If I were an astronomer, I would know that invisible dusts are floating through the whole Universe, and can shade the light.
I had to wait for the dust floating in my atelier to settle on a glass surface, and for my fingers to wipe some of that dust away accidentally, to know that the light would pass through that glass only where I had taken the dust away, and this would cast specific shapes a few centimeters ahead.
From then on, while working on my other works, I have been creating something with that matter which flanks our lives –and artists’ studios- like a loyal and discreet companion. They are only invisible scraps; it’s the substance of clothes, of hair, of skin, of those I describe as existential paradoxes, tiny portable galaxies.
Think for a while: if no light were cast over the glass and the dust had settled on –except for that silhouette I had cut and placed- the work itself would not exist, it would remain an unspoken word. Its delicacy is fragile and can easily be destroyed. I will leave it to those who want to cast that light: to each their own point of view.
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