The intimate changes that guide us, wrap us in modest screens. A wood and glass cocoon, as the place and us who navigate between a projected future and our fragmentary memories testifying to the moults passed in decomposed and fragmented books.

Décrocher la lune  – Diary – Tuesday September 24^th, 2:13 The moon isn’t here, she didn’t rise, she watches out behind the earth what will secretly be, she sprouts. I am scared.

Wednesday September 25th  11:22 We stepped in the new year with the necessary idea of ​​redemption, forgiveness to ourselves. Between the dishes and  honey sweetness, the idea of ​​getting together and the ferocity of this return in oneself to seek for good and bad, of better maybe. A first ambivalence of the self and the other, inside and outside. I grope with joy, I put down the elements of reflection as the worker controls his tools before setting to work. I bring order, I count and welcome.

On the path of my freedom, I looked to where I came from, what I carried, who I was, what that meant. Abandoning for a moment the world which surrounds me, I went into myself to discover my sensitive and creative side; it brought me to gentleness and violence, to my births and my deaths, to the necessities of life.
On this tumbling road on the question of meaning, I bandage with certitude my bleeding worries. Who knows the intention of their soul? The why is nagging.

The Lignes de vie sculptures are genealogical trees.
Made of branches and additions, they draw their sap from roots laid bare.
History is in motion; the present and the past are redrawn at the whim of Chance. The ephemeral is found in the fragility of the constructions of the spirit, which builds from compounded fragments, deconstructed and reconstructed.
Each person creates the myth of their origin to be able to recount it. And with time, learning to read the fault lines of their own history, the myth becomes fragile and enriched; it is alive.
I strolled along the path of Man. I sometimes stopped on the lineages that told of whence we came without indicating where we are going.
The Lignes de vie sculptures are genealogical trees that tell a story; mine and yours.