And moments, he frozen 60,000. Yes, 60,000. All available freely on his site, www.bia-bouquet.com, without copyright, without fuss. Because Christian immortalized in image to give, not to own. He got up, took a device – one of the six he owned – parked in Salzinnes, and left on foot. Towards Maurice Servais square, along the Sambre, in the old man. Towards people, towards things, towards the city he loved and he knew by heart.
Christian groaned, but Christian listened
Christian was also a luxury grust. A grinder listening. Who doubted and made doubt. Which corrected (sometimes). It was his way of saying that he saw. “It was sometimes annoying, but in the right direction, Bernard Guillitte, former alderman and very good friend of the disappeared Namurois. We often made fun of each other. We were teasing ourselves a lot. Despite our 20 years apart, we were very close. We even went on a trip together. He was curious about everything. ” But behind each rarer, there was tenderness. A requirement of humanity. “He was not stingy with criticism, whether positive or negative. I always listened to him because he was not always wrong. He was not always right either, but he knew how to admit. Finally … He also knew very well to admit to others that they were wronglaughs the former liberal politician. We were very linked. “
And when a car is parked, we still imagine it, somewhere, moaning slowly. And click.
“He had this gift of human contact”
But what we knew less about Christian was his commitment. His way of helping, without saying anything. To accompany people, refugees, stuck in life, behind the steering wheel of a vehicle of the Red Cross, or on foot, a smile in the pocket. “He had this gift of human contact, Summarizes Xavier Istasse, member of the collective citizens Solidaires Namur. He was discreet, humble, but still present, always ready to help, to reach out. He was one of the walls. When I think of him, I feel like I see a comic book character. A little man with his round glasses and his camera. “
Christian was there. He was there last Monday on Facebook with a photo of the past. He was there when a street changed, when a wall fell, when a tree was growing. He was there when Namur smiled. He was there when Namur was crying. He was there in the shade, device in fist, respectful to the end of the modesty of people. “On 60,000 photos published, I had to remove ten, maximum. I always try to be discreet. I avoid children. I am back”he confided in our pages in 2022.
He refused any exhibition. He refused the spotlight. He offered light. “He knew all the cobblestones of Namur, recalls Bernard Guillitte, with the trembling voice and a tight heart. He knew how to sneak between all the doors, but never with voyeurism. He loved people. Their gestures, their silences. He was small in size, but huge in humanity. “
This Wednesday, May 30, Christian did not have his device. Or maybe if. Maybe he had it, ready to draw, even in the face of the unpredictable. This Wednesday, it was he who entered the souvenir frame. And it is the whole city that has come out of its field of vision.
