Sometimes cotton wool, sometimes mineral, I doubt my body and tangibility and what it has under its feet. Shaken between parallel rhythms, I am always surprised by the darkness of the night that is already gnawing at the winter. With the confusion of a tiny being, I gather images during walks between my history and that of the Earth, which I hybridize through a digestive work close to the dream. They then draw the outlines of fantasized spaces, in which the vertigo of being rumbles, here and now.