So I just looked at the photos of Pierre Caby. There is no dead hand. It sends like big bass. Little souls abstain. A portrait parade that spits on censorship. Modesty is always respected but he has the gift of creating an atmosphere that makes you believe that it is outdated. Her photos show a femininity on the edge of fragility. The bare parts of the body a stretched neck, ankles, arms, perceived breasts are accompanied by cotton linen, tulle or pieces of lace. Make-up sometimes posed as if drunk. A thread of tension that bothers because it shows the ephemeral. The withdrawal into oneself, the disarray, the mutilation when scissors threaten to cut a hair, which so many women take care of with a thousand precautions. It smells of flesh, the body without perfume, sensuality on the verge of neurosis. In short, no more code , abolition of images with faces of elegance, money and well-groomed hair. When we discover, like me these photos, we are first super surprised, and we smile with joy to see conformism put in the trash. Crazy hashtags, me too and company, andco smile. This man sees women and their weaknesses, their beauties and their anxieties, the bonds of dependence, love and the broken heart under the flag of freedom. Thank you for this explosive link - DP de Montaigu, 09/12/2019

Rubbing along with PiErre’s work is colliding with a strong photographic world. His painful pictures could hurt us but we paradoxically feel appeasement. PiErre highlights scrapes and heals them himself thanks to the humanity rooted in him. He reassures us. The round finishes with caresses. 
PiErre gives, in the noble sense of the term. He gives pictures which suit to his image. Does not play with reality. Lives it. Sees it. Captures it. And manages to turn it into poetry.
His photographs, marked by emotions, get us on a ring where uppercuts and other knocks come one after another. Dealt on the right side, the one of the heart, his shots remind the evils of the poet and boxer, Arthur Craven. PiErre stops time on faces, bodies & places submerged in the latrines of life. Nevertheless, with his high sensitivity, the magic of his black and white, he embalms nauseating, filling it with a sweeter perfume. He offers us, as a promise, the ability to breathe again.  A.U S.W, 18 Octobre 2013