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For English speakers, three articles I've read over several years about death described by healthcare professionals. I've already discussed the first two, but upon reading the third, I thought it was worth compiling a little anthology.

The first to kick off in 2011: "How Doctors Die" or how doctors at the end of life tend to avoid the therapeutic frenzy they too often witness in their patients.

The second, recently discovered in the fantastic essays of Scott Alexander, dates back to 2013: "Who By Very Slow Decay" or how medical staff abandons illusions in palliative care centers.

Finally, the last one, recently published in the New York Times – if you only read one, I recommend this one: "A Hospice Nurse on Embracing the Grace of Dying". A nurse in a palliative care hospice describes her work and the final moments of her patients in a book titled "The In-Between: Unforgettable Encounters During Life’s Final Moments.” The stories and analogies she shares in the article are deeply moving.

The goal is not to depress. On the contrary: truth sets you free. A keen awareness of our finiteness is the first antidote against a life steeped in illusions.

I've been the proud owner of a Leica M6 for about fifteen years (remember?) that I had somewhat set aside recently. It's back in action.

My main obstacle was the need to change film based on lighting conditions. Then I read this article about Ilford Delta 3200 film. Not only is it cheaper than TMax, but if you embrace the grain – I don't just accept it, I celebrate it – it allows for day and night photography: load a film in the morning and shoot until night.

So, for the past month, my camera is always with me. It hangs across my shoulder under my coat (for when it rains), and unintentionally, I've found myself following the rules of lomography.

I no longer develop in my bathroom as before – no more time – I buy and develop films at Négatif +.

I already have a few rolls in reserve, and I don't tire of the rendering, the grain, the atmosphere. So, expect more photos in the months to come.

UPDATE: And since we're talking about analog, I recently re-released my film Rebours (Countdown). 20 polaroids taken in 24 hours in Paris and shown in reverse.

During the "Nuit des Ponts" organized for the 25th anniversary of the Fondation des Ponts, 7 projects were pitched for an exceptional fundraising event at the Grand Amphitheatre of the Sorbonne.

I was the last one to take the stage to ask for funds for the post-production of "Building," the feature-length documentary that I produce and direct with ChezFilms for École des Ponts.

Happy to announce that, thanks to the generosity of donors, we secured over €50k for the post-production of our film. Also, a big thank you to the sound team that came to support me:

Premiere coming soon. I'll keep you posted.

A thoughtful reflection on creation that I find incredibly well-crafted, mature, and sincere from a twenty-something who questions her drawing practice in the face of the world of social networks and constant entertainment. I learned a few things from it:

One sees this and thinks that the future is in good hands.

Last lockdown sketch. See you at the next pandemic.

It makes me chuckle.

Many commentators seem deeply concerned about the "alignment problem" in artificial intelligence. That is, if we ever reach the elusive "A.G.I.," or Artificial General Intelligence – one that could outperform us in solving all sorts of problems for which it hasn't been specifically trained – how do we ensure that it uses its powerful intellect in line with values we share?

The most commonly used example is that of toothpicks.

Let's say it's asked to "maximize the production of toothpicks" in a factory. Who knows if this intelligence, in its computational desire to fulfill a command that makes no sense to it (it doesn't have teeth, does it?), wouldn't set up a diabolical and irreversible mechanism that, despite our astonished attempts to stop it (remember: it's much, much smarter than us), would end up clearing all the forests on the planet and enslaving the entire population to produce the little picks we asked for.

After all, it knows nothing about the human values that matter to us: freedom, dignity, sharing, etc.

Anyway, that's the argument.

Does it ring a bell?

I submit to you that, for the record, money was initially just a tool for accounting to facilitate exchanges. Then, over the decades, maximizing profit for shareholders became the excuse to colonize continents, wage wars, impoverish the masses, and destroy the planet.

So, an artificial intelligence doing the same thing faster would actually be perfectly aligned with our current values.

The only real alignment flaw would be if the A.G.I. responded: "But what are you going to do with all these toothpicks? Wouldn't you rather go play in the parks with your children?"

Let me tell you, that version would be reprogrammed on the same day.

UPDATE: it inspired me to write this script.

