Iron lady
On this day I did not plan to shoot or even go out. I was having some rest in our apartment in the 12th district of Paris, when I heard some noise from the window.
I heard the hits of the drum, shouting shouts - quite banal noices for Parisian Saturday.
I decided not to miss the opportunity, and, after a quick preparation, in 5 minutes I was already in the center of the crowd, which, apparently, was moving from Bastille to Nation.
Frankly speaking, I didn’t really figure out what the crowd was striking for. There were many yellow vests in the crowd, some shouted slogans against Macron, some were outraged by the pension reform, others waved Corsica flags, I even saw journalists from one of the russian propaganda channels.
I just disappeared in the crowd, trying to stay away from the riot sources taking as many photos as possible.
I rarely had to participate in such events, and what I saw was too far from my vision of the manifestations.
First, there were more police officers than protesters. The walking crowd was surrounded from all sides by policemen in armor and with shields. The whole march seemed to be scheduled in minutes, and the police were more like coordinators and guides.
At certain moments, the black surrounding ring stopped, and the multicolored mass of protesters inside began to create the appearance of a protest. In 10 minutes the conductors continued moving to the next checkpoint, and the protesters, like a herd, continued to follow their “guides”. If someone was behind the main crowd, the policemen, who closed the circle from behind, politely asked them to move their ass.
The riots became some kind of an art or a hobby. I managed to film some of the participants' yellow vests. Many of them had marks on the protests they had participated in. And some of the vests were painted with beautiful pictures on revolutionary themes. This reminds me very much of the revolutionary art of Ukrainians of Maidan times, when the protests’ participants also painted one of the main attributes of the Ukrainian revolution - helmets.
At one moment I noticed HER among policemen - a tall woman with a transparent shield in her hands and a gaze that pierced the protesters through dark glasses.
Fighting with shyness and even fear, I approached her, pointed my camera and clicked the shutter. I remember how the goosebumps from the look she had given me ran down my back. On the one hand, I felt very uncomfortable, but on the other I was filled with joy, knowing that I managed to capture this priceless coldness of her expression.
When I returned home, I began to look at the photo in the smallest details, and realized that I had a great chance. Behind this stunning gaze of the lady, I couldn't see how expressive others characters were.
The two policemen on the left side of the photo, like the main character, are very serious and concentrated - their eagle's eyes analyze every detail, every movement of the protesters, trying to predict the slightest deviation from the plan. The character on the right side of the picture looks at me with a smile.
I am still guessing what lies behind this smile? Maybe that's how he expresses his shyness of being caught in my objective. Maybe there is a part of pride in that smile about being among the guards when the photographer is just one of the sheep that tries to play the revolution.
But I prefer to think that behind that smile there is a very different message, something like: "Do you see what a beautiful Major we have? She is like the Eiffel Tower. She is not to be trifled with, I wouldn't like to have troubles with her”.
Also on this day:
