Fourteen years ago, my father fell from a boat and died. I received a call telling me he had drowned. But it turned out not to be true — his heart had stopped while he was fishing.

We had always spent a lot of time fishing together and often went out on the boat. One of our last moments together was also a fishing trip.

Last July, I found myself in the marshes of Hauts-de-France — a region where people come to fish. There, I discovered a mooring place for barges and suddenly felt as if I had returned to my childhood.

Every day, I went there to photograph the boats, immersing myself in the memories of my moments in nature with my father. The barges reminded me of the resting bodies of fishermen lost at sea, now drifting on the waters like in Dante’s Divine Comedy.