We open Louise Latraverse’s magnificent album filled with her naive drawings, her family photos and her short, luminous texts. We discover an 83-year-old woman who is free, happy, and has nothing to lose: “Think what you want about me. If it keeps you busy, I’m delighted, if it inspires you, I’m delighted, and if you can’t stand me, I don’t care. » His drawings speak as much as his words. Hearts that beat or bleed, flowers, an artist with a body dismembered by stage fright, a funny portrait of her friend Michel Tremblay, love, a lot of love, screams. “I have not known calm love. I have experienced passions. And passion is wonderful, but it hurts. Because passion doesn’t always last. […] The ordinary bored me. It wasn’t for me. » This notebook is not an autobiography. More like snippets of memories. Significant people. Moments. Reflections that do good. We place the book on the table and smile.
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