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In an old chest, I found pictures taken in New York where I had invited my mother more than ten years ago. Back then, I used to do a lot of film photography and I used some of these for a small exhibition in a bar in Paris. (The pictures ended remaining there for several years.)

Here are some scans of negatives without any correction or filter. This is the strength of film and ektar film in particular: full and vibrant colors, a natural contrast that retains a strong dynamic. Nothing is ever completely burnt: even in skies and reflections, there is a bit of texture. Leica M6 with Summicron 35 and 50mm.

Seeing this, I feel like getting back to it.

I used these photos to dress up the site until I find something better. Since I've found a trove, I might post some more soon.

Set-up day for a project that I produce and direct with ChezFilms for École des Ponts. Today, life-size test in the studio before shooting the interviews starting next week.

This project started in November and will continue until summer. Updates soon.

I had let myself go a bit so this weekend I planned to get back on track.

Zero sugar: no more pastries, cakes and dark chocolate. Zero alcohol: no going to the Pub - or else for a Perrier. Two real meditation sessions a day: it's true that in Paris, between my son and appointments, I often do this too quickly - we're getting back to it.

Since we're there: no more cell phone. I'm not on Facebook and company anymore but I spend hours on Reddit and Youtube. We're uninstalling! (Even if it means reinstalling later...)

And why stop there? I pushed the vice to the point of doing the following experiment:

For forty-eight hours, when I felt like doing something that wasn't necessary... Well NO! I wasn't doing it. The goal was not to deprive myself or suffer unnecessarily but to study my response to frustration, to see how my brain reacts under pressure, to observe the thoughts and emotions elicited by breaking my habits.

I called it my Stoic experiment.

Recently, I had been wondering about the role of effort, discomfort and discipline. In particular, listening to Chris Williamson's podcast with David Goggins on overcoming one's limits, rereading Marc Aurelius and his Stoic pals, thinking back to some of the Buddha's teachings on the nature of experience, listening again to the presentation by Joseph Goldstein on the end of passions, but also, simply, by taking cues from personalities I admire who seem to handle effort differently.

Also: through the counter-example of loved ones I see sinking under the weight of their addictions.

The theory is this: since no one escapes suffering and discomfort, we must learn to live with it. Better yet: make them allies. We cannot control external circumstances, it is true, but we can control our relationship to them. Therein lies room for progress and a field for experimentation.

First observation of the weekend: it's hard. But brief.

The moment when you deny yourself the cake, the youtube session on the couch or the little beer at the end of the day, this moment is extremely difficult to go through. Everything inside you screams: "But why? We have always done like that!" The weight of habit weighs down and the body rebels: the feeling of hunger becomes more acute, or the fatigue, or the desire to drink. It takes an effort that seems disproportionate to the actual size of the obstacle.

And a minute later... nothing.

The discomfort and difficulty disappeared as quickly as they had come. No trace, no aftereffect. One feels neither better nor worse, as if the obstacle had never existed.

Then, as we let each new urge pass, it becomes easier and easier - all categories combined. You end up wanting less, being less attached to satisfying your desire. Without a goal to reach in the future, we become more available for the present: we receive what is rather than constantly comparing with what should be.

Consequence: we realize that, the rest of the time, we act on the basis of very ephemeral impulses that have no consequence on long-term happiness. Worse: satisfying an urge reinforces the "I want / I get" mechanism which makes it more difficult to resist the next assault. Letting go is worked like a muscle.

Second observation: we find ourselves in novel situations.

When I forbid myself to collapse on the couch for another youtube session, for a moment I find myself a bit lost. What do I do instead? If I don't lie down, do I stand? Do I sit down? But... where? At my desk? On that chair in the corner that is never used? But... WHAT FOR?

A habit is the permission we give ourselves to abandon ourselves body and soul to a familiar activity that asks no questions. As soon as we break the routine, nothing is self-evident and the questions return. Everything becomes new and mysterious. What if I played the xylophone? What if I cleaned the windows? Remind me: what did we do for entertainment before cell phones?

Because let's be honest: a youtube session is twenty minutes minimum - and there are several in a day. Beer is often two beers, and that involves a drive, buddies and talk. As for sugar, it's like food in general: it's a whole ritual that requires shopping, cooking, eating, washing dishes, etc. Often with the radio or TV on.

So it's mathematical: when you stop all that, you have extra time.

Hours, literally.

That's why this weekend, without really realizing it, I started drawing again, made music on my Pocket Operator, visited a nursing home and a cemetery, read a lot more than I usually do, and filled my journal with musings about the meaning of life and the nature of existence.

I recommend.

Instead of being glued to my phone, I drew some pictures (still that stoic experience I'll talk about):

You can tell it wasn't generated by an A.I., right?

