Cardboard Mountain

In second grade I started to collect ice hockey cards. Brett Hull was a favourite. He reminded me of He-Man with his blonde hair, strong jawline and icehockey stick as his sword. Collecting opened a fantasy world based on swapping, unwrapping and possessing beautiful special cards. It also reflected the need of making new friends. In the schoolyard, the cards served as a equalizer among kids aged between eight and fourteen. Almost everyone in my classroom, including some of the girls collected cards. By owning a great collection I avoided the terror from a few bullies in my school that desperately wanted to trade some of my special cards.

The best thing I knew was to bike down with friends to the nearest convenience store, and pick up a few packs. Immediately when I was out of the door I would tear them open. Some cards that I got too many of, or a player that I did not like I would put in the bicyclewheel, between the spokes. Those cards made hell of a great sound when biking around the neighbourhood.

Part of this work consists of installations built in Quebec City from my collection of the former team, the Nordiques, that stopped existing in the mid-nineties.
These photographs tries to create a discussion between the past and the present, between the former team and the surronding landscape. The installations exist only for a brief moment. I make my photograph and then take them away.