Jeanne Susplugas works in series... Series of photographs, like series of points of view, statements. The images are hard, head-on, sometimes repetitive, beautiful either incidentally, or of average beauty. Beauty is a secondary quality here; the issue is elsewhere... It’s in the ambiguous status of these images, like discovered and loosened from standards by the light, by the revelation of liquid crystals... This is neither a photographer’s, nor a journalist’s, nor a plastic artist’s photography. This “elsewhere” is emphasized by the disturbing choice of topics: medicine, sex, body, weapon, money, pharmacology... Cold, raw images, sometimes painful or white, but never stooping down to provocation or sensationalism... Images you need to graze gently to browse, thus, like Jeanne Susplugas does in her work, making contact with the subject, passing into a place of touch that the eye is not yet used to navigate, that hybrid zone of the haptic glance. The repetition of images and the order of the series build up to an addictive sort of reading, in the manner of children rhymes where both beginning and end disappear, where people dance ’til instants of blinking coma, until light fainting spells. Here, reality is sometimes artificial, like a placebo, like a work of art…
Art Book Magazine

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