Sharp objects in a corps sauvage (Wild body), still the same thing but in another dimension. Against a wall, gently pressed, planted, the ambivalence of the materials proposes both a fight and a union.
An animality against an animosity, a tenderness.
From a land of ochre earth, the troubled lands take their roots. They are landscapes shaped by hand, patiently ploughed, allowing for crevices and stories to appear.
Like the tendre textes (tender texts), which owe their relief only to the light, a low-angled light that clings. Instead of writing, I draw. The drawing becomes writing and the scalpel a pen that scratches.
Les caressantes (The caressing), hands of always, of the old painters and the choreographies of the everyday. I wanted them small, for their vulnerability, in bronze, so that they carry their weight.
Tooth and nail, to continue with a ferocious joy.