I must have been sixteen when I snapped this photo of my dad and his mates, faces grimed using a burnt cork by candlelight during a birthday party, one summer evening in the south of France.
Last night, forty years later, the awesome and funny spirit of these fathers had swung by another dinner, somewhere between Uzès and Arles. Enchanted by this magic, I hadn’t paid attention to the date. Yesterday, August 14th, René Goscinny would have celebrated his 91st birthday. No doubt that he did, his wings brushing lightly against us, his daughter, his wonderful grandchildren, and all of us poor souls.
– Philippe Graton