I've been conducting a "stoic experiment" for the past two days - I'll tell you about it - that took me in the evening to the Trouville Cemetery, which I'd never been to before and which, contrary to what the sign said, was still open. Or badly closed.

I walked around it. Bigger than I imagined (Trouvillais do nothing but die) and very peaceful.

And since, on my way there, it aso walked through the parc of the retirement home, it inspired me, on the way back, these lines that could be the beginning of a novel:

The cemetery is up there, at the edge of town.

The nursing home is next to the cemetery.

The slum borders the nursing home.

The public school is in the middle of the slum.

Mr. Grandpierre is the principal of the public school.

And that morning, the new mayor came to see Mr. Grandpierre.

I'll let you write the rest of it, I'm busy. Cheers.

My song of the moment.

I like it because it has no real chorus, the lyrics are nostalgic and it ends in a climax. It's not recent - 2007 - but I discovered it recently when it came after This is the life which I have always loved. Since then, I listen to it on repeat while on the beach at night.

The common theme of the two songs is... how can I put it? A mythology associated with music and adolescence. Groups, parties, clubs, festivals... When you're young, it's not just a trend or a stage in your life: this is the life. (Ah ah, I translated this from french and I swear I didn't realize I was coming back to the title of the song. Makes sense though.)

Digging around in the attic, I found these portraits of my ancestor Algar Ebenezer Boulengeman, a trapper on the Great Plains of Canada:

Incidentally (and unrelatedly), I also took some glass ("collodion") photos on the beach in Trouville this afternoon but they weren't good so I won't show them to you.

Follow the adventures of Thomas the Photographer on his Instagram page (but it's private and you're probably not cool enough to enter).

I'm keeping the English title because the French translation - as is often the case with self-help books - seems to have been written by the traveling quack who sells mercury potions in Little House on the Prairie. Don't pretend: you know exactly who I mean. Or by the villain from "Peter and Eliot the Dragon" who wants to cut up Eliot to make cough syrup.

Bref: Who not How is a book I needed to read.

Because, you see, since I've been making movies, I've gotten into the habit of overdoing too many things. Which has its advantages: it's given me a real knowledge of many aspects of making a film, both technical, human, and administrative. Can't fool me.

But it also has a slew of disadvantages that end up, when you do the math, being far more disabling in the long run:

• I waste time reinventing the wheel in every area,
• I become mediocre at a lot of tasks that specialists do infinitely better than I do,
• Meanwhile, I don't focus on the talents where I could really make a difference.

Hence this idea developed by Dan Sullivan:

Faced with a problem or challenge, stop asking "how do I do it?" but immediately start with "who can help me? Who can I delegate this task to?"

Which is an art, too.

First, clearly define the mission: what are we trying to accomplish? What direction to follow? How do you know when the task is complete?

Then, you have to find the right person and convey the right vision: explain why it's important, show the impact it's going to have, the possibilities that will open up in the future.

Finally - and this is often the hardest - you have to trust them. Don't micro-manage. Let the person you've chosen do what they know how to do in the way they know how. Because if it's the right person, they do it better than you anyway.

Of course, this raises questions about exploitation, subordination, accountability. For it to make sense, the relationship has to be reciprocal: the person you find is your "who" and you have to be theirs. You were looking for their type of profile, they were looking for your type of mission.

For example: I have been writing since childhood. Novels, plays, screenplays. With practice, I've achieved a certain mastery. Now, I regularly meet professionals - cinematographers, actors, set designers, etc. - who have no taste for writing and who are delighted to put their talent at the service of projects written and produced by others. So the benefit to everyone is that, rather than learning how to (mis)use a camera, I focus on what I know how to do and go find the right people for the rest.

It seems obvious. Yet, the first instinct is often to want to do everything yourself. Out of ego, out of a desire for control, out of habit. Because it's not always easy to reach out to others.

For some time now, especially within my production structure, I've been trying to install this new reflex. I don't do anymore: I delegate. And often, it works. The result is much better, the process much more pleasant and less solitary, and the network effect opens new doors. When it doesn't work, it's often because I haven't defined the task properly. Or simply that the mission itself wasn't worth it.

That's how I found an army of young creators from all over the world on Discord to make the 3D sets for my web series Panic in Space. It didn't work out with everyone, but I found two gems, in Brazil and India, that I'll continue to collaborate with.

An important detail: Dan Sullivan, the person behind the premise of "Who not How" didn't write the book himself. He delegated the writing to Benjamin Hardy, author of several personal development books. It became a bestseller.

Do we have the right to complain if the dish is not at all what we expected? IS THIS REALLY A RESTAURANT?

In sound editing of episode 3 of Panic in Space, my existential webseries of the future. I haven't mentioned it here yet, but it's coming: the editing and 3D sets are done until episode 10. I'm doing the final assembly when I have an hour here and there.

The slogan: "The future sucks. But where else to go?"