Only it could carry the rose’s weight

With the help of a lampworking glass artist, I created the skeleton of a chair in frosted glass. In the face of so many collapses, it is forced into passivity—a mere observer. If all these narratives had a weight, it would be that of a wilting rose. And the chair, so fragile and on the verge of collapse itself, can only carry the weight of that rose.

It rained tears on the child (El Niño)

In 1983, El Niño, a disruption in ocean currents, triggered global climatic disasters that lasted for years. I collect magazines, particularly National Geographic. From decomposed, edited, and rearranged article pages, I amplify words linked to this collapse and in resonance with other pieces. This marks the beginning of my research and serves as a living material. The magnifying glasses were made with the help of a lampworking glass artist. These lenses are filled with water. That day, it rained tears on the child, El Niño.

The weight of your gaze in a glass of water

A small cinema. Two chairs in a dimly lit, intimate corner. One chair plays a video and music inside a glass of water. The other is for sitting and watching. I gathered the gazes of children in a rural medical center during a time of war. These military archive videos date back to the early 2000s. Though their superficial wounds were treated, their gazes seem to carry an entirely different weight. Colors are inverted to protect anonymity and preserve equality. It’s all about this—a focus on gaze. Images resurfaced. A whispering musical composition. I think of music conceptually in relation to the subject—a relationship between the observer and the observed. The weight of their gaze fits inside a glass of water.

Sunf(ol)lower

I respond to details and atmospheres captured in specific locations. Some flowers from the last exhibition remained in the space—among them, a wilting sunflower. In a futile gesture, I offer to Sunf(ol)lower a glass-sun slide projected from a 1970’s slide projector. The flower usually follows the sun’s natural trajectory—yet is deprived of it. A vain gesture of care. The sunflower’s shadow on the wall becomes an act of eternal beauty.

They learned to lose and they lost

A handmade wooden panel, pierced with hand-embroidered text. This is about a relational collapse. Words guide my process. And “nous” (us in French) turns out to say its opposite in English: “no us”. A dichotomy held in a single breath.

Yet, he saw it all

A pair of stereoscopic glasses from 1910 enhance our perception. The ancestor of anaglyph 3D glasses. The gaze adjusts to bring relief to a 17th-century Rembrandt etching. A final, futile gesture of seeing. And in Yet, he saw it all, we perceive Tobit: a biblical figure who had vision while being blind.

They ran and he walked on destiny

Two images sourced from magazine archives I collect, edit, and recompose. In 1983, the climatic event ‘El Niño’ transformed global weather systems over several years (left image). At the same time, an aerial fleet “designed to carry… worldwide disaster” dispatched humanitarian aid, weapons, and repatriated the dead (right image). To what extent are catastrophes artificial, natural—or both? These images are printed in two tones: yellow and blue, in a vain attempt to simulate a 3D stereoscopic relief from 2D images. Two events that our retinas cannot merge. Reality slips away in the in-between. I consider They ran and he walked on destiny as rearticulated realities.

The sun fragmented in each tear 

The sun fragmented in each tear is a live video recording, rear-projected in real time. Space and time collide inside a 1.5 cm diameter glass vial. Contained tears react to the presence of the viewer. An air bubble naturally holds the water in place, resisting its own collapse. This bubble pulses with every movement triggered by the audience. Time hangs in this heavy fragility, and every passerby becomes responsible for its potential collapse.