It's a camera and not quite a camera. Which is one reason why my prints show the "meta-data" (automatically registered by the instrument) about the day, the hour, the minute and the second of the shooting. As if I was telling the viewer: this is not quite a photograph (somewhat like Magritte drawing a pipe and writing underneath it: This is not a pipe).

The viewer, seeing my choices in their chronological sequence, may be lead to wonder: "How come, he didn't get a good picture in three months, and here he gets three within a minute!" He would wonder more if he knew that the tiny camera is always in my trouser pocket - this being one of its main advantages - except when it falls out accidentally and gets lost under the driver's seat, until I miss it and panic, as if I had suddenly lost a tooth...

But its greatest advantage is that it allows me to undertake the most adventurous trips, in spite of my age and my infirmities: for instance on my breakfast table, where an empty yoghurt pot and a few grapefruit peelings, lit by the morning sun and hazed by a puff of cigarette smoke, may appear on it's screen as a fantastic landscape. Or on floor level, when the foot of a lady friend, slightly swollen by the tightness of her high-heeled shoe, becomes a gigantic metaphor of something - though I don't know what. With a traditional 24x36 reflex camera I would have never found out, simply because I wouldn't have dreamt of lying flat on the floor and viewing that foot from that angle!

Though I have to admit that most of the time I shoot from eye level, as I've always done: it's not so easy to discard a life-long habit. But even those images turn out to be different, as if the very drawbacks of my not-quite-camera were paradoxically turned into benefits. Inevitably its minute screen, held thirty or forty centimeters from my eyes, furnishes less information than a good reflex viewfinder - and infinitely less when in full sunlight. So every shot becomes a gamble, whose result only becomes apparent much later, when the image can be judged on a larger computer screen. If the bet is lost - which happens more than nine times out of ten - the file will end in the electronic waste-basket, with no qualms or regrets. But the few surviving ones will seem all the more precious: photographs and not-quite-photographs.