La Peau de l'Homme
Hassan is a barber. Between his hands and under the blade of his open razor, a man abandons himself—the scene would be banal, if it wasn’t taking place in the heart of the souk Ait-Ourir, 40 kilometres from Marrakech... / Read more
In Arab societies, where traditionally, men are in the habit of self-control no matter what, rare are the moments and places they can let go.
There is something moving, precious, even sensual, in seizing these moments of intimacy… This ritual moment, indissociable from the visit to the souk, offers these men a respite of calm where they can abandon themselves in what is otherwise an existence of self-mastery. In the different small shops of odds and ends, where one goes for a shave and a haircut, clients follow in quick succession, and not one resembles another. Their skin is like parchment, lines and scars, telling the story of a life.
Still standing, their straight postures save appearances, but once in the chair, having abandoned themselves to the barber’s hands, the person inside the Man is visible. Vulnerable. Faces change, expressions are transformed, masks fall. At all ages, the child they once were appears briefly. The barber’s sure gestures, enveloping, protecting, in tune with them, become tender, something like maternal. So they let themselves go, give themselves up entirely to this man who is caring for them.
But on rising from the chair, they recompose themselves, slip back into their social armour, before stepping back out into the world where men always win…
Carine Anselme
