Obscura was born out of my nocturnal wanderings. In the darkness, I seek nothing. I allow myself the freedom to encounter whatever comes my way: a tree lit by a streetlamp, flowers caught in the light of a lighthouse, a red stone piercing the blackness. I gather these images as I go about my daily life in Paris, or when traveling. No staging, no premeditation—only vibrations, intuitions, which connect me differently to the world of shadows.

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The night transforms. It stretches time, slows it down, makes it almost tangible. Forms stand out differently, as if called from another plane. Light reveals, it displaces. Some materials fade away, others take shape. Night reverses the obviousness of day. Reality wavers, and something in me is drawn in.

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Unconsciously, my images fill with black and red. Two archaic colors, intertwined—darkness and life, shadow and embers. They impose themselves, as if night were painting with its own palette. 

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I have been collecting these encounters for several years, faithful to this wandering that seeks nothing and welcomes the beating of the night. 

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