subway will close soon. (...)
It only closed for one day in World War II. Between wondering around crowded markets and empty metro stations we were trying to fly to the cosmos or some other nice place. Moscow. Russia. March 19, 2020. © Nanna Heitmann | Magnum Photos
Peter van Agtmael A few months ago I paid casual attention to what was going on in Wuhan. It seemed very far away.
In the past week it's really begun to sink in that this could become a civilizational catastrophe. (...)
I'm not going to go to restaurants or bars or socialize with more than a few people from this point onwards. People in New York don't seem to be taking this seriously.
I've got food and supplies for a month, a bit more if I stretch it.
I wish I'd stocked up earlier. I just paid $5 a bottle for tiny bottle of "winter jubilee" hand sanitizer. It smells absolutely terrible. Brooklyn, New York. USA. March 12, 2020. © Peter van Agtmael | Magnum Photos
Emin Özmen We are stressed after learning two of our nephews have been diagnosed with Covid-19. They are 4 and 6 years old living in France, far from us. Here my wife Cloé is sitting on the couch, lost in her (...)
deep thoughts, uncertainty of our own situation, only hoping the best for our beloved ones. Here in Turkey they are announcing only 98 cases for the moment, it's hard to believe, so we've been avoiding any contact with the others for a week.
The situation is only starting to get worse and schools, cafes, cinemas, etc, have closed this week. President Erdogan is expected to speak later today to announce new measures. Istandbul, Turkey. March 17, 2020. © Emin Özmen | Magnum Photos
Carl De Keyzer The street where we are currently staying. We are fine but sort of stuck in the middle of our trip. Working on a new project in the US and moving from one Airbnb to the next. Most of the events I w (...)
anted to cover and schedules are cancelled. Next stops are Tulsa, Santa Fe, Phoenix in a few weeks. In Dallas for the moment. We arrived on Feb 20th, our return flight is still confirmed for May 18th. We decided to stay because the situation in Belgium is actually worse, for the moment. Dallas, Texas. USA. March 19, 2020. © Carl De Keyzer | Magnum Photos
Sim Chi Yin (Sim Chi Yin documents her activities during the Coronavirus pandemic.) Dear Lucas, In three weeks or less, you are due to join us. What a chaotic world you are being born into…. On Monday, your da (...)
d and I saw you in what will be our last scan before finally meeting you in person. How peaceful you look inside my belly, oblivious to the craziness going on outside. We will do our best to shield you from the worst of these times. Your dad had flown here from Beijing — where he had been in a lockdown that affected all of China since late January -- and painstakingly quarantined himself in the Surrey countryside before rejoining us a few days ago. But we are now entering another lockdown — in London — and the virus seems to be spreading more aggressively here than in China. Our antenatal classes where we are learning how to care for you are now conducted via Zoom. We are learning how to breastfeed you via a video link. The borough we live in has the second-highest number of confirmed Coronavirus cases in all of the UK and the hospital where you are due to be born might be quite overwhelmed. We’re told more parents are now doing home births… That was ruled out for us at first because I am an older, first-time expectant mother but we may have to consider it now. We hope you are doing well inside, and fingers and toes crossed all will be fine for your arrival. London. GB. March 18, 2020. © Sim Chi Yin | Magnum Photos
Cristina de Middel I have been myself juggling from denial to paranoia, changing my mind about the seriousness of the situation every 2 minutes, sounding careless when conversations became too dramatic and alarming w (...)
henever I was meeting someone who was not giving the right importance to the situation. Now with half of my family in Spain and the other half in Italy, the juggling has stopped.
I managed to leave Spain a few days before the lockdown. You could see people carrying tons of toilet paper and also the terraces and parks full of normality due to the nice weather in Madrid. It was a total schizophrenic reality, Buñuel would have been very proud of Spanish people right before the start of the lockdown. I could feel there were stories everywhere but found myself totally incapable of synthesizing and understanding what I was seeing. If that is how History is made, it is really confusing, honestly. Fiction is much more manageable. I am now in Itacaré, a small town by the sea in the North of Brazil, where I live with my husband Bruno. I wanted to be here because it is my house and my home but I have spent so little time here in the last 3 years that I am forcing myself into believing this is the right place to be. I am as curious as scared for discovering how the country is going to manage the situation. Up until 2 days ago, life was totally normal. I was in Salvador de Bahía, the capital of the state, doing paperwork and trying to find images or stories that could represent the imminence of something terrible about to happen, but it was very difficult. Nothing in the streets and the people you could meet had any feeling of urgency, the conversation was out there but in the form of jokes and eventually some appreciation of a distant drama. "Coroa" is the jargon word for old crazy man in Portuguese, the typical old drunk or crazy man that nobody pays attention to and that lives in the streets. I find it also funny that they talk about the "Corona V
Itacaré. Brazil. March 20, 2020. © Cristina de Middel | Magnum Photos