Shadow and light. To Flore. For the last few years, if my wanderings flew me to Italy, I seek for Artemisia Gentileschi’s paints. I want to see her pieces in “flesh and blood” so I might glimpse at her obsession, so I might breathe her passionate colors, so I might sink into her violent stories. … More Roman Holiday – DAY 5
From the infinitesimal to the infinitely great. Today again, the Dolce Vita is fooling me. Any action takes its own time and teaches me patience. Roman minutes are not the same than anywhere else. All the better… I like more and more being wandered throughout narrow and shadowed meanders. Brushed by ocher and leafy walls. Flown … More Roman Holiday: DAY 4
The Garden of the Vestals. Monday. Lunedi. Lundi. It is the day of the Moon and I am standing, under the sun at its highest, above eternal lands. I wander along Roman Empire’ s ruins and I am only thinking about the burning sun, about drops of sweat in my back. I am only thinking … More Roman Holiday – DAY 1
It is only fair that after sketching a little piece of French Alps, I went for some reunions with my own natal mountains, French Pyrénées, and this, in such good company since this short journey was the occasion for some time spent with my dad.We had chosen, as starting point for our improvised divagations, Fontagente Ponds … More An escape to French Pyrénées
I left my adopted Cathars for three days and three nights in order to breath some fresh air and visit my favorite Savoy Healer! The Triplets of Belleville missed a third wheel to their tandem but what a beautiful mountain! I got a shot of French Alps in about 2 shakes of a lamb’s tail, … More A Detour to French Alps
They called me Mousseigne like you would write a poem.
They called me Mousseigne but I was only bohemia.
They wanted me to believe I was leading the way through blossoming grapes ranges. They wanted me to believe I was the mistress of this tidy vine whose fruit filling up my balloon glass for unforgettable nights was the only thing I had ever known. They wanted me, and after all was it a crime, to dream of other times. … More Summer Bacchanals
Silence. Emptiness. Gone. Then they are gone. And I stay. It has been such a long time since I have been the one staying. Silence. Emptiness. Melancholia. Oh, this weight on my stomach, I know it so well. It reminds me of other departures, of other absences. It is so hard to be the one … More Frozen Wanderer: DAY 0
Hopes DAY 46 Yesterday, I hit the road beyond authorized fields. Almost. I had to empty my storage box, where I pilled up all my treasures before my grand journey almost a year ago. I took them all from the box to a car or a truck, and from the car or the truck to a garage … More Frozen Wanderer: Week 7-8
Insurrection DAY 29 Yesterday, “Big Macron” talked, awaking bitterness in my heart, lighting up my anger and each bomb with which I would like to blow up the system. But he mostly heightened my fears, fear nothing will ever change after, fear we’ll go back to the world of before because we have fallen asleep … More Frozen Wanderer: Week 5-6
Frozen wanderer, I am looking into the world throughout my window. I am gazing at snails perfectly happy whilst I am locked down, whilst I am quarantined. How do I envy this snails’ race, how I would like to move in slow motion in the rain ; my immensity to be a little fence, my happiness to be a Spring tear. … More Snail’s slow-motion Waltz
Fleeting Wor(l)ds 