And Molinier himself – again and again. These are more than selfies. He shows too much of himself nevertheless. A man with a rose in his arse – corseted – masked – veiled – bewigged – high-heeled – impaled – laughing – giving us his rictus grin. Here’s his stockinged legs bound at the ankles. Here’s his bum. Here it is again. There’s that stool – the chair – the out-of-focus wallpaper. It looks like nothing has changed here in decades.
Although many of the photographs date from the 1960s and 70s they seem to come from an earlier age. There’s something musty and cloistered about them. They show a man alone – a man with mannequins – performing for himself and for the camera – and an invisible audience who might not be there at all.