In Debbaut-L'Ecluse's book, the landscapes seem to bear the weight of invisible battles. The gunpowder has long since evaporated and the blood has already been washed away. (…)
The landscape suffers from amnesia. Crops and fruits grow unsuspectingly on what may once have been a scene of crossing swords or cannon guns.
We see protective burlap on a tree trunk like chain mail with a sword belt, staggered sunflowers, broken reeds, flying jackdaws, cracked clay… A field, a forest, a mountain, a building, an animal can never be guilty. It is we, the destructive man with heavy thoughts, corrupt deeds and with hardly any insight into guilt. Does that make us bend over? Is that what Simon wants us to see?
And if people can be seen, they are mostly women. Mostly naked, vulnerable. Two exceptions. A modern-day knight and a dead man. The corpse waits, the knight waits, both ready to leave. Journey of the crosses.