You are invited to the inner world of Flâneur.
It is the stroller of everyday chaos, the wanderer of the world. It merely watches the madding crowd, from somewhere between inside and outside. Among the people this thing is a stranger, a no-thing. For the observers, it ‘exists’, but does not have a being.
It contributes to the world with sheer looking and every night in the solitude of its home, this witness takes the stand, makes the statement with its body and testifies against the catastrophe of the day.
In its darkroom of loneliness, it unrolls the strips of negative off his body and develops them, of which you are now the voyeur.

Emad Mortazavi