There are encounters that change lives, connections that cross time and space to leave an indelible mark. Such is the case with the relationship between French singer Chloé Mons and American photographer Tom Sewell. Their story begins in Mysore, India, in a context as mystical as it is intense.
He was thirty-three years older than her, a dizzying gap, but also a source of exhilaration, inspiration and discovery. Three years later, after a daily correspondence of perfumed envelopes and scribbled words on paper, reality took over from the imaginary.
Their story is told in images, captured on film carefully selected at Fnac. Black and white, sepia, color... each roll was a promise of transgression, a play of reflections between desire and freedom. Bonnie and Clyde without weapons, just a camera to immortalize a burning, exalted, uncompromising love.
Tom's lens traveled the world, tracing a visual and sensual trail in Mysore, Rome, Paris, Venice, Hawaii. In streets, churches, gardens, hotels and palaces, every place became a stage, every moment a statement. Nudity, far from being a provocation, was a manifesto, a self-affirmation, a celebration of the body and connection.
This fashion series is a reminiscence of this extraordinary relationship, an ode to love, art and freedom. Each image carries echoes of a time when anything was possible, when passion dictated the pace, when insouciance and audacity were conjugated in the present tense. Even today, the connection remains unbreakable. A love sublimated by the camera lens that transcends time and continues to inspire. Before discovering this series, here are the words of Chloé Mons, the "muse".
TOM
Tom, the American photographer we met a long time ago in Mysore, India. Our mad passion. He was thirty-three years older than me. The difference was intoxicating. Our mad love began three years later, after a year of daily correspondence. No e-mails, they don't exist. Paper, real paper. Pink, white and black envelopes. We made collages, invented scented envelopes. My heart explodes when I come home from college. Seeing if there's a letter waiting for me on the living room table. Often. Sometimes two at once. Between us, all the first times in writing: first words of love, first spurts of semen on white paper, first fantasies.
Then the real thing.
Our photos. Naked me around the world. Mysore, Rome, Paris, Venice, Hawaii. Bonnie and Clyde don't have a gun, but they do have a good camera. Our pleasure begins at Fnac, when we choose our film. Color, 100 ASA, 200 ASA, black and white, sepia... All these rolls of images, promises of totally addictive erotico-narcissistic mirror games. A trance between us. A way of defying the world, of being rebels, of standing in the middle of the scenery and saying: "That's the way it is now. This is our way of loving each other, and you all have to watch because it's worth it."
What folly to be lugged along the freeways: me, topless and hair blowing in the wind; him, camera in one hand, the other on the steering wheel. Posing naked everywhere. In streets, museums, churches, gardens, castles, wastelands... And palaces, our rooms in disarray, exclusively black, white or pink lingerie. Our Silk Road, a trail of powder. One day, at the Venice Biennale of Contemporary Art, we were chased by policemen. People complained about seeing our stage in the middle of the exhibition. We hid in the groves of the Giardini, having a laugh. We're addicted to our film.
That's what Tom and I have been: a three-year passion and thousands of photos.
Today, he still lives in Hawaii, on the island of Maui, where I sometimes visit him. We still have a strong connection and a deep, almost filial love. This man taught me everything there is to know about love, and this story has been essential and founding for my life as a woman. For him, I was the climax of his life as a man, the dream come true, his ideal erotic image made flesh.
Chloé Mons & Flora di Carlo
