The neighbors Estela Sanchis
The neighbors Estela Sanchis
January, 13th 2013
When I moved into my new apartment at the end of last year , I am struck by the sight of the living room window. Faced with a large courtyard, its position directly confronts me with my neighborg’s livingroom window, far enough not to be intrusive, but close enough to arouse curiosity. Time passes, and I check that I’m not the only one curious. The neighbors across the street also tend to look through the window what is happening inside my house. In addition, I realize that they let us watch them, they are aware of my presence, and act close to the window in the same way than us, on the other side, we change our attitude when we feel observed. I’m intrigued by this behavior, I would like to know what they know about us, what we know about them. Due to the reciprocical curiosity that unites us I decide to contact them.
January, 14th 2013
The neighbor’s apartment is located on the 4th floor. It’s the smaller building. I go out and cross the street. I am lucky, there is only one apartment per floor, so there’s no confusion. I ring the first doorbell: “I’m the postman”. I get into the hall of my neighbor’s building. There are four mailboxes. The latter has a small leaf stuck with five names written in pen. I drop an envelope with a message.
January, 15th 2013
Dear strangers, I’m your neighbor across the street and I’m working on a photo project about “the others“. I noticed that we have one thing in common: we share a part of everyday life through our window. I would like to play with you something similar to “Guess who?“ that allows us to get closer without having to establish a real contact. If you agree, please, leave a message in the mailbox No. 20, street Salvador Almenar 1. Otherwise hang a sign on the window that shows your refusal and I won’t bother you anymore. Sincerely, your neighbor.
At workplace, the phone rings: - Estela, sorry ... There’s a note in the window. - What does it say? - I do not know, I can not see, I can not find my glasses. A few agonizing minutes pass while I realize that I will have to brick up this window. I hear something, I think he has found it. - It says ... it says ... Okay.
January, 15th 2013
At workplace, the phone rings: - Estela, sorry ... There’s a note in the window. - What does it say? - I do not know, I can not see, I can not find my glasses. A few agonizing minutes pass while I realize that I will have to brick up this window. I hear something, I think he has found it. - It says ... it says ... Okay.
January, 17th 2013
The game works as follows: on each message I made a small description based on what I can see through the window. They will do the same in return. For each correct answer, one of them have to pose in front of me. I do not want to make things easy, so I remove my name from the mailbox in order to remain anonymous. I sneak back into the hall of my neighbors and I leave another message. “You are three boys and two girls, young people between 20 and 30 years, foreigners. At least two guys are French, and one of the girls, tall and blond, German. Probably you are Erasmus students in literature or technical careers, but not the Natural Sciences. If I’m not wrong, I will see you tomorrow at 21:00 in front of the window. “
January, 18th 2013
Hello, First of all we thank you for sharing your work with us, it is a good initiative! Yes, we are three boys (two Belgian and a Spanish) and two girls (one French and the big blonde german). We all are between 20 and 25 years, we do not study Natural Science or Literature. We do not want to disclose more information to keep a little mystery in the game, but know that some of us also want to work on voyeurism. In order to continue with the game, we can say that you’re 3 girls and 1 boy between 20 and 25 years, and there is a couple, but for the moment we don’t have more information. The neighbors from across the street.
At the indicated time, I put the tripod and I adjusts the camera, but my neighbors do not look at me. They don’t see that I’m expecting. I turn on the light, I turn off. They finally look at me, they laugh, make nervous gestures, and finally the great German blonde girl stands in front of me. I have my picture. My time to play.
January, 18th 2013
At the indicated time, I put the tripod and I adjusts the camera, but my neighbors do not look at me. They don’t see that I’m expecting. I turn on the light, I turn off. They finally look at me, they laugh, make nervous gestures, and finally the great German blonde girl stands in front of me. I have my picture. My time to play.
January, 26th 2013
Time passes, and the terms of the relationship we have established are so unstable that I can not help but feel some tension when I pass my window. Meanwhile, the amazing trust that the neighbors have placed on me by allowing me to observe their lives, entering the game and looking openly mine, reminds me of his relationship with the world of art. I let them know my guess in a new message. As we do the last time, I ask to photograph one of them. This time I
want to be the one I decided to call GrĂŠgoire based on the names that I found in the mailbox. I write the time on the window. At this point I get no response or action on the other side. But soon and for the first time my neighbors close the shutters.
