October 7th 2024
Copyright D.R.
This past summer, my exhibition at the Musée des Arts Précieux Paul-Dupuy in Toulouse for Le Nouveau Printemps felt like stepping into a different dimension. Curated by the brilliant minds of Stéphanie Moisdon and filmmaker Alain Guiraudie, the show focused on new forms of resistance and featured artists who played with notions of time, space, and materiality—an intriguing combination of humor, fantasy, and decay. I felt a profound connection to their vision of art as an interplay between reality, fantasy, and legend, often blurred in mysterious ways.
For my part in the exhibition, I decided to work with large-scale stamps, creating pieces that combined traditional craft with a sense of fluid transformation. The physicality of stamping felt right—each imprint solid, yet part of a larger ephemeral process. These forms, I hope, conveyed a rhythmic energy, reflective of the show’s themes of uncertainty and rebellion. It was gratifying to see how my work interacted with the sculptures of artists like Mathis Altmann and Lucie Stahl. Their gritty, hybrid landscapes echoed the rawness I aimed to express with each bold stamp on paper.
The museum itself, nestled in the historical Carmes/Saint-Étienne quarter, added an extra layer of intimacy. As part of this radical yet delicate community of creators, we formed a fleeting, almost anarchic movement, where different methods of storytelling and craft coexisted. I loved how Stéphanie and Alain’s curatorial touch brought this to life through a kind of visual “score,” where each piece felt like a note in an evolving symphony. Looking back, it was one of the most gratifying experiences of my artistic journey.
(Exhibition: May 30 - June 30, 2024, Musée Paul-Dupuy, Toulouse)
October 6th 2024
Dear diary,
Today has been a strange day. I woke up with this odd sense of nostalgia, like something significant was bubbling up from my subconscious. It didn’t take long to realize what it was—Brazil. That exhibition I did there, years ago now, but so vivid in my memory. I couldn’t shake the images of those floating sculptures, the mobiles I had hanging from the ceiling, swaying gently as if breathing in unison with the gallery space. Those works, they were about gas—this invisible force we rely on, that powers so much of modern life, yet is also so elusive, uncontrollable. Gas, in a way, became a metaphor for everything that feels intangible but all-encompassing, both fragile and powerful.
And then there was ballet. The movement of dancers, their bodies twisting and stretching, finding grace in the air. I remember how I wanted my pieces to feel like that—how the mobiles had to move with an elegance that mimicked ballet, as if they were performing for the viewer. Those moments when the shapes would shift slightly in the light, casting shadows that danced along the walls. The balance between the rigid structures of the sculptures and the freedom of their motion always felt like a conversation between the delicate control of a dancer and the unpredictable nature of gas.
Today, it almost feels like I’m back there—standing in the middle of that room, watching the sculptures and paintings breathe, feeling the weight of the air around me. It’s strange, how memory works, how it can take you so deep into a moment that it feels more real than the present. I wonder if people who saw that exhibition felt the same way I did. Did they understand the connection between the invisible gas and the graceful ballet? Or did they simply enjoy the dance of the objects?
In any case, it’s one of those days where the past feels closer than usual.
October 4th 2024
Today felt surreal, grappling with the delicate interplay between personal and professional. Working on my monograph with Stéphanie Moisdon is a collaboration marked by layers of history. She’s brilliant—a curator with a sharp eye—but she’s also the ex-partner of my husband. This complex dynamic hovers over our every discussion.
History lingers
In the space between our words,
Art bridges the gap.
Stéphanie is renowned for her groundbreaking curatorial work, and it’s an honor to have her shaping this book. Her influence in the contemporary art world, from her leadership at the Lyon Biennale to her essays on relational aesthetics, is unmistakable. Yet, working with her also means confronting the personal past that we both share in different ways.
Silent shadows move
She critiques my art, knowing
What once was, still is.
There’s an unspoken rhythm to our exchanges—a blend of respect, perhaps, tinged with unresolved emotions. It’s as if we’re all part of a reconstructed family now. The art we’re creating, though, is more than just a collaboration; it’s a testament to how intricate and intertwined our lives have become. Her gaze, both professional and personal, has a weight that’s hard to describe.
Art and life entwine
Tension fuels the process here,
Fragile, yet we stand.
I feel like this project has become more than just a monograph. It’s an exercise in understanding the delicate dance we all perform, consciously or not. Stéphanie’s role in my life is complex, but through this work, we’re finding a way to coexist. Each conversation feels like a step in a ballet—graceful, calculated, and yet filled with unspoken undertones.
Through art we rebuild
What once seemed fractured, distant—
Now, a strange duet.
As we continue, I’m struck by the balance we’re managing. It’s as though the past and present coexist in a delicate harmony. I wonder if this tension will always be there, or if, like art, it will transform into something new altogether.