Strange Things Behind Belgian Windows

L I K E A V O Y E U R peeking behind the curtains, I suddenly started looking at every window, through every slightly open curtain. Occasionally, I would run away feeling guilty after having photo­ graphed someone sitting behind the window, but most of the time I would start a conversation.

Thus, I discovered many lovely and heart-warming stories, like the one of this couple who were huge fans of the King, and dedicated a mini­museum, a shrine almost, to his memory.

Other windows allowed me to enter delirious worlds, like the one with the beautiful stuffed fox, the work of a tortured genius who donated his 10

eccentric creations to his neighbours.

I also stumbled across dozens of dusty objects, witnesses of a frozen past, or other trinkets suggesting a kind of intimacy, like the cute sculpture of newlyweds. I saw cats, many cats, dolls, objects for sale, plush rabbits.

In other words, I took a deep plunge right into the Belgian soul.

Could these windows be a form of dialogue? My wish is to believe that they actually are. Although no one seems to be posting them on social media, they are actually out there on the streets, just for the sake of conversation with anyone passing by: ‘Here I am and I have something to

B E L G I A N S love cats and dogs, have a strange passion for pharaohs, figurines and miniatures of all kinds, and are clearly natural born artists. This is my conclusion three years after having started my public window project.

It was on a Friday in the middle of summer, if I remember correctly.

Going back to work after my lunch break, I was walking down the same street as always, when I bumped into a group of young boys gathered in front of a window. They were all pointing at a colourful construction, trying to guess who would be able to build such a work of art. It was the first window I photographed.

On my way home that sunny evening, I noticed other personal museums, clearly on display for passers-by.

I decided to capture them and thus my quest started. In the weeks and months that followed I walked down many streets in all corners of Brussels and other Belgian cities.

On those ventures a new – perhaps odd – but highly spontaneous form of art revealed itself to me. It might be there for a week, a year maybe, until its maker decides to remove it.

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share with you’. Be it a stuffed fox, a Christmas dwarf giving the finger or a porcelain dog.

That’s what art is all about; you walk down the street, look through a window and get to see something from a new perspective. You get a glimpse of another universe very different from your own, and get to feel something new.

Before the start of this journey, I thought I was living in a cold, grey country. Now I see a whole new range of colours and shades. Beyond their aesthetics, these spontaneous settings have invited me to unveil some of the

intimate stories that gently permeate the public space, transforming the landscape of any given street into an unexpected and surreal social experience. Some windows have already disappeared, such as the Elvis shrine, but they will forever live on in my memories and in this book.

I sincerely thank the Belgians for the wonderful experience and with this project I hope to have paid them a quirky tribute.

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We find it easy to believe that praise is sincere: why should anyone lie in telling us the truth?

J E A N R O S TA N D

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V O LTA I R E

Passions are the winds that belly the sails of the ship; they sometimes submerge it but without them it would not sail at all.

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Did you know that a cactus had a flower?

In the centre of the spines a heart is hidden.

OXMO PUCCINO

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A L E X A N D R E V I A L AT T E

Statues merely name those who are forgotten.

One is never more dead than in bronze.

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UUNO KAILAS

The pyramid endures and is seen. But we forget the pharaoh.

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MARTY RUBIN

What one does to kill time is one’s true calling.

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Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than going to a garage makes you an automobile.

B I L LY S U N D AY

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