HISTORY
WHERE IRRATIONAL FLAMES ARE BORN.
A few years ago, I was searching for a light. A light that would guide me to escape a world whose weight was bending my back. Guided by my childhood dreams, I set off for a city where, according to tales, architecture had the power to commune with nature.
As I crossed the threshold of its famous basilica, I discovered a stone canopy where light seemed to give life to matter. In the midst of this hallucinatory paradise, teeming with silky materials embracing curved volumes, enveloping atmospheres, and lights with shifting reflections, I saw all the moments of contemplation that nature had offered me replayed before my eyes.
At the edge of night, strange floral-like creatures populated this place. Irrigated with light like sap, they prolonged the pleasure experienced by the visitor in a fabulous ballet where each seemed, through its movements, to address an ode to its life impulses. Then, as day broke, they blended back into the decor, metamorphosed into statues of translucent stone and mineral silk.
To forever cultivate the feelings that this enchanted interlude had awakened in me, I observed these flowers for a long time, until they permeated my poetic memory. Through creative experiences, I managed to give them body again in the form of luminous sculptures, like so many fragments brought back from this radiant city where nothing seemed more important than living.