If I could make the world as pure and strange as what I see

The title is borrowed from Lou Reed's Pale Blue Eyes, a line that resonates because of what it says about the act of making. Photography here is not documentation but world-building: an attempt to construct, through framing and light and chance, something that holds both strangeness and a kind of purity at once.

Where 2060 imagined a distant, collective future, this series turns the same questions inward, closer to Basile himself and to the people around him.

This series invites viewers to slow down, to look closely, step back, notice what first escaped them, and question what they see. Shot over several years, the images trace a path through a deliberate strangeness. Some photographs are carefully staged; others let the film capture the moment with more room for chance.

Strangeness is where meaning loosens and something else becomes possible. There is something pure in the accident, in the image that wasn't entirely planned. Shooting underwater at night, the flash hits what the eye couldn't see and pulls it out of the dark. The photograph captures what I was not really able to see, so maybe what was never meant to be visible, what would have never existed without this flash of light, is sometimes closer to discovery than intention.

Water, present throughout, becomes a symbol of this ambiguity, a space of blurred edges. The familiar is displaced: laundry hangs on a line, underwater. The domestic gesture holds, but the world around it has shifted, and something in that gap, between the ordinary and the impossible, opens onto a wider unease.

My friends become recurring characters, turning the images into small narratives. The series encourages projection and imagination: what happened before, and what might happen after?