It was time to lower Camille, to take her down from her cross, to give her a break. I put the camera away for a short moment to free Camille from her bonds, let her fall to the floor and continue with my exploration. I was wondering how she would look in the film, all cut up and thrown off the cliff. I was about to find out.

In Cannes, Francoise was very, very impressed with the story I wrote in Cuba, so much so that when I told her to get ready so we could go and see some of the films at the festival, she responded "I already saw the best film in this festival". Nice compliment indeed, but still we got out of bed, had breakfast and went to see a few movies. None that impressive.

In my mind I had a very strong idea of what the central character should look like, and more importantly, what she would go through. It's a very difficult role and I thought, back then, that I would have a hard time finding the person to play her. As I placed Camille on the cold wooden floor, I felt that the woman that was in my arms was the character I was creating.

After placing Camille on the floor, I got the camera and went back to explore her body. Her hands were purple, her arms white, very white. Her body was relaxed now, so the blood was returning to where it belongs. I could imagine how Camille's hands felt, the rush of blood, the stinging pain on her wrists, the numbess on her fingers, all of it I had experienced myself. I had to. If I was going to ask someone to go through something difficult and maybe dangerous, I had to make sure that I knew what they were going to feel. I knew how Camille felt, even if she didn't say a word, not a whisper, while I was shooting.

There was that time when Margot refused to go on her knees unless I did it first. I didn't, so she didn't.

Camille's body was beautiful. A small, nice frame, a very well distributed body. Lean legs, firm breasts, firm ass, a waist that made her contour very sexy indeed. The camera was loving her, every inch of her.

Margot's body is beautiful too, of course, as most bodies are, Camille was not particulary special in this way, a body is a body. What you do with it is what's important. Camille's body in pain, that was a different thing altogether.

My point of reference for this exercise was and is the art produced by centuries of catholicism. All the artists that the church hired throughout time expressed the body in pain in great detail, particularly that of Christ. The extreme poses on the cross, the nudity, the facial expressions of martyrs, all so evocative, so powerful in their intense and sublime sacrifice. That was and is the image I was looking for in Camille.

Camille was resting, relieved, I'm sure, that she was no longer hanging. It was a matter of a few minutes before I was going to put an end to the rehearsal. I'm sure she was eager to know how she did, I could hear the softness of her breathing, I could smell her body, I was so close to her. It would be so easy to just pull her panties off and get in her. There was nothing I would love better than make her mine at that very moment. The time wasn't right. I didn't know how she felt about me. For all I know she could see me as a nice, old teacher. Nothing else.

But there was somethng I felt, something that was coming from her. It was the sense that she desired me. I couldn't be sure, but the feeling was there.