February, 5th 2013
For days, I get no response or signal from the other side of the window. I guess the game is over. I’m not satisfied. I decide to continue alone and try to learn more about GrÊgoire D. An initial search on Google does not offer me interesting results. It seems to be a fairly common name. I try my luck on Facebook, and among the pictures recorded with this name profiles, I recognize his face. It is a black and white photo copy quality
and an ex-convict expression. Public information confirms that he is Belgian and studied Fine Arts. A link allows me to access the page group to which it belongs, where I can finally see a set of graphic, photographic and audiovisual works around voyeurism.
March, 1st 2013
After several months of observation, I live the routine of these strangers as my own. I know when they come home, when they leave, I begin to identify their habits and recognize their friends. Dinners and parties follow while I photograph them in the dark. I examines GrĂŠgoire with attention, which usually works with his computer at the window. I try not to expose me too much. They do not know my name, and they probably could not recognize my face. Given their lack of interest, rather remain anonymous.
March, 12th 2013
Notes - Grégoire
Mondays and Wednesdays left home at 8:30. When I return to 14:30 it is already there. He eats to 14:30. Tuesdays and Fridays he goes out at 15:30 and returns at 18:30. I look at the schedules of courses at the university. Possible subjects: sculpture workshop, drawing or photography projects. Every day, before I go to bed around 1’00h, I use to go to the kitchen. He is usually there, working on his computer. Yesterday I woke up at 3’00h and he was still in the dining room. He is always alone, his housemates do not stay. Thursday evening he is not at home. He meets his friends at Bodega Fila. I’ll try to pass this week. I wonder what he’s doing at the Once he told me about a project on computer, where he stays up late at voyeurism, but do not tell me much. Friday attend a party Sorry, at Nylon. I you. can “ night withhe an will apparent concentration. I can notIf help not find it on thursday, I’ll go to the party. I would like to know more about his work, so I decide to see my ancient professor of photography at the Faculty of Fine Arts. I come to his office with a copy of the photos I took, and I tell my story. I ask him if he recognizes Grégoire. “Maybe. I have a foreign student in my class, but can not remember his name. He doesn’t come often to class.
He said goodbye to me with a weird smile that I can not interpret.
March, 12th 2013
I wonder what he’s doing at the computer, where he stays up late at night with an apparent concentration.
Once he told me about a project on voyeurism, but do not tell me much. Sorry, I can not help you. “
I would like to know more about his work, so I decide to see my ancient professor of photography at the Faculty of Fine Arts.
He said goodbye to me with a weird smile that I can not interpret.
I come to his office with a copy of the photos I took, and I tell my story. I ask him if he recognizes Grégoire. “Maybe. I have a foreign student in my class, but can not remember his name. He doesn’t come often to class.
June, 8th 2013
Over the months a certain obsession leads me to scan the virtual life GrĂŠgoire D. every day. Through public comments from friends I know where he is going to be, which leads me to move around these places with my camera in search of a chance encounter that never comes... until today. After reading a public conversation in a social network I know he goes to a party on the river side. I decide to go as I have done sometimes, sure
he could not recognize me even if he will be in front of me. Once there, in the crowd, I find him for the first time at least 10 meters between our windows. I approach far I can slowly without attracting his attention. My hands are shaking. I hope he doesn’t look to me. I point and I shoot.
June, 28th 2013
To get this photo has helped to calm my obsession. I confess that in recent weeks I have neglected surveillance tasks. But today, something caught my attention. It seems that neighbors finally leave home. I see some movement of boxes and bags, and I can not help but feel a certain nostalgia for the times that, without knowing, they have share with me. One of the girls is preparing dinner in the kitchen. I take my camera to take one last memory. And suddenly I heard someone say my name right in front of me...
13 de enero de 2013
Ă GrĂŠgoire pour son aide, ses belles images et son envie de jouer.
All images of the left page belong to Grégoire Dupont. The portrait of Grégoire is extracted from the website of the group Pécarré. Valencia, 2013