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Louis Motte Dit Falisse grew up between Northern Virginia and Brussels, and has since lived in London and New York and spent long stretches on the road. The photographs follow that movement. They are sorted by country because place is the one thing each of them is sure of.

There is something absurd about taking a photograph: stopping a moment and keeping it; the decision, the input, the selection. The pictures here don’t resolve that. They sit with it, one after another, until the ordinary starts to read as a record.