• Crossroads

    Crossroads documents an intersection facing a rapid urban transition in East New York, Brooklyn. This visual work revolves around dreams for sale in an American landscape made of large scale housing. East New York holds a crossing between Flatlands Avenue and Pennsylvania Avenue that includes not only New York City’s biggest Church, but also the U.S. nation’s largest federally subsidized apartment complex. Starrett City is home to more than 15,000 people across forty-six buildings. In a country built on promises, the photographic piece uses a typical urban intersection to look at housing as one of the broken pledges.

    Crossroads is about a crossing between past and future, a place of multiple identities, of existences that never look like they do in the commercials, urban plans, or the news. It questions the American dream, whether it is accessible to all Americans or not, and the idea of what homes are. Some visuals serve as intentional breaks from the photographs, placed for the viewer to create their own fiction between promises and realities. The sequence is punctuated by archival TV commercials, current supermarket brochures, discarded newspapers, or dispensed bibles, and architecture renderings of the future area. Through various mediums, the work examines an intersection made of contemporary city dwellers, loneliness, countless windows, homelessness, car culture, pride, and everyday odysseys.

  • Fish Tank

    This ongoing work looks at various ways to wash and dry our clothing in Paris and New York laundromats, in outdated South of France stone wash-houses, in British middle class carpet floors homes, in Spanish sunny balconies.

    Using laundromats weekly when I was a student, I started observing their architecture, their structure, and came closer to their users. These photographs first examined how people occupy themselves while their clothes are being washed. Laundromats became theaters for stories to unfold.

    The work evolved into photographing laundry customs around the world. Fish Tank slowly reveals how much a simple public display of clothing can also say a lot about intimacy and identity.

  • Topographics

    “Our models have to be a complex, ongoing, spontaneous interaction of observation, understanding, imagination, and intention.”  (Stephen Shore)

    Topographics is an ongoing study of walking, of taking one step more, two steps less. These images made since 2015 across Europe and the United States stem from an intention to depict current urban landscapes’ heritage from a few decades back, confronting past ideals to our modern eyes.

    The series gather photographs of vernacular architecture, seventies large scale housing, praised modern houses from the thirties, or out of use car culture buildings. Eyes look onto empty places, sometimes lost ones, sometimes fitting silhouettes, advertisements, signs, trash cans or cars.

    Composed with an idea to seek for each place’s identity, Topographics uses a narrative mostly free of people to reveal our modern society through built spaces.

  • 57 Avenue Cyrnos

    My memories of my grandmother Aimée’s apartment are almost all repetitive. She had Alzheimer’s so her stories were the exact same from one week to another - same phrasing, same surprise, same ending. We would do the exact same thing every Wednesday, a secret show being repeated. And slowly, it made me appreciate the ritual we held inside these walls, the sacredness of her domestic space. She didn’t know her name sometimes. Sometimes I lost her and sometimes I could grasp her back. Each week the stories would get sharper; Aimée would strip down any unnecessary details. I thought she was a damn good editor.

    Just like the stories, her apartment rooms would sequence our performance. In the morning, we started in the bedroom where she would sit behind me during homework. Then the kitchen, where I would sit behind her while she cooked. And finally, the balcony, where we would sit next to each other. Never did we dare rehearse our show in a different order, the scenes were written this way. We had the piece near perfect but it got cut short.

    The next time I went back to her place was eight years later - my last chance to step inside a now empty apartment before it was sold. Being there without her felt foreign, wrong even. Death knocks when one leaves for another world and one has to remain. I remained; I sat there for a while that afternoon, and brought with me a large format camera to make four photographs: one in her kitchen, one in her bathroom, one in her bedroom and one in my bedroom. For that final one, I called my father and asked him to sit in my grandmother’s chair. A final goodbye to our Wednesdays.