14 degrés, je dors dans les plis du monde, j'investis cette cavité loin de l'ignominie, celle du dehors. Dans les abîmes, confiné, ces profondeurs sont reliées. De l’absence, jaillit la lumière et les présences viennent en pluie.
A une distance substantielle arrive nuée de rencontre, non-humaines, elles s'immiscent en moi, les présences sont éclipses, sont perpétuelles. Les possibles deviennent matière, malléables, les sensibles photographiées, l'argilière s'est écoulée, un grain de sable s'en est échappé, envolé, il dessine un mouvement, un juste trait, une nouvelle orbite.

Série réalisée dans le Lot et ses environs / 2020-2021

● EN/ 14 degrees, internal temperature, that of the caves that hollow out this landscape, I inhabit if it inhabits me. Lately, my body has been getting colder, is it the nature of my times, is it the death that litters the soil, the beds and the phosphate pits. It pushes me a little further into the cracks,, crevices and arteries, it's in control, the earth is a delicacy and the stone a shelter. Without sun, darkness, without fire, air, is stable, damp, nothing exists outside oneself. Cradle of illusions, I think I see my dreams, they shine in dotted lines along the arch of the basement.

14 degrees, I sleep in the folds of the world, I invest this cavity far from ignominy, that of the outside, in the abysses, confined, these depths are connected. From absence, light springs forth and presences come raining down.
Substantial distance, an encounter for oneself, I diverge.

Non-human, they intrude on me, presences are eclipses, are perpetual. Possibilities become matter, malleable, the sensitives photographed, the clay has drained away, a space remains in grains of sand, a movement and the right line finds its orbit.