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“Wild weeds get to my head.
Kinds of floral stems began to grow, confusing my memory with botanical dreams where all the cleverest names of sometimes poisonous, carnivorous, seductive flowers intersect with their flamboyant and even slightly crazy colors...
They climb all around my studio, even embrace to the point of suffocating the frail Virginia creeper.
I have trouble breathing.
Anxiety to lose myself again in the dark meanders of a bad scenario? The earth is burning up there in the mountains. I am speechless. The Rosière torrent is dry.
Back to the workshop.
I arm myself with two large …