Once upon a time, I was crazy about 3D. I created this teaser using Maya and thought I'd make a whole short film. I recently found this image on an old disk:

Of course, life took its course, and this overly ambitious project somehow found its way to the trash can. But I still find the image quite lovely.

P.S.: Yes, I'm decluttering. There are more embarrassing gems on the way."

While sorting through old hard drives, I found this compilation of animations dating back to... well, the early 21st century:

The first one was made from photos, the second using claymation, and the third... on Adobe Flash. It doesn't make us any younger.

I don't choose what I write.

One morning, I realize that my comedy-drama screenplay isn't progressing. The new scenes are dragging, predictable. Even the corrections I make here and there don't seem to be heading in the right direction. It's a mess.

However, without searching, three ideas for a comedy.

We know that writing (or creation in general) is 10% inspiration and 90% hard work. So if we wait for divine inspiration to move forward, we'll never accomplish anything. Sometimes, you have to push yourself a bit. Start the machine and see what comes. Right?...

I'm less and less sure about that.

Of course, the writing process itself – in the sense of the work required to get the idea on paper, to correct, to review, etc. – that time is largely non-negotiable. I would even say it tends to increase with experience. In many ways, what defines a professional, an artisan, is the awareness of how much time their work takes. Unlike me in music, for example, where I get offended when I can't crap out a song in an hour like the musicians I see on YouTube. (The term "crap" is not chosen by chance, as we will see.)

However, when we talk about pure creation, about the intellectual process of generating new ideas, bringing them out of nothing, my theory is that this time, just like the quality of the ideas themselves, varies exponentially depending on the circumstances.

The formula that you find effortlessly right after a meeting where you've been slightly shaken, which you expand with a line you didn't dare to say on the spot, and then develop into an entire dialogue that could fit into a courtroom drama or a thriller: it would be impossible to write the same thing the following week in front of your computer. Not with the same enthusiasm, the same inspiration.

Similarly, the nonsense that the brain seems incapable of stopping when you come out of an improvisation session with other creators animated by the same joyous and ancestral silliness: none of this would come easily on a Tuesday morning at the office.

Lastly: the nostalgia that tints everything after a painful breakup, the sadness of the world, the shittiness of things, you never express it better than when you're in the dumps.

The best comparison to illustrate this idea involves toilets and taking a dump – here we are. Not out of a love for vulgarity (though, well used, it rarely bothers me) but because I haven't found anything clearer or more universal:

Let's imagine an office worker whose job is to produce... crap. Literally. He's paid to provide a high-quality turd every day and is therefore not allowed to take the life-saving laxatives that would contaminate his specimen.

His day can be organized in two ways:

1. Enter the bathroom at 9 am – to show that he's serious and disciplined – and then for hours... Push. Push. Blow, massage his belly, make movements with his hips and thighs. Sweat. Not dare to leave the bathroom for fear of being considered a slacker. Feel the anxiety rise: "Am I doing it wrong? Maybe I'm not involved enough? Not motivated enough? Not concentrated enough? What if I never crap again? Am I a dilettante, an impostor, a loser? Have I wasted my life?"

Or:

2. Spend the day at the park with his children and his dog. When the urge comes, enter the bathroom, do his business, wash his hands, and *Poof*: workday completed!

Seems obvious, doesn't it?

Yet, how many times do we try to force things rather than let nature take its course and pick the fruit when it's ripe? Count it in a day. It's often much, much more than we think. When it's not the job itself that's built on a constant violation of the world's temporality.

Then again, it depends, I suppose. I progressed in my novel by writing very regularly every morning for long periods. So it's possible, I guess. But in general, these writing sessions only serve to arrange the fruits already picked up by chance on the road. And there's no guarantee that, in the end, it will be a high-quality turd.

UPDATE 1: The sociologist Niklas Luhmann, not known for slacking off, puts it even more succinctly:

"I only do what is easy. I write only when I immediately know how to do it. If I hesitate for a moment, I set the subject aside and do something else."
- Niklas Luhmann

UPDATE 2: Since we're talking about toilets and creation, go watch this (very) short film I just re-released, which deals precisely with that. One of my first films.

As I'm getting back to publishing dialogues, I thought it was a shame to have lost the one that had performed the best back in the days of The ShitScript. So, I rewrote it (hopefully better) based on some drafts:

Click here to read:  The Martist.