"High Mild Sportes – Phénoménologie" was an exhibition conceived as a physical extension of my cinematic practice — a landscape of fragile architectures, flickering images, and scattered thoughts.
Installed like a memory one could walk through, it invited visitors to drift between presence and absence, past and invention — across two connected rooms, each echoing the other in its own language of light and shadow. Distinct in form yet bound by an invisible rhythm, they held together like two parts of the same breath. Models, notebooks, and videos composed a quiet topography of inner worlds, suspended in the soft tension between what is shown and what escapes.
It marked a moment of shared time — fleeting, intimate, and deeply anchored in the invisible.
The book and the posters that accompanied the exhibition bore the signature of Max Aimé Dirand — designer and illustrator — whose imagination drifts between comic book lyricism and monumental psychedelic frescoes. A graduate of Central Saint Martins, she brought her singular vision to the project, in deep resonance with my own, turning archival matter into sensory landscape.
The models emerged from a close collaboration with Paul Nemo Luc Leblanc, student at the École des Arts Décoratifs de Paris. His artistic practice unfolds through eclectic materials, shaped by a spirit of empirical craftsmanship. Together, we shaped these cardboard architectures with paint and hot glue
— echoes of our earliest shared gestures. Halfway between models and mirages, they stood as playful objects, where a childlike innocence still found space to invent worlds. Reenacting that gesture was not a return, but the beginning of something yet to come.
Neither archive nor catalogue, this book stands somewhere in between — a physical trace of a moving practice. Across 304 pages, it brings together five years of film stills. Less as documentation than as a way of holding on — to atmospheres, gestures, and quiet tensions that resist disappearance. The final section is made up of fifty pages from my notebooks. Notes, fragments, sketches — notations from the margins. They don’t explain; they offer a shift in proximity.
This book was conceived as an object in its own right. Not to explain the work, but to let it unfold differently
— in the hands, in time, in silence.
